“For neither Spain nor Araby could another charger bring
    So good as he, and certes, the best befits my king,
    But, that you may behold him, and know him to the core,
    I’ll make him go as he was wont when his nostrils smelt the Moor.”

    With that the Cid, clad as he was, in mantle furred and wide,
    On Bavieca vaulting, put the rowel in his side;
    And up and down, and round and round, so fierce was his career,
    Streamed like a pennon on the wind, Ruy Diaz’ minivere.

    And all that saw them praised them,—­they lauded man and horse,
    As matched well, and rivals for gallantry and force;
    Ne’er had they looked on horsemen might to this knight come near,
    Nor on other charger worthy of such a cavalier.

    Thus, to and fro a-rushing, the fierce and furious steed,
    He snapped in twain his nether rein:  “God pity now the Cid! 
    God pity Diaz!” cried the lords,—­but when they looked again,
    They saw Ruy Diaz ruling him with the fragment of his rein;
    They saw him proudly ruling with gesture firm and calm,
    Like a true lord commanding, and obeyed as by a lamb.

    And so he led him foaming and panting to the king,
    But, “No,” said Don Alphonso, “it were a shameful thing,
    That peerless Bavieca should ever be bestrid
    By any mortal but Bivar,—­mount, mount again, my Cid!”

LOCKHART’S Spanish Ballads.

* * * * *

THE KING OF DENMARK’S RIDE.

    Word was brought to the Danish king,
        (Hurry!)
    That the love of his heart lay suffering,
    And pined for the comfort his voice would bring;
      (Oh! ride as though you were flying!)
    Better he loves each golden curl
    On the brow of that Scandinavian girl
    Than his rich crown-jewels of ruby and pearl;
      And his Rose of the Isles is dying.

    Thirty nobles saddled with speed;
        (Hurry!)
    Each one mounted a gallant steed
    Which he kept for battle and days of need;
      (Oh! ride as though you were flying!)
    Spurs were struck in the foaming flank;
    Worn-out chargers staggered and sank;
    Bridles were slackened, and girths were burst: 
    But ride as they would, the king rode first;
      For his Rose of the Isles lay dying.

    His nobles are beaten, one by one;
        (Hurry!)
    They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward gone;
    His little fair page now follows alone,
      For strength and for courage trying,
    The king looked back at that faithful child: 
    Wan was the face that answering smiled. 
    They passed the drawbridge with clattering din: 
    Then he dropped; and only the king rode in
      Where his Rose of the Isles lay dying.