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The Poems of Felicia Hemans

Mrs. Hemans

That rock’d her ancient mountains. _Cits._ Arm! to arms! On to our chief! We have strength within us yet To die with our blood roused! Now, be the word For the Cid’s house! [_They begin to arm themselves._ _Xim._ Ye know his battle-song? The old rude strain wherewith his bands went forth To strike down Paynim swords! [_She sings._ THE CID’S BATTLE-SONG. The Moor is on his way! With the tambour-peal and the tecbir-shout, And the horn o’er the blue seas ringing out, He hath marshall’d his dark array! Shout through the vine-clad land! That her sons on all their hills may hear; And sharpen the point of the red wolf-spear, And the sword for the brave man’s hand! [_The_ Citizens _join in the song, while they continue arming themselves_. Banners are in the field! The chief must rise from his joyous board, And turn from the feast ere the wine be pour’d, And take up his father’s shield! The Moor is on his way! Let the peasant leave his olive-ground, And the goats roam wild through the pine-woods round: There is nobler work to-day! Send forth the trumpet’s call! Till the bridegroom cast the goblet down, And the marriage-robe, and the flowery crown; And arm in the banquet hall! And stay the funeral-train: Bid the chanted mass be hush’d awhile, And the bier laid down in the holy aisle, And the mourners girt for Spain. [_They take up the banner and follow_ Ximena _out, their voices are heard gradually dying away at a distance_. Ere night must swords be red! It is not an hour for knells and tears, But for helmets braced and serried spears! To-morrow for the dead! The Cid is in array! His steed is barded, his plume waves high, His banner is up in the sunny sky-- Now, joy for the Cross to-day! [279] It was a Spanish tradition that the great bell of the cathedral of Saragossa always tolled spontaneously before a king of Spain died. [280] “El que en buen hora nasco;” he that was born in happy hour. An appellation given to the Cid in the ancient chronicles. [281] For this, and the subsequent allusions to Spanish legends, see _The Romances, and Chronicle of the Cid_. [282] _Barded_, caparisoned for battle. Scene VII.--_The walls of the city. The plains beneath, with the Moorish Camp and Army._ Gonzalez, Garcias, Hernandez. (_A wild sound of Moorish music heard from below._) _Her._ What notes are these in their deep mournfulness So strangely wild? _Gar._ ’Tis the shrill melody Of the Moor’s ancient death-song. Well I know The rude barbaric sound; but, till this hour, It seem’d not fearful. Now, a shuddering chill Comes o’er me with its tones.--Lo! from yon tent They lead the noble boys! _Her._ The young, and pure, And beautiful victims!--’Tis on things like these We cast our hearts in wild idolatry, Sowing the wands with hope! Yet this is well: Thus brightly crown’d with life’s most gorgeous flowers, And all unblemish’d, earth should offer up Her treasures unto heaven! _Gar._ (_to_ Gonzalez.) My chief, the Moor Hath led your children forth. _Gon._ (_starting._)Are my sons there? I knew they could not perish; for yon heaven Would ne’er behold it!--Where is he that said I was no more a father? They look changed-- Pallid and worn, as from a prison-house! Or is’t mine eyes see dimly? But their steps Seem heavy, as with pain. I hear the clank-- Oh God! their limbs are fetter’d! _Abd._ (_coming forward beneath the walls._) Christian! look Once more upon thy children. There is yet One moment for the trembling of the sword; Their doom is still with thee. _Gon._ Why should this man So mock us with the semblance of our kind? --Moor! Moor! thou dost too daringly provoke, In thy bold cruelty, th’ all-judging One, Who visits for such things! Hast thou no sense Of thy frail nature? ’Twill be taught thee yet; And darkly shall the anguish of my soul, Darkly and heavily, pour itself on thine, When thou shalt cry for mercy from the dust, And be denied! _Abd._ Nay, is it not thyself That hast no mercy and no love within thee? These are thy sons, the nurslings of thy house; Speak! must they live or die? _Gon._ (_in violent emotion._) Is it heaven’s will To try the dust it kindles for a day, With infinite agony! How have I drawn This chastening on my head! They bloom’d around me, And my heart grew too fearless in its joy, Glorying in their bright promise!--If we fall, Is there no pardon for our feebleness? Hernandez, _without speaking, holds up a cross before him_. _Abd._ Speak! _Gon._ (_snatching the cross, and lifting it up._) Let the earth be shaken through its depths, But _this_ must triumph! _Abd._ (_coldly._) Be it as thou wilt. --Unsheath the scimitar! [_To his guards._ _Gar._ (_to_ Gonzalez.) Away, my chief! This is your place no longer. There are things No human heart, though battle-proof as yours, Unmadden’d may sustain. _Gon._ Be still! I have now No place on earth but this! _Alph._ (_from beneath._) Men! give me way, That I may speak forth once before I die! _Gar._ The princely boy!--how gallantly his brow Wears its high nature in the face of death! _Alph._ Father! _Gon._ My son! my son!