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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
It chanced one day
The King, from Burgos riding with his knights,
Met face to face whom most he loathed on earth.
With lifted hand he spake: ‘Depart my land!’
The Cid his charger spurred; o'er-leaped the wall;
Then tossing back his head, loud laughing cried,
‘Sir King, 'tis done! This land is land of mine!’
Raging the King exclaimed: ‘Depart my realm
Ere the ninth day!’ My Cid: ‘Hidalgo's right
By old prescription yields him thirty days
If banished from the realm.’ Alphonso then:
‘Ere the ninth eve, or else I take thy head!’
Low bowed Rodrigues to his saddle bow
And rode to Bivar. Summoning there his knights
Briefly he spake: ‘You see a banished man.’
They answered nought. Then Alvar Fanez rose
And said: ‘With thee we live; for thee we die,’
And rising, all that concourse said: ‘Amen.’
The King, from Burgos riding with his knights,
Met face to face whom most he loathed on earth.
259
The Cid his charger spurred; o'er-leaped the wall;
Then tossing back his head, loud laughing cried,
‘Sir King, 'tis done! This land is land of mine!’
Raging the King exclaimed: ‘Depart my realm
Ere the ninth day!’ My Cid: ‘Hidalgo's right
By old prescription yields him thirty days
If banished from the realm.’ Alphonso then:
‘Ere the ninth eve, or else I take thy head!’
Low bowed Rodrigues to his saddle bow
And rode to Bivar. Summoning there his knights
Briefly he spake: ‘You see a banished man.’
They answered nought. Then Alvar Fanez rose
And said: ‘With thee we live; for thee we die,’
And rising, all that concourse said: ‘Amen.’
The eighth day dawned: My Cid from Bivar rode;
Whilst yet his charger pawed before its gate
He turned, and backward gazed. Beholding then
His hall deserted, open all its doors,
No cloaks hung up, within the porch no seat,
No hawk on perch, no mastiff on the mat,
No standard from the tower forth streaming free
Large tears were in his eyes; but no tear fell;
And distant seemed his voice—distant though clear
Like voice from evening field, as thus he spake:
‘Mine enemies did this: praise God for all things!
Mary, pray well that I, the banished man,
May drive the Pagans from His holy Spain,
One day requite true friends.’ To Alvar next
He spake: ‘The poor have in this wrong no part;
See that they suffer none;’ then spurred his horse.
Beside the gate there sat an aged crone
Who cried, ‘In fortunate hour ride forth, O Cid!
God give thee speed and spoil!’
Whilst yet his charger pawed before its gate
He turned, and backward gazed. Beholding then
His hall deserted, open all its doors,
No cloaks hung up, within the porch no seat,
No hawk on perch, no mastiff on the mat,
No standard from the tower forth streaming free
Large tears were in his eyes; but no tear fell;
And distant seemed his voice—distant though clear
Like voice from evening field, as thus he spake:
‘Mine enemies did this: praise God for all things!
Mary, pray well that I, the banished man,
May drive the Pagans from His holy Spain,
One day requite true friends.’ To Alvar next
He spake: ‘The poor have in this wrong no part;
See that they suffer none;’ then spurred his horse.
Beside the gate there sat an aged crone
Who cried, ‘In fortunate hour ride forth, O Cid!
God give thee speed and spoil!’
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |