Young Lisaro was musing so, when onward on the path,
  He well could see them riding slow; then pricked he in his wrath. 
  The raging sire, the kinsmen of Zayda’s hateful house,
  Fought well that day, yet in the fray the Zegri won his spouse.

THE BRIDAL OF ANDALLA

[The following ballad has been often imitated by modern poets, both in Spain and in Germany: 

  “Pon te a las rejas azules, dexa la manga que labras,
  Melancholica Xarifa, veras al galan Andalla.” etc.]

  “Rise up, rise up, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down;
  Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town. 
  From gay guitar and violin the silver notes are flowing,
  And the lovely lute doth speak between the trumpet’s lordly blowing,
  And banners bright from lattice light are waving everywhere,
  And the tall, tall plume of our cousin’s bridegroom floats proudly in the
                air: 
    Rise up, rise up, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down;
    Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town.

  “Arise, arise, Xarifa, I see Andalla’s face,
  He bends him to the people with a calm and princely grace. 
  Through all the land of Xeres and banks of Guadalquivir
  Rode forth bridegroom so brave as he, so brave and lovely never. 
  Yon tall plume waving o’er his brow of purple mixed with white,
  I guess ’twas wreathed by Zara, whom he will wed to-night;
    Rise up, rise up, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down;
    Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town.

  “What aileth thee, Xarifa, what makes thine eyes look down? 
  Why stay ye from the window far, nor gaze with all the town? 
  I’ve heard you say on many a day, and sure you said the truth,
  Andalla rides without a peer, among all Granada’s youth. 
  Without a peer he rideth, and yon milk-white horse doth go
  Beneath his stately master, with a stately step and slow;

    Then rise, oh, rise, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down;
    Unseen here through the lattice, you may gaze with all
      the town.”

  The Zegri lady rose not, nor laid her cushion down,
  Nor came she to the window to gaze with all the town;
  But though her eyes dwelt on her knee, in vain her fingers strove,
  And though her needle pressed the silk, no flower Xarifa wove;
  One bonny rose-bud she had traced, before the noise drew nigh—­
  That bonny bud a tear effaced, slow drooping from her eye. 
    “No—­no,” she sighs—­“bid me not rise, nor lay my cushion down,
    To gaze upon Andalla with all the gazing town.”