were horsemen at the gate,
And the fair Ximena Gomez, kneeling in woeful state.

III.
Upon her neck, disordered, hung down the lady's hair,
And floods of tears were streaming upon her bosom fair.
Sore wept she for her father, the Count that had been slain;
Loud cursed she Rodrigo, whose sword his blood did stain.

IV.
They turned to bold Rodrigo, I wot his cheek was red;--
With haughty wrath he listened to the words Ximena said--
"Good King, I cry for justice. Now, as my voice thou hearest,
So God befriend the children, that in thy land thou rearest.

V.
"The King that doth not justice hath forfeited his claim,
Both to his kingly station, and to his kingly name;
He should not sit at banquet, clad in the royal pall,
Nor should the nobles serve him on knee within the hall.

VI.
"Good King, I am descended from barons bright of old,
That with Castilian pennons, Pelayo did uphold;
But if my strain were lowly, as it is high and clear,
Thou still shouldst prop the feeble, and the afflicted hear.

VII.
"For thee, fierce homicide, draw, draw thy sword once more,
And pierce the breast which wide I spread thy stroke before;
Because I am a woman, my life thou needst not spare,--
I am Ximena Gomez, my slaughtered father's heir.

VIII.
"Since thou hast slain the Knight that did our faith defend,
And still to shameful flight all the Almanzors send,
'Tis but a little matter that I confront thee so,
Come, champion, slay his daughter, she needs must be thy foe."--

IX.
Ximena gazed upon him, but no reply could meet;
His fingers held the bridle; he vaulted to his seat.
She turned her to the nobles, I wot her cry was loud,
But not a man durst follow; slow rode he through the crowd.

THE CID AND THE FIVE MOORISH KINGS.

The reader will find the story of this ballad in Mr. Southey's
"Chronicle of the Cid." "And the Moors entered Castile in great power,
for there came with them five kings," &c. Book I. Sect. 4.

I.
With fire and desolation the Moors are in Castile,
Five Moorish kings together, and all their vassals leal;
They've passed in front of Burgos, through the Oca-Hills they've run,
They've plundered Belforado, San Domingo's harm is done.

II.
In Najara and Lograno there's waste and disarray:--
And now with Christian captives, a very heavy prey,
With many men and women, and boys and girls beside,
In joy and exultation to their own realms they ride.

III.
For neither king nor noble