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Had chilld their fiery blood ;-—it is no time
My noble lord !
may For the tired peasant, when the vesper-bell Doth send him to his cabin, and beneath His vine and olive, he may sit at eve, Watching his children's sport : but unto him Who keeps the watch-place on the mountain-height,
When Heaven lets loose the storms that chasten realms -Who speaks of rest ?
My father, shall I fill The wine-cup for thy lips, or bring the lute Whose sounds thou lovest ?
If there be strains of power To rouse a spirit, which in triumphant scorn May cast off nature's feebleness, and hold Its proud career unshackled, dashing down Tears and fond thoughts to earth; give voice to those ! I have need of such, Ximena! we must hear No melting music now.
I know all high
* “ Serranos,” mountaineers.
The praise of later champions. Wouldst thou hear The war-song of thine ancestor, the Cid ?
Aye, speak of him ; for in that name is power,
Oh, why is this?
How my heart sinks !
It must not fail thee yet, Daughter of heroes !-thine inheritance Is strength to meet all conflicts. Thou canst number In thy long line of glorious ancestry Men, the bright offering of whose blood hath made The ground it bathed e’en as an altar, whence High thoughts shall rise forever. Bore they not, 'Midst flame and sword, their witness of the Cross, With its victorious inspiration girt As with a conqueror's robe, till th' infidel
O'erawed, shrank back before them ?-Aye, the earth
Mean'st thou ?-know'st thou aught?-I cannot utter it-My sons! my sons ! Is it of them ?-Oh! wouldst thou speak of them?
A mother's heart divineth but too well !
Speak, I adjure thee !—I can bear it all. -
Where are my
In the Moorish camp Whose lines have girt the city.
But they live?
-Al is not lost, my mother!
Say, they live.
GONZALEZ. Elmina, still they live. ELMINA. But captives!—They Whom my fond heart had imaged to itself Bounding from cliff to cliff amidst the wilds Where the rock-eagle seem’d not more secure In its rejoicing freedom –And my boys Are captives with the Moor —Oh! how was this? GONZALEZ. Alas! our brave Alphonso, in the pride Of boyish daring, left our mountain-halls, With his young brother, eager to behold The face of noble war. Thence on their way Were the rash wanderers captured. ELMINA. 'Tis enough. —And when shall they be ransomed GONZALEZ. There is asked A ransom far too high. ELMINA. What' have we wealth Which might redeem a monarch, and our sons The while wear setters?—Take thou all for them,