There were knights five hundred went arm'd before,
And Bermudez the Cid's green standard bore;6
To its last fair field, with the break of morn,
Was the glorious banner in silence borne,
On the glad wind streaming free.
And the Campeador came stately then,
Like a leader circled with steel-clad men!
The helmet was down o'er the face of the dead,
But his steed went proud, by a warrior led,
For he knew that the Cid was there.
He was there, the Cid, with his own good sword,
And Ximena following her noble lord;
Her eye was solemn, her step was slow,
But there rose not a sound of war or woe,
Not a whisper on the air.
The halls in Valencia were still and lone,
The churches were empty, the masses done;
There was not a voice through the wide streets far,
Nor a foot-fall heard in the Alcazar,
—So the burial-train moved out.
