HIS DEATH-BED.
255
Now wave, ye banners of many a fight!
As the fresh wind o'er you sweeps;
The wind and the banners fall hush'd as night,
The Campeador—he sleeps!
Sound the battle-horn on the breeze of morn,
And swell out the trumpet's blast,
Till the notes prevail o'er the voice of wail,
For the noble Cid hath pass'd!
