In tented field and bloody fray,

An Alexander's vigorous sway

And stern command;

The faith of Constantine; ay, more,

The fervent love Camillus bore

His native land.

He left no well-filled treasury,

He heaped no pile of riches high,

Nor massive plate;

He fought the Moors,—and, in their fall,

City and tower and castled wall

Were his estate.

Upon the hard-fought battle-ground,
Brave steeds and gallant riders found
A common grave;

And there the warrior's hand did gain

The rents, and the long vassal train,
That conquest gave.

And if, of old, his halls displayed

The honored and exalted grade

His worth had gained,

So, in the dark, disastrous hour,

Brothers and bondsmen of his power
His hand sustained.

After high deeds, not left untold,

In the stern warfare, which of old "I was his to share,

Such noble leagues he made, that more

And fairer regions than before

His guerdon were.

These are the records, half effaced,

Which, with the hand of youth, he traced

On history's page;

But with fresh victories he drew

Each fading character anew

In his old age.

By his unrivalled skill, by great

And veteran service to the state,

By worth adored,

He stood, in his high dignity,

The proudest knight of chivalry,—
Knight of the Sword.

He found his cities and domains

Beneath a tyrant's galling chains

And cruel power;

But, by fierce battle and blockade,
Soon his own banner was displayed

By the tried valor of his hand,

His monarch and his native land

Were nobly served ;— ́

Let Portugal repeat the story,

And proud Castile, who shared the glory

His arms deserved.

And when so oft, for weal or woe,

His life upon the fatal throw

Had been cast down;

When he had served, with patriot zeal,

Beneath the banner of Castile,

His sovereign's crown;

And done such deeds of valor strong,

That neither history nor song

Can count them all;

Then, on Ocaña's castled rock,

Death at his portal came to knock,

With sudden call,

Saying, "Good Cavalier, prepare

To leave this world of toil and care

With joyful mien;

Let thy strong heart of steel this day

Put on its armour for the fray,

The closing scene.

"Since thou hast been, in battle-strife,

So prodigal of health and life,

For earthly fame,

Let virtue nerve thy heart again;

Loud on the last stern battle-plain

They call thy name.

"Think not the struggle that draws near

Too terrible for man,-nor fear

To meet the foe;

Nor let thy noble spirit grieve,

Its life of glorious fame to leave

On earth below.

"A life of honor and of worth

Has no eternity on earth,—

"T is but a name;

And yet its glory far exceeds

That base and sensual life, which leads

To want and shame.

"The eternal life, beyond the sky,

Wealth cannot purchase, nor the high

And proud estate;

The soul in dalliance laid,-the spirit Corrupt with sin,-shall not inherit

A joy so great.

"But the good monk, in cloistered cell,
Shall gain it by his book and bell,
His prayers and tears;

And the brave knight, whose arm endures

Fierce battle, and against the Moors

His standard rears.

"And thou, brave knight, whose hand has poured

The life-blood of the Pagan horde

O'er all the land,

In heaven shalt thou receive, at length,

The guerdon of thine earthly strength

And dauntless hand.

Cheered onward by this promise sure,

Strong in the faith entire and pure

Thou dost profess,

Depart, thy hope is certainty;

The third-the better life on high

Shalt thou possess."

"O Death, no more, no more delay!

My spirit longs to flee away,

And be at rest ;

The will of Heaven my will shall be,

I bow to the divine decree,

To God's behest.