"Sound the charge!" The coursers started; with a yell and furious vault, High in air the Moorish champion cut a wondrous somersault; O'er the head of Don Fernando like a tennis-ball he sprung, Caught him tightly by the girdle, and behind the crupper hung. Then his dagger Don Fernando plucked from out its jewelled sheath, And he struck the Moor so fiercely, as he grappled him beneath, That the good Damascus weapon sank within the folds of fat, And as dead as Julius Caesar dropped the Gordian Acrobat. Meanwhile fast the sun was sinking--it had sunk beneath the sea, Ere Fernando Gomersalez smote the latter of the three; And Al-Widdicomb, the monarch, pointed, with a bitter smile, To the deeply-darkening canvas;--blacker grew it all the while. "Thou hast slain my warriors, Spaniard! but thou hast not kept thy time; Only two had sunk before thee ere I heard the curfew chime; Back thou goest to thy dungeon, and thou may'st be wondrous glad, That thy head is on thy shoulders for thy work to-day, my lad! "Therefore all thy boasted valour, Christian dog, of no avail is!" Dark as midnight grew the brow of Don Fernando Gomersalez:-- Stiffly sate he in his saddle, grimly looked around the ring, Laid his lance within the rest, and shook his gauntlet at the King. "Oh, thou foul and faithless traitor! wouldst thou play me false again? Welcome death and welcome torture, rather than the captive's chain! But I give thee warning, caitiff! Look thou sharply to thine eye-- Unavenged, at least in harness, Gomersalez shall not die!" Thus he spoke, and Bavieca like an arrow forward flew, Right and left the Moorish squadron wheeled to let the hero through; Brightly gleamed the lance of vengeance--fiercely sped the fatal thrust-- From his throne the Moorish monarch tumbled lifeless in the dust. Speed thee, speed thee, Bavieca! speed thee faster than the wind! Life and freedom are before thee, deadly foes give chase behind! Speed thee up the sloping spring-board; o'er the bridge that spans the seas; Yonder gauzy moon will light thee through the grove of canvas trees. Close before thee Pampeluna spreads her painted pasteboard gate! Speed thee onward, gallant courser, speed thee with thy knightly freight! Victory! The town receives them!--Gentle ladies, this the tale is, Which I learned in Astley's Circus, of Fernando Gomersalez. The Courtship of our Cid. What a pang of sweet emotion Thrilled the Master of the Ring, When he first beheld the lady Through the stable portal spring! Midway in his wild grimacing Stopped the piebald-visaged Clown; And the thunders of the audience Nearly brought the gallery down. Donna Inez Woolfordinez! Saw ye ever such a maid, With the feathers swaling o'er her, And her spangled rich brocade? In her fairy hand a horsewhip, On her foot a buskin small, So she stepped, the stately damsel, Through the scarlet grooms and all.