Dawn on castled hilltop glances;
Rides Rodrigo of Bivar,
Midst the gleam of twenty lances
Flashing as the morning star,
To the shrine of Compostella
Rides he, Mary's grace to gain;
Gentlest heart in stoutest corslet,
Soul of chivalry and Spain!
Seel a lothely leper lying.
Whelmed within the miry road;
"Help, good Christian man the dying,
Help me for the love of God!"
Spur the knights with idle jeering,
But Rodrigo stoopeth low;
And the hapless begger nearing,
Lifts him to his saddle bow.
At the hostel board he seats him,
Crowned with meats and amber wine;
And with kindly welcome greets him;
"Taste, my brother, all is thine."
Chafing as an angry billow,
From the hall each lordling fares;
But Rodrigo spreads the pillow,
And the begear's bed he shares.
Sleep thou sweetly, child pure hearted!
Lo! in holy dead of night
Blew a piercing wind: he started,
And he saw a form in white!
Lifts it o'er him hands caressing,
Bends a face with winsome smile,
"Take thou saintly Lazarus' blessing;
I am he, yon leper vile.
"When this wind blows on thy shoulder,
Strike, for God shall wield thine arm;
Bold Tizona's blade, but bolder
Edged by me with saintly charm,
Thine, my cid, the battle holy,
Thine the Christian psalm and song;
For the gentle heart and lowly
Is the comrade of the strong."