Journeys Through Bookland Volume Iv Part 3

Now Don Garcia Tellez, the abbot, and the trusty Gil Diaz, were wont every year to make a great festival on the day of the Cid's departure, and on that anniversary they gave food and clothing to the poor, who came from all parts round about. And it came to pa.s.s when they made the seventh anniversary, that a great mult.i.tude a.s.sembled as they were wont to do, and many Moors and Jews came to see the strange manner of the Cid's body. And it was the custom of the abbot Don Garcia Tellez, when they made that anniversary, to make a right n.o.ble sermon to the people: and because the mult.i.tude which had a.s.sembled was so great that the church could not hold them, they went out into the open place before the monastery, and he preached unto them there.

And while he was preaching there remained a Jew in the church, who stopped before the body of the Cid, looking at him to see how n.o.bly he was there seated, having his countenance so fair and comely, and his long beard in such goodly order, and his sword Tizona in its scabbard in his left hand, and the strings of his mantle in his right, even in such manner as King Don Alfonso had left him, save only that the garments had been changed, it being now seven years since the body had remained there in that ivory chair. Now there was not a man in the church save this Jew, for all the others were hearing the preachment which the abbot made. And when this Jew perceived that he was alone, he began to think within himself and say, "This is the body of that Ruydiez the Cid, whom they say no man in the world ever took by the beard while he lived. . . . I will take him by the beard now, and see what he can do to me." And with that he put forth his hand to pull the beard of the Cid; . . . but before his hand could reach it, G.o.d who would not suffer this thing to be done, sent his spirit into the body, and the Cid let the strings of his mantle go from his right hand, and laid hand on his sword Tizona, and drew it a full palm's length out of the scabbard.

And when the Jew saw this, he fell upon his back for great fear, and began to cry out so loudly, that all they who were without the church heard him, and the abbot broke off his preachment and went into the church to see what it might be. And when they came they found this Jew lying upon his back before the ivory chair, like one dead, for he had ceased to cry out, and had swooned away. And then the Abbot Don Garcia Tellez looked at the body of the Cid, and saw that his right hand was upon the hilt of the sword, and that he had drawn it out a full palm's length; and he was greatly amazed.

And he called for holy water, and threw it in the face of the Jew, and with that the Jew came to himself.

Then the abbot asked him what all this meant, and he told him the whole truth; and he knelt down upon his knees before the abbot, and besought him of his mercy that he would make a Christian of him, because of this great miracle which he had seen, and baptize him in the name of Jesus Christ, for he would live and die in his faith, holding all other to be but error. And the abbot baptized him in the name of the Holy Trinity, and gave him to name Diego Gil.

And all who were there present were greatly amazed, and they made a great outcry and great rejoicings to G.o.d for this miracle, and for the power which he had shown through the body of the Cid in this manner; for it was plain that what the Jew said was verily and indeed true, because the posture of the Cid was changed. And from that day forward Diego Gil remained in the monastery as long as he lived, doing service to the body of the Cid.

After that day the body of the Cid remained in the same posture, for they never took his hand off the sword, nor changed his garments more, and thus it remained three years longer, till it had been there ten years in all. And then the nose began to change color. And when the Abbot Don Garcia Tellez and Gil Diaz saw this, they weened that it was no longer fitting for the body to remain in that manner. And three bishops from the neighbouring provinces met there, and with many ma.s.ses and vigils, and great honour, they interred the body after this manner.

They dug a vault before the altar, beside the grave of Dona Ximena, and vaulted it over with a high arch; and there they placed the body of the Cid, seated as it was in the ivory chair, and in his garments, and with the sword in his hand, and they hung up his s.h.i.+eld and his banner upon the walls.

ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG

_By_ Oliver Goldsmith

Good people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song; And if you find it wondrous short, It cannot hold you long.

In Islington there was a Man, Of whom the world might say, That still a G.o.dly race he ran, Whene'er he went to pray.

A kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes, The naked every day he clad, When he put on his clothes.

And in that town a Dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree.

This Dog and Man at first were friends; But when a pique began, The Dog, to gain some private ends, Went mad and bit the Man.

Around from all the neighboring streets The wond'ring neighbors ran, And swore the Dog had lost his wits, To bite so good a Man.

The wound it seem'd both sore and sad To every Christian eye; And while they swore the Dog was mad, They swore the Man would die.

But soon a wonder came to light, That show'd the rogues they lied: The Man recover'd of the bite, The Dog it was that died.

MOTHER'S WAY [Footnote: _From Father Ryan's Poems, copyright by P. J. Kennedy & Sons, N. Y._]

_By_ FATHER RYAN

Oft within our little cottage, As the shadows gently fall, While the sunlight touches softly One sweet face upon the wall, Do we gather close together, And in hushed and tender tone Ask each other's full forgiveness For the wrong that each has done.

Should you wonder why this custom At the ending of the day, Eye and voice would quickly answer: "It was once our mother's way."

If our home be bright and cheery, If it holds a welcome true, Opening wide its door of greeting To the many--not the few; If we share our father's bounty With the needy day by day, 'Tis because our hearts remember This was ever mother's way.

Sometimes when our hands grow weary, Or our tasks seem very long; When our burdens look too heavy, And we deem the right all wrong; Then we gain a new, fresh courage, And we rise to proudly say: "Let us do our duty bravely-- This was our dear mother's way."

Then we keep her memory precious, While we never cease to pray That at last, when lengthening shadows Mark the evening of our day, They may find us waiting calmly To go home our mother's way.

SONG OF THE BROOK

_By_ ALFRED TENNYSON

I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges, By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the br.i.m.m.i.n.g river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever.

I chatter over stony ways; In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks I fret By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the br.i.m.m.i.n.g river; For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever.

I wind about, and in and out, With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a l.u.s.ty trout, And here and there a grayling,

And here and there a foamy flake Upon me, as I travel With many a silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel,

And draw them all along, and flow To join the br.i.m.m.i.n.g river; For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever.

I steal by lawns and gra.s.sy plots, I slide by hazel covers; I move the sweet forget-me-nots That grow for happy lovers.

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, Among my skimming swallows; I make the netted sunbeam dance Against my sandy shallows.

I murmur under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses; I linger by my s.h.i.+ngly bars; I loiter round my cresses.

And out again I curve and flow To join the br.i.m.m.i.n.g river; For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

_By_ GRACE E. SELLON