Weeping sat Diego Laynez still o'er his untasted meal; Still o'er his shame was brooding, the tears his thoughts reveal; Beset with a thousand fancies, and crazed with honest care, Sensitive to a footfall lest some foe were lurking there, When Rod'rick, bearing by the locks the Count's dissevered poll, Tracking the floor with recent gore, advanced along the hall. He touched his father's shoulder and roused him from his dream, And proudly flaunting his revenge he thus addresses him: "Behold the evil tares, sir, that ye may taste the wheat; Open thine eyes, my father, and lift thy head, 'tis meet, For this thine honor is secure, is raised to life once more, And all the stain is washed away in spite of pride and power: For here are hands that are not hands, this tongue no tongue is now, I have avenged thee, sir, behold, and here the truth avow." The old man thinks he dreams; but no, no dream is there; 'Twas only his long grieving that had filled his heart with care. At length he lifts his eyes, spent by chivalrous deeds, And turns them on his enemy clad in the ghastly weeds: "Roderick, son of my soul, mantle the spectre anon, Lest, like a new Medusa, it change my heart to stone, And leave me in such plight at last, that, ere I wish ye joy, My heart should rend within me of bliss without alloy. Oh, infamous Lozano! kind heaven hath wrought redress, And the great justice of my claim hath fired Rodrigo's breast! Sit down, my son, and dine, here at the head with me, For he who bringest such a gift, is head of my family." --Tr. by Knapp. THE YOUNG CID. Now rides Diego Laynez, to kiss the good King's hand, Three hundred men of gentry go with him from his land, Among them, young Rodrigo, the proud Knight of Bivar; The rest on mules are mounted, he on his horse of war. They ride in glittering gowns of soye--He harnessed like a lord; There is no gold about the boy, but the crosslet of his sword; The rest have gloves of sweet perfume,--He gauntlets strong of mail; They broidered cap and flaunting plume,--He crest untaught to quail. All talking with each other thus along their way they passed, But now they've come to Burgos, and met the King at last; When they came near his nobles, a whisper through them ran,-- "He rides amidst the gentry that slew the Count Lozan." With very haughty gesture Rodrigo reined his horse, Right scornfully he shouted, when he heard them so discourse, "If any of his kinsmen or vassals dare appear, The man to give them answer, on horse or foot, is here."-- "The devil ask the question," thus muttered all the band;-- With that they all alighted, to kiss the good King's hand,-- All but the proud Rodrigo, he in his saddle stayed,-- Then turned to him his father (you may hear the words he said). "Now, light, my son, I pray thee, and kiss the good King's hand, He is our lord, Rodrigo; we hold of him our land."-- But when Rodrigo heard him, he looked in sulky sort, I wot the words he answered they were both cold and short.