And thus he speaks: “I pray, my lord, that none but I may go: For I made promise to the queen, your consort, long ago, That ere the war should have an end, I, for her royal charms, And for my duty to her grace, would show some feat of arms!” Much joy’d the king these words to hear--he bids Alonzo speed; And long before the revel’s o’er the knight is on his steed; Alonzo’s on his milk-white steed, with horsemen in his train, A thousand horse, a chosen band, ere dawn the hills to gain. They ride along the darkling ways, they gallop thro’ the night; They reach Nevada ere the cock hath harbinger’d the light; But ere they’ve climb’d that steep ravine, the east is glowing red, And the Moors their lances bright have seen, and Christian banners spread. Beyond the sands, between the rocks, where the old cork-trees grow, The path is rough, and mounted men must singly march and slow; There, o’er the path, the heathen range their ambuscado’s line, High up they wait for Aguilar, as the day begins to shine. There, nought avails the eagle-eye, the guardian of Castile, The eye of wisdom, nor the heart that fear might never feel, The arm of strength, that wielded well the strong mace in the fray, Nor the broad plate, from whence the edge of faulchion glanced away. Not knightly valour there avails, nor skill of horse and spear; For rock on rock comes rumbling down from cliff and cavern drear; Down--down like driving hail they come, and horse and horsemen die; Like cattle whose despair is dumb when the fierce lightnings fly. Alonzo, with a handful more, escapes into the field, There, like a lion, stands at bay, in vain besought to yield; A thousand foes around are seen, but none draw near to fight; Afar, with bolt and javelin, they pierce the steadfast knight. A hundred and a hundred darts are hissing round his head; Had Aguilar a thousand hearts, their blood had all been shed; Faint, and more faint, he staggers upon the slippery sod, At last his back is to the earth, he gives his soul to God! With that the Moors plucked up their hearts to gaze upon his face, And caitiffs mangled where he lay the scourge of Afric’s race; To woody Oxijera then the gallant corpse they drew, And there, upon the village green, they laid him out to view. Upon the village-green he lay, as the moon was shining clear, And all the village damsels to look on him drew near; They stood around him all a-gaze, beside a big oak-tree, And much his beauty they did praise, tho’ mangled sore was he. Now, so it fell, a Christian dame, that knew Alonzo well, Not far from Oxijera did as a captive dwell, And hearing all the marvels, across the woods came she, To look upon this Christian corpse, and wash it decently.