For thou wert born to change thy mind,
  And fling all fealty to the wind. 
  Ignoble origin is thine,
  For lovers of a noble line
  Have no such rancorous hearts as thine. 
  And here I pray that God will bring
    His curse upon thy soul,
  That thou in war, in peace, in love
    May meet with failure foul,
  And that Sanlucar’s lady,
    Whom thou wishest for a bride,
  Thee from her castle entrance
    May spurn thee in her pride. 
  A widowed wife with bleeding heart,
  Hear me one moment ere we part! 
  Thy knightly service I distrust,
  I hear thy voice with deep disgust.” 
  Cut to the heart by words so rude,
  The Moor within the palace stood;
  Say what he could, ’twas but to find
  His vain word wasted on the wind.

THE TOURNAMENT OF ZAIDE

  By Zaide has a feast been pledged to all Granada’s dames,
  For in his absence there had been dire lack of festive games,
  And, to fulfil the promise the noble man had made,
  He called his friends to join him in dance and serenade. 
  There should be sport of every kind; the youths in white arrayed
  Were, to the ladies all unknown, to lead the camisade. 
  And ere the radiance of dawn could tint the valley-side,
  The merry Moor had come abroad, his friends were at his side. 
  He gathered round a company, they formed a joyous train;
  There were fifty gentlemen, the noblest names in Spain. 
  Before the dawn they sallied forth the ladies to surprise
  And all that snowy gowns conceal to see with open eyes. 
  They bound their brows with garlands of flowerets sweet and bright,
  In one hand each a cane-stalk bore, in one a taper white,
  And the clarions began to blow, and trump and Moorish horn,
  And whoop and shout and loud huzzas adown the street were borne. 
  From right to left the clamor spread along the esplanade. 
  And envious Abaicin a thousand echoes made. 
  The startled horses galloped by, amid the people’s yells;
  The town to its foundation shook with the jingle of their bells. 
  Amid the crowd some run, some shout, “Stop, stop!” the elders say;
  Then all take order and advance to Alcazaba’s way;
  Others from Vavataubin to Alpujarra fare,
  Down the street of the Gomelas or to Vivarrambla Square. 
  Now the whole town is on its feet, from wall to towering wall
  They surge with shouts or flock around the tower and castle tall. 
  The ladies who are tenderest and given most to sleep
  Awaken at the hubbub and from their windows peep. 
  And there are seen dishevelled locks clasped by the lily hand;
  And snowy throat and bosom bare, revealed in public, stand;
  And in their drowsy disarray, and in their anxious fear,
  Each Moorish lady is surprised with many a sudden tear;
  And many a heart was filled that night