The Moor-king’s barks were on the deep,
With sounds and signs of war;
But the Cid was passing to his sleep,
In the silent Alcazar.
No moan was heard through the towers of state,
No weeper’s aspect seen,
But by the couch Ximena sate,
With pale yet steadfast mien.[240]
Stillness was round the leader’s bed,
Warriors stood mournful nigh,