With tearful eyes he turned to gaze upon the wreck behind: His rifled coffers, bursten gates, all open to the wind: No mantle left, nor robe of fur: stript bare his castle hall: Nor hawk nor falcon in the mew, the perches empty all. Then forth in sorrow went my Cid, and a deep sigh sighed he; Yet with a measured voice, and calm, my Cid spake loftily— ‘I thank thee, God our Father, thou that dwellest upon high, I suffer cruel wrong to-day, but of mine enemy.’ As they came riding from Bivar the crow was on the right, By Burgos gate, upon the left, the crow was there in sight. My Cid he shrugged his shoulders, and he lifted up his head: ‘Good tidings, Alvar Fáñez! we are banished men!’ he said. With sixty lances in his train my Cid rode up the town, The burghers and their dames from all the windows looking down; And there were tears in every eye, and on each lip one word: ‘A worthy vassal—would to God he served a worthy Lord!’ Fain would they shelter him, but none dared yield to his desire. Great was the fear through Burgos town of King Alfonso’s ire. Sealed with his royal seal hath come his letter to forbid All men to offer harbourage or succour to my Cid. And he that dared to disobey, well did he know the cost— His goods, his eyes, stood forfeited, his soul and body lost. A hard and grievous word was that to men of Christian race; And since they might not greet my Cid, they hid them from his face. He rode to his own mansion gates; shut firm and fast they were, Such the King’s rigour, save by force, he might not enter there.