The Excommunication of the Cid

It was when from Spain across the main the Cid had come to Rome,
He chanced to see chairs four and three beneath Saint Peter's dome.
"Now tell, I pray, what chairs be they?"—"Seven kings do sit thereon,
As well doth suit, all at the foot of the holy Father's throne.

"The Pope he sitteth above them all, that they may kiss his toe,
Below the keys the Flower-de-lys doth make a gallant show;
For his great puissance, the King of France next to the Pope may sit,
The rest more low, all in a row, as doth their station fit."—

"Ha!" quoth the Cid, "now God forbid! it is a shame, I wiss,
To see the Castle planted beneath the Flower-de-lys.
No harm, I hope, good Father Pope—although I move thy chair."—
—In pieces small he kick'd it all, ('twas of the ivory fair.)

The Pope's own seat he from his feet did kick it far away,
And the Spanish chair he planted upon its place that day;
Above them all he planted it, and laugh'd right bitterly;
Looks sour and bad I trow he had, as grim as grim might be.

Now when the Pope was aware of this, he was an angry man,
His lips that night, with solemn rite, pronounced the awful ban;
The curse of God, who died on rood, was on that sinner's head—
To hell and woe man's soul must go if once that curse be said.

I wot, when the Cid was aware of this, a woeful man was he,
At dawn of day he came to pray at the blessed Father's knee:
"Absolve me, blessed Father, have pity upon me,
Absolve my soul, and penance I for my sin will dree."—

"Who is this sinner," quoth the Pope, "that at my foot doth kneel?"
—"I am Rodrigo Diaz—a poor Baron of Castille."—
Much marvell'd all were in the hall, when that name they heard him say,
—"Rise up, rise up," the Pope he said, "I do thy guilt away;—

"I do thy guilt away," he said—"and my curse I blot it out—
God save Rodrigo Diaz, my Christian champion stout;—
I trow, if I had known thee, my grief it had been sore,
To curse Ruy Diaz de Bivar, God's scourge upon the Moor."—