THE CID'S BATTLE SONG.
The Moor is on his way,
With the tambour peal and the tecbir-shout,
And the horn o'er the blue seas ringing out,
He hath marshall'd his dark array!
Shout through the vine-clad land!
That her sons on all their hills may hear,
And sharpen the point of the red wolf-spear,
And the sword for the brave man's hand!
[The Citizens join in the song, while
they continue arming themselves.
Banners are in the field!
The chief must rise from his joyous board,
And turn from the feast ere the wine be pour'd,
And take up his father's shield!
The Moor is on his way!
Let the peasant leave his olive-ground,
And the goats roam wild through the pine-woods round!
There is nobler work to-day!
Send forth the trumpet's call!
Till the bridegroom cast the goblet down,
And the marriage-robe, and the flowery crown;
And arm in the banquet-hall!
And stay the funeral train:
Bid the chanted mass be hush'd awhile,
And the bier laid down in the holy aisle,
And the mourners girt for Spain.
[They take up the banner and follow Ximena
out. Their voices are heard gradually
dying away at a distance.
Ere night must swords be red!
It is not an hour for knells and tears,
But for helmets braced, and serried spears!
To-morrow for the dead!
The Cid is in array!
His steed is barded,
his plume waves high,
His banner is up in the sunny sky,
Now, joy for the Cross to-day!
