Classic Poem

I.

" When echoes sound from distant hills, brave knight of fair Castile,
I listen for thy battle-cry, but hear the thunder's peal.
When rosy-bright the hill-tops beam in morning's earliest ray,
I seek afar thy lance's gleam — but see the rising day. "

II.

" Once pilgrims', minstrels', pages' feet trod out a pathway wide;
With busy hands a lofty tower was reared the path beside;
Maids watched me from its turrets high with keen and envious sight,
All yearned to see thee pass that way, thou bravest, noblest knight!
Alas! th' expected hour is past! too long I weep and wait;
Alas! the eyes will soon grow dim, that watched thy lordly gait;
The walls will crumble soon, where once thy charger's trampling rang;
Grass hides the path that echoed once thy footsteps' iron clang. "

III.

No more in him shall love's soft glance excite a sweet unrest,
Nor stroke of sword nor thrust of lance shall pierce his noble breast;
The lightning's flash hath struck him on the lonely wooded height:
A shaft from heaven alone might slay so fair, so brave a knight!

IV.

Dark clouds go rolling under, brightly shine the sun's warm rays;
Low growls the distant thunder, twitt'ring birds renew their lays.
The drenching showers make trees and flowers seem fresher than before,
And wand'rers from the sheltering wood may venture forth once more;
Yet ne'er the forest's loftiest oak again its boughs shall spread,
And close beside its shattered pride Castile's best knight lies dead!

V.

Fair dames look forth to welcome him, their fairest champion, home:
Swart Moors grow pale and tremble, lest the conquering knight should come;
Fair dames! ne'er hope to greet him more! swart Moors! what cause for dread?
By lightning's stroke, beneath the oak, Castile's best knight lies dead.