No More Learning

It takes too much account of meagre service,
And makes me now ashamed before the King,
Such great honour: so little meriting.
I know, to the security your realms give
I owe my heart's blood, the air I breathe;
And if I lose them for some noble object,
I'd simply be acting as a loyal subject.

King
Yet, all who in my service so engage
Do not acquit themselves with such courage;
And valour that is not born of excess
Seldom achieves comparable success.
Allow our praise then, tell the history
At greater length of all this victory.

Rodrigue
Sire, you know that finding pressing danger
Had filled the whole city with its terror,
A group of friends, my father assembled,
Solicited my help, though I was troubled. . .
Yet, Sire, you'll pardon my temerity
If I commanded without authority.
Peril approached: their arms were ready;
Appearing then at Court would be foolhardy.
And if I were to die, it seemed sweeter
To give my life fighting in your honour.

King
I pardon now the matter of your vengeance;
The State, defended, speaks in your defence.
Henceforth Chimene's plea will go no further.
I will only hear her to console her.
But go on.

Rodrigue
Under me the troop advanced,
Displaying all its manly confidence.
We were five hundred, but with swift support
Grew to three thousand as we reached the port,
So that seeing us marching to that stage,
Those most terrified found new courage!
Arriving, I hid quite two thirds of the men
In the holds of the vessels there, and then
The rest, whose numbers now increased hourly,
Devoured by impatience, gathering round me,
Lay down on the ground, where in silence
The best part of a fine night was spent.
At my command the guards did the same,
And, staying hidden, helped my stratagem;
Then I boldly feigned to owe to you
The orders they and I would then pursue.
The faint light cast from every distant star
Showed thirty ships now crossing the bar;
The waves swelled beneath, and their effort
Brought the tide-borne Moors within the port.
We let them pass; all appearing tranquil;
No soldiers at the port, the city still.
The calm we maintained deceived their eyes.
They, believing they'd achieved surprise,
Fearless, closed, anchored, disembarked,
And then they ran against us in the dark.
We leapt up on the instant, copious cries
Uttered by our troops, rose to the skies.
Others echoed from our anchored fleet;
Thus the Moors' amazement proved complete,
Terror seized them just as they were landing.
They knew defeat, prior to any fighting.
They thought to pillage, but met with slaughter.
We pressed them on land, and on the water,
And high their blood lifted like a fountain,
Before they could resist, re-group, again.
But soon, in spite of us, their princes rallied,
Their courage was revived, their terror fled:
The shame of dying, without act of war,
Quelling confusion renewed their valour.
They drew their scimitars against us swiftly;
Mingling our blood with theirs most horribly.
The river, fleet, the port, the shore, the main,
Were sites of conflict now, where death did reign.
O countless the brave acts, courageousness
Concealed itself from knowledge in the darkness,
Where each, the sole true witness of his blows,
Could not discern whose side fortune chose!