Lost in a sea of Saracens, whose turbans surge as foam,
He stands unshaken as a cliff when on its bosom come
Madness of ocean and the wrath of seas that overwhelm.
So rain the hounds of Máhomet fierce blows on shield and helm.
“A rescue, rescue,” cries the Cid, “and strike for Holy Rood!
Up, gentlemen of Old Castile, and charge the heathen brood!”
As forth the hound when from the leash the hunter’s hand is ta’en,
As the unhooded falcon bounds, her jesses cast amain,
But fiercer far than falcon or the hound’s unleashèd zeal
Comes crashing down upon the foe the fury of Castile.