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was an hour of grief and fear Within Valencia's walls, When the blue spring-heaven lay still and clear Above her marble halls.

There were pale cheeks and troubled eyes, And steps of hurrying feet, Where the Zambra's3 notes were wont to rise, Along the sunny street.

It was an hour of fear and grief, On bright Valencia's shore, For Death was busy with her chief, The noble Campeador.

The Moor-king's barks were on the deep, With sounds and signs of war, For the Cid was passing to his sleep, In the silent Alcazar.