his adverse fortune, although covered with wounds,
and fainting from exhaustion, he sprung forward to meet the advance of
his terrible adversary, whilst the Moors awed by the meeting of such
warriors, stood around in breathless silence.

The mighty foes closed in desperate combat. But soon Aguilar conscious
of his weakness, retired to his original position against the rock, and
in that posture sustained the attack. The fresh and unabated force of
El Feri became too powerful for the Christian chief, worn out as he was
with the loss of blood, and the fatigue of many hours of battle. Aguilar
now perceived that to die nobly was the only alternative he could
embrace, and accordingly grasping firmly the banner, he continued a
resolute but unequal combat. His exhaustion, however, increased, and as
he perceived his end approach, he sprang forward, and with one desperate
blow, in which he collected his remaining energies, endeavoured to crush
his enemy. But the exertion far exceeded his strength, and the same blow
that an hour before would have cloven through buckler and hauberk, now
fell almost harmless upon the shield of El Feri. The Moor availed
himself of the moment, and before Aguilar had time to recover, the
scymitar of his foe had cleft through the helmet of Don Alonso, and sunk
deep into the brain. The hero fell; with one deep sigh his noble spirit
parted from its clay, and the brave, the generous, the heroic Don Alonso
de Aguilar was no more![45]

A tremendous shout from the exulting Moors announced the catastrophe to
the Christians below: it sounded through the mountain like the ferocious
yell of demons revelling over their victim. El Feri stood silent for a
moment gazing on his prostrate enemy, and he could not but contemplate
with veneration and awe that form which even in death preserved the
nobleness and dignity which had distinguished it through life. His
helmet had given way, and rolled to some distance on the plain. His
black hair silvered with age, and now dripping with his blood,
overshaded part of his noble countenance. Shorn of its proud device, his
broken shield lay on his left arm, as well as the remains of the banner
which he had sworn to defend with his life, whilst his right arm still
retained that sword once the terror of the Moors, now lying harmless on
the ground. Thus fell Aguilar, and the exulting Moors flocked round his
corpse, led by an instinctive curiosity to behold the prostrate warrior
so l