“And bid them fetch the ladders
    Owned by my sire the King;
  And the seven mules that carry them
    Into my presence bring.

  “And give to me the seven stout Moors
    Who shall their harness set,
  For the love, the love of the countess
    I never can forget.”

  “Ill-mannered art thou, nephew,
    And never wilt amend;
  The sweetest sleep I ever slept,
    Thou bringest to an end.”

  Now they have brought the ladders
    Owned by his sire the King. 
  And, to bear the load along the road,
    Seven sturdy mules they bring;

  And seven stout Moors, by whom the mules
    In housings are arrayed. 
  And to the walls of the countess
    Their journey have they made. 
  There, at the foot of yonder tower,
    They halt their cavalcade.

  In the arms of the count Alminique
    The countess lay at rest;
  The infante has ta’en her by the hand,
    And caught her to his breast.

THE MOORISH INFANTA AND ALFONZO RAMOS

  Beneath the shade of an olive-tree
    Stood the infanta fair;
  A golden comb was in her hands,
    And well she decked her hair.

  To heaven she raised her eyes, and saw,
    That early morning-tide,
  A clump of spears and an armored band
    From Guadalquivir ride.

  Alfonzo Ramos with them came,
    The admiral of Castile. 
  “Now welcome, Alfonzo Ramos! 
    Now welcome, steed and steel,
  What tidings do you bring of my fleet,
    What tidings of woe or weal?”

  “I’ll tell thee tidings, lady,
    If my life thou wilt assure.” 
  “Tell on, Alfonzo Ramos,
    Thy life shall be secure.”

  “Seville, Seville has fallen,
    To the arms of the Berber Moor.”

  “But for my word thy head this day
    To the vultures had been tost!”
  “If head of mine were forfeited,
    Tis thine must pay the cost.”

THE BULL-FIGHT OF ZULEMA

  He was a valorous gentleman, a gay and gallant knight,
  Like stars on heaven’s fifth circle was the splendor of his might. 
  In peace, accomplished in the arts of great Apollo’s choir,
  In war, the brilliant swordsman that Mars might well admire. 
  His great exploits were written on history’s brightest page,
  And rightly was he reckoned as the mirror of his age;
  Great deeds he did with point of lance and won bright honor’s crown,
  Before the year when each red cheek was clothed in manly down. 
  And such he was through all the world by minstrel harps extolled,
  Both for the vigor of his arm and for his bearing bold. 
  His very foes, whom he had made surrender in the fight,
  While trembling at his valor, asked blessings on the knight. 
  And Fame herself, whose pace is swift, whose voice like fire can run,