You came to seek me o’er the sea, mine is the peaceful word.”
“If peace is in thy naked sword and in thy charging steed,
Then I would flee it,” cried the King, and spurred his horse to speed.
With hasty stride the King doth ride straight for the open sea;
Spain’s champion is at his side, never again will he
Know the delights of Algiers’ halls; Colada shines on high:
Now whether by the sword or sea, King Bucar, wilt thou die?
The good blade shears the Moor in twain, down to the saddle-bow;
So perished the Algerian lord—may every Moor die so!
And thus upon this day of fame the Cid his guerdon won,