His followers all he bade them dress in Christian array,
  With rude and rustic mantles of color bright and gay;
  With silken streamers in their caps, their caps of pointed crown,
  With flowing blouse, and mantle and gaberdine of brown. 
  But he himself wore sober robes of white and lion gray,
  The emblems of the hopeless grief in which the warrior lay. 
  And the thoughts of Adalifa, of her words and glancing eyes,
  Gave colors of befitting gloom to tint his dark disguise. 
  And he came with purpose to perform some great and glorious deed,
  To drive away the saddening thoughts that made the bosom bleed. 
      “For in the widest prison-house is misery to me,
      And the stoutest heart is broken unless the arm be free.”

  There streams into Granada’s gate a stately cavalcade
  Of prancing steeds caparisoned, and knights in steel arrayed;
  And all their acclamations raise, when Celin comes in sight—­
  “The foremost in the tournament, the bravest in the fight”—­
  And Moorish maiden Cegri straight to the window flies,
  To see the glittering pageant and to hear the joyous cries. 
  She calls her maidens all to mark how, from misfortune free,
  The gallant Celin comes again, the ladies’ knight is he! 
  They know the story of his fate and undeserved disgrace,
  And eagerly they gaze upon the splendor of his face. 
  Needs not his exploit in the fields, his valorous deeds to tell—­
  The ladies of Granada have heard and know them well! 
      “For in the widest prison-house is misery to me,
      And the stoutest heart must break unless the warrior’s arm be free.”

  The beauty of Granada crowds Elvira’s gate this night;
  There are straining necks and flushing cheeks when Celin comes in sight;
  And whispered tales go round the groups, and hearts indignant swell,
  As they think what in Granada that hero knight befell. 
  Now a thousand Moorish warriors to Celin’s fame aspire,
  And a thousand ladies gaze on him with passionate desire. 
  And they talk of Adalifa, to whom he made his vow,
  Though neither speech nor written page unites them longer now. 
      “For in the widest prison-house is misery to me,
      And the stoutest heart must break unless the warrior’s arms be free.”

  The city waits his coming, for the feast has been prepared,
  By rich and poor, by high and low the revel shall be shared;
  And there are warriors high in hope to win the jousting prize,
  And there are ladies longing for a smile from Celin’s eyes. 
  But when the news of gladness reached Adalifa’s ear,
  Her loving heart was touched with grief and filled with jealous fear;
  And she wrote to Celin, bidding him to hold no revel high,
  For the thought of such rejoicing brought the tear-drop to her eye;
  The Moor received the letter as Granada came in sight,
  And straight he turned his courser’s head toward Jaen’s towering height,
  And exchanged for hues of mourning his robe of festal white. 
      “For in the widest prison-house is misery to me,
      And the stoutest heart is broke unless the warrior’s arm be free.”