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All-from the evening's plaintive sigh,
God of the fair and open sky!
How gloriously above us springs
God of the rolling orbs above!
Thy name is written clearly bright
And every spark that walks alone
God of the world! the hour must come,
Her crumbling altars must decay,
Her incense fires shall cease to burn;
But still her grand and lovely scenes
The beauty of the world below.
EXCOMMUNICATION OF THE CID.
It was when from Spain, across the main, the Cid had come to Rome,
He chanced to see chairs four and three beneath Saint
"Now tell, I pray, what chairs be they?"-"Seven kings do sit thereon,
As well doth suit, all at the foot of the holy Father's throne.
The Pope he sitteth above them all, that they may kiss
Below the keys the Flower-de-lys doth make a gallant
For his great puissance, the King of France next to the Pope may sit,
The rest more low, all in a row, as doth their station fit."
"Ha!" quoth the Cid, "now God forbid! it is a shame, I wiss,
To see the Castle planted beneath the Flower-de-lys. No harm I hope, good Father Pope, although I move thy chair."
In pieces small he kicked it all ('twas of the ivory fair).
The Pope's own seat he from his feet did kick it far away, And the Spanish chair he planted upon its place that
Above them all he planted it, and laughed right bitterly; Looks sour and bad, I trow he had, as grim as grim might
Now when the Pope was aware of this, he was an angry
His lips that night, with solemn rite, pronounced the
The curse of God, who died on rood, was on that sinner's head
To hell and woe man's soul must go, if once that curse be laid.
I wot, when the Cid was aware of this, a woeful man was he, At dawn of day he came to pray, at the blessed Father's knee:
"Absolve, blessed Father, have pity upon me,
Absolve my soul, and penance I for my sin will dree."
"Who is the sinner," quoth the Pope, "that at my foot doth kneel?"
"I am Rodrigo Diaz-a poor baron of Castille."—
Much marvelled all were in the hall, when that name
they heard him say.
"Rise up, rise up," the Pope he said, "I do thy guilt away:
"I do thy guilt away,” he said, “and my curse I blot it out ;
"My ear-rings! my ear-rings! they've dropt into the well, And what to say to Muça, I cannot, cannot tell."
Twas thus, Granada's fountain by, spoke Albuharez'
"The well is deep, far down they lie, beneath the cold blue water.
To me did Muça give them, when he spake his sad farewell, And what to say when he comes back, alas! I cannot tell.
"My ear-rings! my ear-rings! they were pearls in silver set,
That when my Moor was far away, I ne'er should him
That I ne'er to other tongue should list, nor smile on other's tale,
But remember he my lips had kissed, pure as those earrings pale.
When he comes back, and hears that I have dropped them in the well,
O what will Muça think of me, I cannot, cannot tell.
"My ear-rings! my ear-rings! he'll say they should have been,
Not of pearl and of silver, but of gold and glittering sheen, Of jasper and of onyx, and of diamond shining clear, Changing to the changing light, with radiance insincereThat changeful mind unchanging gems are not befitting
Thus will he think-and what to say, alas! I cannot tell.
"He'll think when I to market went, I loitered by the
He'll think a willing ear I lent to all the lads might say; He'll think some other lover's hand among my tresses
From the ears where he had placed them, my rings of pearl unloosed;
He'll think when I was sporting so beside this marble well, My pearls fell in-and what to say, alas! I cannot tell.
"He'll say I am a woman, and we are all the same; He'll say I loved when he was here to whisper of his flameBut when he went to Tunis my virgin troth had broken, And thought no more of Muça, and cared not for his token.
My ear-rings! my ear-rings! oh, luckless, luckless well! For what to say to Muça, alas! I cannot tell.
"I'll tell the truth to Muça, and I hope he will believeThat I have thought of him at morning, and thought of
him at eve;
That musing on my lover, when down the sun was gone, His ear-rings in my hand I held, by the fountain all alone; And that my mind was o'er the sea, when from my hand they fell,
And that deep his love lies in my heart, as they lie in the