The works of Mrs. Hemans With a memoir of her life, by her sister. In seven volumes |
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THE CID'S RISING. |
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 | The works of Mrs. Hemans |  |
THE CID'S RISING.
'Twas the deep mid-watch of the silent night,
And Leon in slumber lay,
When a sound went forth in rushing might,
Like an army on its way!
In the stillness of the hour,
When the dreams of sleep have power,
And men forget the day.
And Leon in slumber lay,
When a sound went forth in rushing might,
Like an army on its way!
In the stillness of the hour,
When the dreams of sleep have power,
And men forget the day.
Through the dark and lonely streets it went,
Till the slumberers woke in dread;—
The sound of a passing armament,
With the charger's stony tread.
There was heard no trumpet's peal,
But the heavy tramp of steel,
As a host's to combat led.
Till the slumberers woke in dread;—
The sound of a passing armament,
With the charger's stony tread.
There was heard no trumpet's peal,
But the heavy tramp of steel,
As a host's to combat led.
Through the dark and lonely streets it pass'd,
And the hollow pavement rang,
And the towers, as with a sweeping blast,
Rock'd to the stormy clang!
But the march of the viewless train
Went on to a royal fane,
Where a priest his night-hymn sang.
And the hollow pavement rang,
And the towers, as with a sweeping blast,
Rock'd to the stormy clang!
But the march of the viewless train
Went on to a royal fane,
Where a priest his night-hymn sang.
120
There was knocking that shook the marble floor,
And a voice at the gate, which said—
“That the Cid Ruy Diez, the Campeador,
Was there in his arms array'd;
And that with him, from the tomb,
Had the Count Gonzalez come
With a host, uprisen to aid!
And a voice at the gate, which said—
“That the Cid Ruy Diez, the Campeador,
Was there in his arms array'd;
And that with him, from the tomb,
Had the Count Gonzalez come
With a host, uprisen to aid!
“And they came for the buried king that lay
At rest in that ancient fane;
For he must be arm'd on the battle-day,
With them, to deliver Spain!”
—Then the march went sounding on,
And the Moors, by noontide sun,
Were dust on Tolosa's plain.
At rest in that ancient fane;
For he must be arm'd on the battle-day,
With them, to deliver Spain!”
—Then the march went sounding on,
And the Moors, by noontide sun,
Were dust on Tolosa's plain.
| The works of Mrs. Hemans | |