Page:The Siege of Valencia.pdf/243

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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!

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?

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 slumbers there was wont to bind O'er his brave heart in fight 9 ?