On the morn of John the Baptist, just at the break of day,
  The Moors upon Granada’s fields streamed out in bright array. 
  Their horses galloped o’er the sod, their lances flashed in air,
  And the banners that their dames had wrought spread out their colors
                fair. 
  Their quivers bright flashed in the light with gold and silk brocade,
  And the Moor who saw his love was there looked best in the parade,
  And the Moor who had no lady love strove hard some love to gain. 
  ’Mong those who from Alhambra’s towers gazed on that warrior train,
  There were two Moorish ladies there whom love had smitten sore;
  Zarifa one, and Fatima the name the other bore. 
  Knit by warm friendship were their hearts till, filled with jealous pain,
  Their glances met, as one fair knight came prancing o’er the plain. 
  Zarifa spoke to Fatima, “How has love marred thy face! 
  Once roses bloomed on either cheek, now lilies take their place;
  And you, who once would talk of love, now still and silent stay. 
  Come, come unto the window and watch the pageant gay! 
  Abindarraez is riding by; his train is full in view;
  In all Granada none can boast a choicer retinue.” 
  “It is not love, Zarifa, that robs my cheek of rose;
  No fond and anxious passion this mournful bosom knows;
  My cheeks are pale and I am still and silent, it is true,—­
  For, ah!  I miss my father’s face, whom fierce Alabey slew. 
  And did I crave the boon of love, a thousand knights were fain
  To fight for me in service true on yonder flowery plain. 
  And all the love I give to each to give me back again. 
  And for Abindarraez, whose heart and valiant might,
  You praise and from the window watch, with rapturous delight——­”
  The lady stopped, for at their feet knelt down the well-loved knight.

THE BRAGGART REBUKED

  “If thou art brave in battle’s hour
      As thou art bold in pleasure’s rout;
  If thou canst make the lances fly
      As thou canst fling thy words about;

  “If thou canst in the vega fight
      As thou the ladies’ eyes canst praise;
  And show on horseback half the skill
      That marks thee in the dance’s maze;

  “Meet with the briskness of the joust
      The challenge of the deadly lance,
  And in the play of scimitars
      Be sprightly as in festive dance;

  “If thou art ready in the field
      As thou art nimble on the square;
  And canst the front of battle face
      As though thou flirtest with the fair;

  “If thou dost don thy shining mail
      As lightly as thy festive suit,
  And listenest to the trumpet call
      As though it were thy lady’s lute;

  “And if, as in the gamesome hour
      Thou flingest round the rattling reed
  Against the foeman’s moated camp,
      Thou spurrest on thy thundering steed;