His was Octavian's prosperous star,

The rush of Cæsar's conquering car At battle's call;

His, Scipio's virtue; his, the skill And the indomitable will

Of Hannibal.

His was a Trajan's goodness, his

A Titus' noble charities

And righteous laws;

The arm of Hector, and the might

Of Tully, to maintain the right

In truth's just cause ;

The clemency of Antonine,

Aurelius' countenance divine,

Firm, gentle, still;

The eloquence of Adrian,

And Theodosius' love to man,

And generous will;

In tented field and bloody fray,

An Alexander's vigorous sway

And stern command;

The faith of Constantine; ay, more,

The fervent love Camillus bore

His native land.

He left no well-filled treasury,

He heaped no pile of riches high,

Nor massive plate;

He fought the Moors,

and, in their fall,

Villa and tower and castled wall

Were his estate.

Upon the hard-fought battle-ground,

Brave steeds and gallant riders found
A common grave;

And there the warrior's hand did gain

The rents, and the long vassal train,

The conquered gave.

And if, of old, his halls displayed

The honored and exalted grade

His worth had gained,

So, in the dark, disastrous hour,

Brothers and bondsmen of his power

His hand sustained.

After high deeds, not left untold,

In the stern warfare, which of old

'T was his to share,

Such noble leagues he made, that more

And fairer regions, than before,

His guerdon were.

These are the records, half effaced,

Which, with the hand of youth, he traced

On history's page;

But with fresh victories he drew

Each fading character anew

In his old age.

By his unrivalled skill, by great
And veteran service to the state,

By worth adored,

He stood, in his high dignity,

The proudest knight of chivalry,
Knight of the Sword.

He found his villas and domains

Beneath a tyrant's galling chains
And cruel power;

But, by fierce battle and blockade,

Soon his own banner was displayed
From every tower.

By the tried valor of his hand,

His monarch and his native land

Were nobly served ;

Let Portugal repeat the story,

And proud Castile, who shared the glory

His arms deserved.

And when so oft, for weal or woe,

His life upon the fatal throw

Had been cast down ;

When he had served, with patriot zeal,

Beneath the banner of Castile,

His sovereign's crown;

And done such deeds of valor strong,

That neither history nor song

Can count them all;

Then, on Ocaña's castled rock,

Death at his portal came to knock,

With sudden call,

Saying, "Good Cavalier, prepare
To leave this world of toil and care

With joyful mien ;

Let thy strong heart of steel this day

Put on its armour for the fray,

The closing scene.