_Don Fernando._ I pardon thy warmth in avenging the insult offered to thee, and the kingdom shielded [from danger] pleads [_lit._ speaks to me] in thy defence. Be assured that henceforth Chimene will speak in vain, and I shall listen to her no more except to comfort her; but continue. _Don Rodrigo._ Under me, then, this band advances, and bears in its aspect a manly confidence. At setting out we were five hundred, but, by a speedy reinforcement, we saw ourselves [augmented to] three thousand on arriving at the port; so surely, on beholding us advance with such a [determined] aspect, did the most dismayed recover their courage. Of that brave host [_lit._ of it], as soon as we had arrived, I conceal two-thirds in the holds of the ships which were found there; the rest, whose numbers were increasing every hour, burning with impatience, remain around me; they lie down on the ground, and, without making any noise, they pass a considerable portion of so auspicious [_lit._ beautiful] a night. By my command the guard does the same, and keeping themselves, concealed aid my stratagem, and I boldly pretended to have received from you the order which they see me follow out, and which I issue to all. This dim light which falls from the stars, at last with the tide causes us to see thirty vessels [_lit._ sails]; the wave [i.e. the water] swells beneath them, and, with a mutual effort, the Moors and the sea advance even to the port. We let them pass; all seems to them lulled in repose [_lit._ tranquil]. No soldiers at the port, none on the walls of the city. Our deep silence deceiving their minds, they no longer dare to doubt that they had taken us by surprise. They land without fear, they cast anchor, they disembark and rush forward to deliver themselves into the hands which are awaiting them. Then we arise, and all at the same time utter towards heaven countless ringing cheers [of defiance]. At these shouts our men from our ships answer [to the signal]; they appear armed, the Moors are dismayed, terror seizes those who had scarcely disembarked, before fighting they consider themselves lost--they hastened to plunder and they meet with war. We press them hard on the water, we press them hard on the land, and we cause rivulets of their blood to run before any [of them] can resist or regain his position. But soon, in spite of us, their princes rally them, their courage revives, and their fears are forgotten. The disgrace of dying without having fought rallies their disordered ranks [_lit._ stops their disorder], and restores to them their valor. With firmly planted feet they draw their scimitars against us, and cause a fearful intermingling of our blood with theirs; and the land, and the wave, and the fleet, and the port are fields of carnage where death is triumphant. Oh! how many noble deeds, how many brilliant achievements, were performed unnoticed [_lit._ have remained without renown] in the midst of the gloom, in which each [warrior], sole witness of the