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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.