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-And the bright locks that waved so joyously
To the free winds, lay trampled and defiled
Ev'n on that place of death !Oh, Merciful!
Hush the dark thought within me!
HERNANDEZ (with sudden exultation).

Who is he,
On the white steed, and with the castled helm,
And the gold-broider'd mantle, which doth float
E’en like a sunny cloud above the fight;
And the pale cross, which from his breast-plate gleams
With star-like radiance ?

GONZALEZ (eagerly).

Didst thou say the cross ?


On his mail'd bosom shines a broad white cross,
And his long plumage through the darkening air
Streams like a snow-wreath.


That should be


The king! -Was it not told us how he sent, of late, To the Cid's tomb, e'en for the silver cross, Which he who plumbers there was wont to bind O’er his brave heart in fight. 9

GONZALEZ (springing up joyfully).

My king ! my king ! Now all good saints for Spain !

-My noble king ! And thou art there !—That I might look once more Upon thy face !-But yet I thank thee, Heaven ! That thou hast sent him, from my dying hands Thus to receive his city!

[He sinks back into Elmina's arms.


He hath clear'd A pathway ʼmidst the combat, and the light Follows his charge through yon close living mass, E’en as the gleam on some proud vessel's wake Along the stormy waters Tis redeem'dThe castled banner It is flung once more In joy and glory, to the sweeping winds ! -There seems a wavering through the paynim hosts Castile doth press them sore-Now, now rejoice!


What hast thou seen?


Abdullah falls ! He falls ! The man of blood the spoiler!-he hath sunk In our king's path !-Well hath that royal sword

Avenged thy cause, Gonzalez !

They give way,
The Crescent's van is broken ! On the hills
And the dark pine-woods may the infidel
Call vainly, in his agony of fear,
To cover him from vengeance !-Lo! they fly!
They of the forest and the wilderness
Are scatter'd, e'en as leaves upon the wind !
Woe to the sons of Afric!-Let the plains,
And the vine-mountains, and Hesperian seas,
Take their dead unto them !-that blood shall wash
Our soil from stains of bondage.
GONZALEZ (attempting to raise himself).

Set me free!
Come with me forth, for I must greet my king,
After his battle-field !


Oh, blest in death!
Chosen of Heaven, farewell !-Look on the Cross,
And part from earth in peace!


Now charge once more ! God is with Spain, and Santiago's sword Is reddening all the air !Shout forth Castile!'

The day is ours !-I go; but fear ye not !
For Afric's lance is broken, and my sons
Have won their first good field !

[He dies.


Look on me yet!
Speak one farewell, my husband !-must thy voice

soul no more

Now is my life uprooted,—and 'tis well.

(A Sound of triumphant Music is heard, and many

Castilian Knights and Soldiers enter.)

eye is fix'd


Hush your triumphal sounds, although ye come
E'en as deliverers !- But the noble dead,
And those that mourn them, claim from human hearts
Deep silent reverence.

ELMINA (rising proudly).

No, swell forth, Castile !
Thy trumpet-music, till the seas and heavens,
And the deep hills, give every stormy note
Echoes to ring through Spain !-How, know ye not
That all array'd for triumph, crown’d and robed
With the strong spirit which hath saved the land,
Ev'n now a conqueror to his rest is gone e?
-Fear not to break that sleep, but let the wind

Swell on with victory's shout !--He will not hear-
Hath earth a sound more sad ?


Lift ye the dead, And bear him with the banner of his race Waving above him proudly, as it waved O'er the Cid's battles, to the tomb, wherein His warrior-sires are gather’d. [They raise the body.


Aye, 'tis thus
Thou shouldst be honour'd !-And I follow thee
With an unfaltering and a lofty step,
To that last home of glory. She that wears
In her deep heart the memory of thy love
Shall thence draw strength for all things, till the God,
Whose hand around her hath unpeopled earth,
Looking upon her still and chasten'd soul,
Call it once more to thine !

(To the Castilians.)

Awake, I say, Tambour and trumpet, wake!-And let the land Through all her mountains hear your funeral peal ! -So should a hero pass to his repose. [Exeunt omnes.

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