Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE CAMPEADOR'S SPECTRE HOST, by DAVID MACBETH MOIR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE CAMPEADOR'S SPECTRE HOST, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: On leon's towers deep midnight lay
Last Line: That more than men had fought for god!
Alternate Author Name(s): Delta
Subject(s): Blood; Death; Fights; Spain; Swords; Dead, The


I.

ON Leon's towers deep midnight lay;
Grim clouds had blotted the stars away;
By fits 'twas silent, by fits the gale
Swept through heaven like a funeral wail.

II.

Heard ye that distant, that dismal hum,
That trumpet-blare, and that roll of drum,
That clashing of cymbals—and now again
The wail of the night wind, the rush of rain?

III.

Know ye whence comes it? 'Tis like the shock
Of torrents o'erleaping some barrier rock.
Hearken again! 'Tis more near, more loud,
Like the opening burst of the thunder-cloud.

IV.

List ye not now, on the echoing street,
The trampling of horses, the tread of feet,
The clashing of arms? 'Tis a host of might,
Marching in mask of the starless night.

V.

St Isidro! at thy deep-browed gate,
Who crowding throng, who knocking wait?
The Frere, from his midnight vigil there
Upstarting, scales the turret stair.

VI.

Aghast he trembles; that turmoil loud
Might waken the corse in its leaden shroud;
And thickens the blood in his veins thro' fear,
As unearthly voices smite his ear.

VII.

"Ho! warriors, rouse ye! Ho! dead arise!
Haste, gird your good swords on your thighs;
Hauberk and helm from grave-rust free;
And rush to the rescue of Spain with me!

VIII.

"Pelayo is with us; and who despairs,
When his Cross of Oak in our van he bears?
Come—muster ye must to my call once more—
'Tis I, your Cid—the Campeador!

IX.

"Awaken, arise! through our land in arms
The host of the Miramamolin swarms;
Shall our Cross before their Crescent wane?
Shall Moorish dogs rule Christian Spain?

X.

"Arouse ye in might—in your shirts of steel,
With spear in hand, and spur on heel;
Shake from your Red Cross flags the dust,
And wash in blood your swords from rust.

XI.

"Haste! burst your cerements; here we wait
For thee, Ferrando, once the Great;
Knock on your porter, Death, until he
Withdraw the bolts, and turn the key!

XII.

"Hither—haste hither, and join our hosts—
A mighty legion of stalwart ghosts;
'Tis I, Ruy Diaz, who call, and here
Gonzalez couches in rest his spear!

XIII.

"Awake! arise ye on every hand!
The love a patriot bears his land
Departs not with departing breath,
But warms his very dust in death!

XIV.

"Quail shall the boldest, the timid yield,
When sweeps our spectre host the field;
Vultures in clouds, to the feast of the slain,
Scream from sierras and seek the plain.

XV.

Ho! hurry with us then away, away,
Ere the warning cock-crow herald day;
Bid blast of trumpet, and roll of drum
Proclaim to the Moslem, we come, we come!"

XVI.

Into the darkness the Frere gazed forth—
The sounds rolled onwards towards the North;
The murmur of tongues, the tramp and tread
Of a mighty army to battle led.

XVII.

At midnight, slumbering Leon through,
Throng'd to the Navas that spectral crew;
At blush of day red Tolosa showed
That more than men had fought for God!





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