The empty hollow of the hall of tapestry is bare.
No feather in the falconry, no hawk to come to hand,
A noble beggar must the Cid renounce his fathers’ land.
He sighed, but as a warrior sighs. “Now I shall not repine.
All praise to Thee, our Father, for Thy grace to me and mine.
The slanderous tongue, the lying tale, have wrought my wreck to-day,
But Thou in Thy good time, O Lord, the debt wilt sure repay.”
As they rode out of Bivar flew a raven to the right,
By Burgos as they bridled the bird was still in sight.
The Cid he shrugged his shoulders as the omen he espied;