Theresa of Avila

"Smite, smite, my knights, for mercy's sake—on boldly to the war;I am Ruy Diaz of Bivar, the Cid Campeador!Three hundred lances then were couched, with pennons streaming gay;

Three hundred shields were piercéd through—no steel the shock might stay;—Three hundred hauberks were torn off in that encounter sore;Three hundred snow-white pennons were crimson-dyed in gore;Three hundred chargers wandered loose—their lords were overthrown;The Christians cry 'St. James for Spain!' the Moormen cry 'Mahoun!'"

"'On, on, my knights, and smite the foe!And falter not, I pray;For by the grace of God, I trow,The town is ours this day!'"

"'Far from our land, far from CastileWe here are banishéd;If with the Moors we battle not,I wot we get no bread.'

"Now yield thee, yield thee, pagan prince,Or die in crimson gore;I am Ruy Diaz of Bivar,The Cid Campeador!"

'My Cid Campeador, O king, it was who girded brand:The Paynim king he hath o'ercome, the mightiest in the land.Plenteous and sovereign is the spoil he from the Moor hath won;This portion, honored king and lord, he sendeth to your throne.'