graves. God forgive us and you! Ye have passed on before us, and we are following you."

The One Guide.

A man asked the Prophet what was the mark whereby a man might know the reality of his faith. He said, “If thou derive pleasure from the good which thou hast done, and be grieved for the evil which thou hast committed, thou art a true believer." The man said, The man said, "What doth a fault really consist in?" He said, "When anything pricketh thy conscience forsake it."

FROM "THE POEM OF MY CID."

TRANSLATED BY JOHN ORMSBY.

DAY and night the Moorish scouts patrolled around, and mighty was their host. And my Cid's men were cut off from the water. And they wished to go forth to battle, but he strictly forbade them; so for three weeks complete they were besieged, and at the beginning of the fourth, my Cid turned to take counsel with his men.

"From water they have cut us off, our bread is running low;
If we would steal away by night, they will not let us go;
Against us there are fearful odds, if we make choice to fight;
What would ye do now, gentlemen, in this our present plight?"
Minaya was the first to speak; said the stout cavalier:
"Forth from Castile the Gentle thrust, we are but exiles here;
Unless we grapple with the Moor, bread he will never yield;
A good six hundred men or more we have to take the field:
In God's name let us falter not, nor countenance delay,
But sally forth and strike a blow upon to-morrow's day."

"Like thee the counsel," said my Cid; "thou speakest to my mind;
And ready to support thy word thy hand we ever find."
Then all the Moors that bide within the walls he bids to go
Forth from the gates, lest they, perchance, his purpose come to
know.

In making their defenses good they spend the day and night,
And at the rising of the sun they arm them for the fight.
Then said my Cid: "Let all go forth, all that are in our band;
Save only two of those on foot, beside the gate to stand.

Here they will bury us, if death we meet on yonder plain;
But if we win our battle there, rich booty shall we gain.
And thou, Pero Bermuez, this my standard thou shalt hold;
It is a trust that fits thee well, for thou art stout and bold;
But see that thou advance it not unless I give command."
Bermuez took the standard, and he kissed the Champion's hand.
Then, bursting through the Castle gates, upon the plain they show;
Back on their lines in panic fall the watchmen of the foe.
And hurrying to and fro, the Moors are arming all around,
While Moorish drums go rolling like to split the very ground;
And in hot haste they mass their troops behind their standards
twain,

Two mighty bands of men at arms - to count them it were vain. And now their line comes sweeping on, advancing to the fray, Sure of my Cid and all his band to make an easy prey.

"Now steady, comrades!" said my Cid. "Our ground we have to

stand;

Let no man stir beyond the ranks until I give command."
Bermuez fretted at the word, delay he could not brook;

He spurred his charger to the front, aloft the banner shook:

"O loyal Cid Campeador, God give thee aid! I go

To plant thy ensign in among the thickest of the foe;

And ye who serve it, be it yours our standard to restore."

"Not so as thou dost love me, stay!" called the Campeador.
Came Pero's answer: "Their attack I cannot, will not stay!"
He gave his horse the spur, and dashed against the Moors' array.
To win the standard eager all the Moors await the shock:
Amid a rain of blows he stands unshaken as a rock.
Then cried my Cid-"In charity, on to the rescue -ho!"
With bucklers braced before their breasts, with lances pointing low,
With stooping crests, and heads bent down above the saddlebow,
All firm of hand and high of heart they roll upon the foe.
And he that in a good hour was born, his clarion voice rings out,
And clear above the clang of arms is heard his battle shout:
"Among them, gentlemen! Strike home, for the love of charity!
The Champion of Bivar is here- Ruy Diaz-I am he!"
Then bearing where Bermuez still maintains unequal fight,
Three hundred lances down they come, their pennons flickering
white;

Down go three hundred Moors to earth, a man to every blow;
And when they wheel, three hundred more, as charging back they go.

It was a sight to see the lances rise and fall that day;

The shivered shields and riven mail, to see how thick they lay;
The pennons that went in snow-white come out a gory red;
The horses running riderless, the riders lying dead;

While Moors call on Mohammed, and "St. James!" the Christians

cry,

And sixty score of Moors and more in narrow compass lie.

Above his gilded saddlebow there played the Champion's sword;

And Minaya Alvar Fanez, Zurita's gallant lord;

And Martin Antolinez, the worthy Burgalese;

And Muño Gustioz, his squire all to the front were these.
And there was Martin Muñoz, he who ruled in Mont Mayor;
And there was Alvar Alvarez, and Alvar Salvador;

And the good Galin Garcia, stout lance of Aragon;
And Felix Muñoz, nephew of my Cid the Champion:

Well did they quit themselves that day, all these and many more,
In rescue of the standard for my Cid Campeador.

But Minaya Alvar Fanez - -the Moors have slain his steed;
And crowding on the Christians come to aid him in his need;
His lance lies shivered, sword in hand he showers blows around,
As, giving back, he, inch by inch, on foot contests the ground.
He saw it, the Campeador, Ruy Diaz of Castile :

Athwart him on a goodly steed there came an Alguacil;

With one strong stroke of his right hand he cleft the Moor in twain;
And plucked him from the saddle, and flung him on the plain.
"Now mount, Minaya, mount," quoth he, " for thou art my right arm;
I have much need of thee to-day, thou must not come to harm;
The Moors maintain a front as yet; unbroken still they stand."
Mounted again Minaya goes against them sword in hand.
With strength renewed he wields his blade as he his way doth wend,
Cleaving a path like one who means to make a speedy end.
And he that in a good hour was born at Fariz deals three blows;
Two glance aside, but full and fair the third one home it goes;
Forth spurting flies the blood; the streams down the king's hauberk

run;

He turns the rein to quit the plain that stroke the field hath won. And Martin Antolinez, he at Galve dealt a stroke;

Through the carbuncles of the casque the sword descending broke, And cleaving down right to the crown, in twain the helmet shore; Well wot ye, sirs, that Galve had no lust to stay for more.

