I

Rio Verde, Rio Verde!
       &nbsp Many a corpse is bathed in thee,
Both of Moors and eke of Christians,
       &nbsp Slain with swords most cruelly.

And thy pure and crystal waters
       &nbsp Dappled are with crimson gore;
For between the Moors and Christians
       &nbsp Long has been the fight and sore.

Dukes and Counts fell bleeding near thee,
       &nbsp Lords of high renown were slain,
Perished many a brave hidalgo
       &nbsp Of the noblemen of Spain.


II


Don Nuno, Count of Lara,
       &nbsp In anger and in pride,
Forgot all reverence for the king,
       &nbsp And thus in wrath replied:
"Our noble ancestors," quoth he,
       &nbsp "Ne'er such a tribute paid;
Nor shall the king receive of us
       &nbsp What they have once gainsaid.

"The base-born soul who deems it just
       &nbsp May here with thee remain;
But follow me, ye cavaliers,
       &nbsp Ye noblemen of Spain."

Forth followed they the noble Count,
       &nbsp They marched to Glera's plain;
Out of three thousand gallant knights
       &nbsp Did only three remain.

They tied the tribute to their spears,
       &nbsp They raised it in the air,
And they sent to tell their lord the king
       &nbsp That his tax was ready there.

"He may send and take by force," said they,
       &nbsp "This paltry sum of gold;
But the goodly gift of liberty
       &nbsp Cannot be bought and sold."

III


The peasant leaves his plough afield,
       &nbsp The reaper leaves his hook,
And from his hand the shepherd-boy.
       &nbsp Lets fall the pastoral crook.

The young set up a shout of joy,
       &nbsp The old forget their years,
The feeble man grows stout of heart.
       &nbsp No more the craven fears.

All rush to Bernard's standard,
       &nbsp And on liberty they call;
They cannot brook to wear the yoke,
       &nbsp When threatened by the Gaul.

"Free were we born," 't is thus they cry
       &nbsp "And willingly pay we
The duty that we owe our king
       &nbsp By the divine decree.

"But God forbid that we obey
       &nbsp The laws of foreign knaves,
Tarnish the glory of our sires,
       &nbsp And make our children slaves.
"Our hearts have not so craven grown,
       &nbsp So bloodless all our veins,
So vigorless our brawny arms,
       &nbsp As to submit to chains.

"Has the audacious Frank, forsooth,
       &nbsp Subdued these seas and lands?
Shall he a bloodless victory have?
No, not while we have hands.

"He shall learn that the gallant Leonese
       &nbsp Can bravely fight and fall,
But that they know not how to yield;
       &nbsp They are Castilians all.

"Was it for this the Roman power
       &nbsp Of old was made to yield
Unto Numantia's valiant hosts
       &nbsp On many a bloody field?

"Shall the bold lions that have bathed
       &nbsp Their paws in Libyan gore,
Crouch basely to a feebler foe,
       &nbsp And dare the strife no more?

"Let the false king sell town and tower,
       &nbsp But not his vassals free;
For to subdue the free-born soul
       &nbsp No royal power hath he!"