Cits. ’Tis the Cid’s.
Xim. The Cid’s!
Who breathes that name but in th’ exulting tone
Which the heart rings to? Why, the very wind,
As it swells out the noble standard’s fold,
Hath a triumphant sound! The Cid’s! it moved
Even as a sign of victory through the land,
From the free skies ne’er stooping to a foe!
Old Cit. Can ye still pause, my brethren! Oh! that youth
Through this worn frame were kindling once again!