And now are both king Galve and Fariz in retreat;

Great is the day for Christendom, great is the Moors' defeat!

*

The Count of Barcelona, when the tidings met his ear
How that my Cid Ruy Diaz made forays far and near,

And laid the country waste, with wrath his inmost soul was stirred,
And in his anger hastily he spake a braggart word—

"He cometh to insult me, doth my Cid, he of Bivar.

Up to my very court, methinks, he means to carry war,

My nephew he hath wronged; the wrong remaineth unrepaired:
And now the lands that I protect to harry hath he dared.
No challenge have I sent to him, nor sought him for my foe;
But now I call him to account, since he will have it so."

Great mustering there is of Moors and Christians through the land,
A mighty host of men at arms he hath at his command.

Two days, three nights, they march to seek the Good One of Bivar, To snare him where he harbors in the Pine Wood of Tebar;

And such the speed of their advance, that, cumbered with his spoils, And unaware, my Cid well-nigh was taken in the toils.

The tidings reached my Cid as down the sierra side he went,

Then straightway to Count Raymond he a friendly message sent:

66

Say to the Count that he, meseems, to me no grudge doth owe:

Of him I take no spoil, with him in peace I fain would go."
"Nay," said the Count, "for all his deeds he hath to make amends:
This outlaw must be made to know whose honor he offends."
With utmost speed the messenger Count Raymond's answer brought;
Then of a surety knew my Cid a battle must be fought.
"Now, cavaliers," quoth he, "make safe the booty we have won.
Look to your weapons, gentlemen; with speed your armor don.
On battle bent Count Raymond comes; a mighty host hath he
Of Moors and Christians; fight we must if hence we would go
Here let us fight the battle out, since fight we must perforce.
On with your harness, cavaliers, quick! saddle, and to horse!
Yonder they come, the linen breeks, all down the mountain side,
For saddles they have Moorish pads, with slackened girths they
ride:

free.

Our saddles are Galician make, our leggings tough and stout:
A hundred of us gentlemen should scatter such a rout.
Before they gain the level plain, home with the lance charge we,
And then, for every blow we strike, we empty saddles three.
Count Raymond Berenger shall know with whom he has to do,
And dearly in Tebar to-day his raid on me shall rue."

In serried squadron while he speaks they form around my Cid.
Each grasps his lance, and firm and square each sits upon his
steed.

Over against them down the hill they watch the Franks descend,
On to the level ground below, where plain and mountain blend.
Then gives my Cid the word to charge-with a good will they
go:

Fast ply the lances; some they pierce, and some they overthrow.
And he that in a good hour was born soon hath he won the field;
And the Count Raymond Berenger he hath compelled to yield;
And reaping honor for his beard a noble prize hath made;
A thousand marks of silver worth, the great Colada blade.

Unto his quarters under guard the captive Count he sent, While his men haste to gather in their spoils in high content. Then for my Cid Don Roderic a banquet they prepare;

But little doth Count Raymond now for feast or banquet care.
They bring him meat and drink, but he repels them with disdain.
"No morsel will I touch," said he, "for all the wealth of Spain.
Let soul and body perish now; life why should I prolong,
Conquered and captive at the hands of such an ill-breeched throng?
"Nay," said my Cid; "take bread and wine; eat, and thou goest
free;

If not, thy realms in Christendom thou never more shalt see."
"Go thou, Don Roderic," said the Count, "eat if thou wilt, but I
Have no more lust for meat or drink: I only crave to die."
Three days, while they the booty share, for all that they entreat,
The Count his purpose holds unchanged, refusing still to eat.
Then said my Cid, "I pray thee, Count, take food and trust to me;
Thyself and two knights of thy train I promise to set free."
Glad was Count Raymond in his heart when he the promise heard
"A marvel that will be, my Cid, if thou dost keep thy word."
"Then, Count, take food, and when I see thy hunger satisfied,
My word is pledged to let thee go, thyself and two beside.
But understand, one farthing's worth I render not again
Of what has been in battle lost and won on yonder plain.
I give not back the lawful spoils I fairly win in fight;
But for mine own and vassals' wants I hold them as my right.
My followers are needy men; I cannot if I would;
For spoil from thee and others won is all our livelihood.
And such, while God's good will it is, must be our daily life,
As outcasts forced to wander, with an angry king at strife."
With lighter heart Count Raymond called for water for his hands,
And then with his two gentlemen, sent by the Cid's commands,
He blithely sat him down to meat: God! with what gust ate he!
And glad was the Campeador such heartiness to see.
Quoth he, "Until thou eat thy fill we part not, Count, to-day."
"Nor loath am I," Count Raymond said, "such bidding to obey."
So he and his two cavaliers a hearty meal they made:

It pleased my Cid to watch his hands, how lustily they played.
"Now, if thou wilt," Count Raymond said, "that we are satisfied,
Bid them to lead the horses forth, that we may mount and ride.
Never since I have been a Count have I yet broken fast
With such a relish; long shall I remember this repast."
Three palfreys with caparisons of costly sort they bring,
And on the saddles robes of fur and mantles rich they fling.
Thus, with a knight on either hand, away Count Raymond rides;
While to the outposts of the camp his guests the Champion guides,