hue;
  For fair Guhala, Moorish maid,
  Her spell upon his heart had laid;
  And thus his cape of saffron bare
  The color emblem of despair;
  On turban and on tassel lie
  The tints that yield an August sky;
  For anxious love was in his mind;
  And anxious love is ever blind. 
  With scarce a word did he forsake
  The lady pining for his sake;
  For, when the festal robe he wore,
  Her soul the pall of sorrow wore. 
  And now he journeyed on his way
  To Jaen, for the jousting day,
  And to Guhala, left alone,
  All relic of delight was gone. 
  Tho’ the proud maid of matchless face
  A thousand hearts would fain embrace,
  She loved but one, and swiftly ran
  And spake her mind to Arbolan. 
  “O Arbolan, my Moor, my own,
  Surely thy love is feeble grown! 
  The least excuse can bid thee part,
  And tear with pain this anxious heart. 
  Oh, that it once were granted me
  To mount my steed and follow thee;
  How wouldst thou marvel then to see
  That courage of true love in me,
  Whose pulse so feebly throbs in thee.” 
  Thus to see Arbolan depart
  So fills with grief Guhala’s heart. 
  The Moorish maid, while on he sped,
  Lies sickening on her mournful bed. 
  Her Moorish damsels strive to know
  The secret of this sudden blow;
  They ask the cause that lays her low;
  They seek the sad disease to heal,
  Whose cause her feigning words conceal. 
  And less, indeed, the doubling folds
  The Moor within his turban holds,
  Than are the wiles Guhala’s mind
  In search of secrecy can find. 
  To Zara only, whom she knows,
  Sole friend amid a ring of foes,
  The sister of her lover leal,
  She will the secret cause reveal. 
  And seeking an occasion meet
  To tell with truth and tongue discreet,
  While from her eyes the tear-drops start,
  She opens thus her bleeding heart: 
  “O Zara, Zara, to the end,
  Thou wilt remain my faithful friend. 
  How cruel is the lot I bear,
  Thy brother’s peril makes me fear! 
  ’Tis for his absence that I mourn. 
  I sicken, waiting his return!”
  Such were the words Guhala said. 
  The love-lorn and afflicted maid
  Nor further power and utterance found,
  But, fainting, sank upon the ground;
  For strength of love had never art
  To fill with life a pining heart.

AZARCO OF GRANADA

  Azarco left his heart behind
    When he from Seville passed,
  And winsome Celindaja
    As hostage held it fast. 
  The heart which followed with the Moor
    Was lent him by the maid,
  And at their tearful parting,
    “Now guard it well,” she said. 
  “O light of my distracted eyes,
    When thou hast reached the fight,
  In coat of double-proof arrayed,
    As fits a gallant knight,
  Let loyal love and constancy