If not to shame your doubt, and your despair,

And your soul's torpor ?-Yet, arise and arm!
It may not be too late.

A CITIZEN.

Why, what are we,

To cope with hosts?-Thus faint, and worn, and few, O'ernumber'd and forsaken, is 't for us

To stand against the mighty?

XIMENA.

And for whom

Hath He, who shakes the mighty with a breath
From their high places, made the fearfulness,
Aud ever-wakeful presence of his power,

To the pale startled earth most manifest,

But for the weak ?-Was 't for the helm'd and crown'd That suns were stay'd at noonday?-Stormy seas

As a rill parted?-Mail'd archangels sent

To wither up the strength of kings with death?
-I tell you, if these marvels have been done,
"Twas for the wearied and th' oppress'd of men,
They needed such!-And generous faith hath power
By her prevailing spirit, e'en yet to work
Deliverances, whose tale shall live with those

Of the great elder time !-Be of good heart!

Who is forsaken ?-He that gives the thought
A place within his breast!-'Tis not for you.
-Know ye this banner?

CITIZENS (murmuring to each other).
Is she not inspired?

Doth not Heaven call us by her fervent voice?

XIMENA.

Know ye this banner?

CITIZENS.

"Tis the Cid's.

XIMENA.

The Cid's!

Who breathes that name but in th' exulting tone
Which the heart rings to?-Why, the very wind
As it swells out the noble standard's fold

Hath a triumphant sound!-The Cid's !—it moved
Even as a sign of victory through the land,
From the free skies ne'er stooping to a foe!

OLD CITIZEN.

Can ye still pause, my brethren ?--Oh! that youth
Through this worn frame were kindling once again!

XIMENA.

Ye linger still?-Upon this very air,

He that was born in happy hour for Spain,

Pour'd forth his conquering spirit!-'Twas the breeze
From your own mountains which came down to wave
This banner of his battles, as it droop'd

Above the champion's death-bed. Nor even then
Its tale of glory closed.-They made no moan
O'er the dead hero, and no dirge was sung,7
But the deep tambour and shrill horn of war
Told when the mighty pass'd !—They wrapt him not
With the pale shroud, but braced the warrior's form
In war-array, and on his barbed steed,

As for a triumph, rear'd him; marching forth
In the hush'd midnight from Valencia's walls,
Beleaguer'd then, as now. All silently

The stately funeral moved :—but who was he
That follow'd, charging on the tall white horse,
And with the solemn standard, broad and pale,
Waving in sheets of snow-light?-And the cross,
The bloody cross, far-blazing from his shield,
And the fierce meteor-sword?-They fled, they fled!
The kings of Afric with their countless hosts,
Were dust in his red path!-The scimetar
Was shiver'd as a reed !-for in that hour
The warrior-saint that keeps the watch for Spain,
Was arm'd betimes!-And o'er that fiery field

The Cid's high banner stream'd all joyously,

For still its lord was there!

CITIZENS (rising tumultuously).

Even unto death

Again it shall be follow'd!

ΧΙΜΕΝΑ.

Will he see

The noble stem hewn down, the beacon-light

Which his house for ages o'er the land

Hath shone through cloud and storm, thus quench'd at

once?

Will he not aid his children in the hour

Of this their uttermost peril ?-Awful power

Is with the holy dead, and there are times
When the tomb hath no chain they cannot burst!
-Is it a thing forgotten, how he woke
From its deep rest of old, remembering Spain
In her great danger?—At the night's mid-watch
How Leon started, when the sound was heard
That shook her dark and hollow-echoing streets,
As with the heavy tramp of steel-clad men,

By thousands marching through!-For he had risen!
The Campeador was on his march again,

And in his arms, and follow'd by his hosts
Of shadowy spearmen!-He had left the world
From which we are dimly parted, and gone forth,
And call'd his buried warriors from their sleep,
Gathering them round him to deliver Spain;
For Afric was upon her !-Morning broke―
Day rush'd through the cloud of battle ;—but at eve
Our God had triumph'd, and the rescued land
Sent up a shout of victory from the field,

That rock'd her ancient mountains.

THE CITIZENS.

Arm! to arms!

On to our chief!-We have strength within us yet
To die with our blood roused!-Now, be the word,
For the Cid's house!

[They begin to arm themselves.

ΧΙΜΕΝΑ.

Ye know his battle-song?

The old rude strain wherewith his bands went forth

To strike down Paynim swords!

(She sings.)