‘ Say, what saw you on the hill,
Campesino Garcia?’
‘ I saw my brindled heifer there,
A trail of bowmen, spent and bare,
And a little man on a sorrel mare
Riding slow before them.’
‘ Say, what saw you in the vale,
Campesino Garcia?’
‘ There I saw my lambing ewe
And an army riding through,
Thick and brave the pennons flew
From the lances o'er them.’
‘ Then what saw you on the hill,
Campesino Garcia?’
‘ I saw beside the milking byre,
White with want and black with mire,
The little man with eyes afire
Marshalling his bowmen.’
‘ Then what saw you in the vale,
Campesino Garcia?’
‘ There I saw my bullocks twain,
And amid my uncut grain
All the hardy men of Spain
Spurring for their foemen.’
‘ Nay, but there is more to tell,
Campesino Garcia!’
‘ I could not bide the end to view;
I had graver things to do
Tending on the lambing ewe
Down among the clover.’
‘ Ah, but tell me what you heard,
Campesino Garcia!’
‘ Shouting from the mountain-side,
Shouting until eventide;
But it dwindled and it died
Ere milking time was over.’
‘ Nay, but saw you nothing more,
Campesino Garcia?’
‘ Yes, I saw them lying there,
The little man and sorrel mare;
And in their ranks the bowmen fair,
With their staves before them.’
‘ And the hardy men of Spain,
Campesino Garcia?’
‘ Hush! but we are Spanish too;
More I may not say to you:
May God's benison, like dew,
Gently settle o'er them.’