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Send forth the trumpet's call! Till the bridegroom cast the goblet down, And the marriage-robe and the flowery crown, And arm in the banquet-hall!

And stay the funeral-train! Bid the chanted mass be hush'd awhile, And the bier laid down in the holy aile, And the mourners girt for Spain!

(They take up the banner, and follow out.

Ere night, must swords be red! It is not an hour for knells and tears, But for helmets braced, and serried spears! To-morrow for the dead!

The Cid is in array! His steed is barbed, his plume waves high, His banner is up in the sunny sky, Now, joy for the Cross to-day!