There was fear in the path of his dim white horse,
There was death in the giant-warrior's course!
Where his banner stream'd with its ghostly light,
Where his sword blazed out, there was hurrying flight,
For it seem'd not the sword of man!
The field and the river grew darkly red,
As the kings and leaders of Afric fled:
There was work for the men of the Cid that day!
—They were weary at eve, when they ceased to slay,
As reapers whose task is done.
The kings and the leaders of Afric fled!
The sails of their galleys in haste were spread:
But the sea had its share of the Paynim-slain,
And the bow of the Desert was broke in Spain,
—So the Cid to his grave pass'd on!