--Mine eldest-born! _Alph._ Stay but upon the ramparts! Fear thou not --There is good courage in me. O my father! I will not shame thee!--only let me fall Knowing thine eye looks proudly on thy child, So shall my heart have strength. _Gon._ Would, would to God, That I might die for thee, my noble boy! Alphonso, my fair son! _Alph._ Could I have lived, I might have been a warrior! Now, farewell! But look upon me still!--I will not blench When the keen sabre flashes. Mark me well! Mine eyelids shall not quiver as it falls, So thou wilt look upon me! _Gar._ (_to_ Gonzalez.) Nay, my lord! We must be gone! Thou _canst_ not bear it! _Gon._ Peace! Who hath told _thee_ how much man’s heart can bear? --Lend me thine arm--my brain whirls fearfully-- How thick the shades close round! My boy! my boy! Where art thou in this gloom? _Gar._ Let us go hence! This is a dreadful moment! _Gon._ Hush!--what saidst thou? Now let me look on him!--Dost _thou_ see aught Through the dull mist which wraps us? _Gar._ I behold-- Oh, for a thousand Spaniards! to rush down---- _Gon._ Thou seest--My heart stands still to hear thee speak! --There seems a fearful hush upon the air, As ’twere the dead of night! _Gar._ The hosts have closed Around the spot in stillness. Through the spears, Ranged thick and motionless, I see him not! --But now---- _Gon._ He bade me keep mine eye upon him, And all is darkness round me!--Now? _Gar._ A sword, A sword, springs upward, like a lightning burst, Through the dark serried mass! Its cold blue glare Is wavering to and fro--’tis vanish’d--hark! _Gon._ I heard it, yes!--I heard the dull dead sound That heavily broke the silence! Didst thou speak? --I lost thy words--come nearer! _Gar._ ’Twas--’tis past!-- The sword fell _then_! _Her._ (_with exultation._) Flow forth thou noble blood! Fount of Spain’s ransom and deliverance, flow Uncheck’d and brightly forth! Thou kingly stream! Blood of our heroes! blood of martyrdom! Which through so many warrior-hearts hast pour’d Thy fiery currents, and hast made our hills Free, by thine own free offering! Bathe the land,-- But there thou shalt not sink! Our very air Shall take thy colouring, and our loaded skies O’er th’ infidel hang dark and ominous, With battle-hues of thee! And thy deep voice, Rising above them to the judgment-seat, Shall call a burst of gather’d vengeance down, To sweep th’ oppressor from us! For thy wave Hath made his guilt run o’er! _Gon._ (_endeavouring to rouse himself._) ’Tis all a dream! There is not one--no hand on earth could harm That fair boy’s graceful head! Why look you thus? _Abd._ (_pointing to_ Carlos.) Christian! e’en yet thou hast a son! _Gon._ E’en yet! _Gar._ My father! take me from these fearful men! Wilt thou not save me, father? _Gon._ (_attempting to unsheath his sword._) Is the strength From mine arm shiver’d? Garcias, follow me! _Gar._ Whither, my chief? _Gon._ Why, we can die as well On yonder plain--ay, a spear’s thrust will do The little that our misery doth require, Sooner than e’en this anguish! Life is best Thrown from us in such moments. [_Voices heard at a distance._ _Her._ Hush! what strain Floats on the wind? _Gar._ ’Tis the Cid’s battle-song! What marvel hath been wrought? _Voices approaching heard in chorus._ The Moor is on his way! With the tambour-peal and the tecbir-shout, And the horn o’er the blue seas ringing out, He hath marshall’d his dark array! Ximena _enters, followed by the Citizens, with the Banner_. _Xim._ Is it too late?--My father, these are men Through life and death prepared to follow thee Beneath this banner! Is their zeal too late? --Oh! there’s a fearful history on thy brow! What hast thou seen? _Gar._ It is not _all_ too late. _Xim._ My brothers! _Her._ All is well. (_To_ Garcias.) Hush! wouldst thou chill That which hath sprung within them, as a flame From th’ altar-embers mounts in sudden brightness? I say, ’tis not too late, ye men of Spain! On to the rescue! _Xim._ Bless me, O my father! And I will hence, to aid thee with my prayers, Sending my spirit with thee through the storm Lit up by flashing swords! _Gon._ (_falling upon her neck._) Hath aught been spared? Am I not all bereft? Thou’rt left me still! Mine own, my loveliest one, thou’rt left me still! Farewell!--thy father’s blessing, and thy God’s, Be with thee, my Ximena! _Xim._ Fare thee well! If, ere thy steps turn homeward from the field, The voice is hush’d that still hath welcomed thee, Think of me in thy victory! _Her._ Peace! no more! This is no time to melt our nature down To a soft stream of tears! Be of strong heart! Give me the banner! Swell the song again! _Cits._ Ere night must swords be red! It is not an hour for knells and tears, But for helmets braced and serried spears! To-morrow for the dead! [_Exeunt omnes._ Scene VIII.--_Before the Altar of a Church._ Elmina _rises from the steps of the Altar_. _Elm._ The clouds are fearful that o’erhang thy ways, O thou mysterious heaven! It cannot be That I have drawn the vials of thy wrath To burst upon me, through the lifting up Of a proud heart elate in happiness! No! in my day’s full noon, for me life’s flowers But wreath’d a cup of trembling; and the love, The boundless love, my spirit was form’d to bear,