Now rally, rally, to the flash of Roderigo’s blade,
The champion of Bivar is here who never was gainsaid.
Three hundred levelled lances strike as one upon the foe.
Down, down in death upon the sand three hundred heathen go.
The lances rise, the lances fall, how fast the deadly play!
Ah, God! the sundered shields that lie in dreadful disarray.
The snow-white bannerets are dyed with blood of Moorish slain,
And chargers rush all masterless across the littered plain.
As lightning circles Roderick’s sword above the huddled foe,
With Alvar Fañez, Gustioz, and half a hundred moe