Aben. I must confess the encounters of this day
Warmed me indeed, but quite another way,—­
Not with the fire of youth; but generous rage,
To see the glories of my youthful age
So far out-done.

Abdelm. Castile could never boast, in all its pride;
A pomp so splendid, when the lists, set wide,
Gave room to the fierce bulls, which wildly ran
In Sierra Ronda, ere the war began;
Who, with high nostrils snuffing up the wind,
Now stood the champion of the savage kind. 
Just opposite, within the circled place,
Ten of our bold Abencerrages race
(Each brandishing his bull-spear in his hand,)
Did their proud jennets gracefully command. 
On their steel’d heads their demi-lances wore
Small pennons, which their ladies’ colours bore. 
Before this troop did warlike Ozmyn go;
Each lady, as he rode, saluting low;
At the chief stands, with reverence more profound,
His well-taught courser, kneeling, touched the ground;
Thence raised, he sidelong bore his rider on,
Still facing, till he out of sight was gone.

Boab. You praise him like a friend; and I confess, His brave deportment merited no less.

Abdelm. Nine bulls were launched by his victorious arm,
Whose wary jennet, shunning still the harm,
Seemed to attend the shock, and then leaped wide: 
Mean while, his dext’rous rider, when he spied
The beast just stooping, ’twixt the neck and head
His lance, with never-erring fury, sped.

Aben. My son did well, and so did Hamet too; Yet did no more than we were wont to do; But what the stranger did was more than man.

Abdelm. He finished all those triumphs we began. 
One bull, with curled black head, beyond the rest,
And dew-laps hanging from his brawny chest,
With nodding front a while did daring stand,
And with his jetty hoof spurned back the sand;
Then, leaping forth, he bellowed out aloud: 
The amazed assistants back each other crowd,
While monarch-like he ranged the listed field;
Some tossed, some gored, some trampling down he killed. 
The ignobler Moors from far his rage provoke
With woods of darts, which from his sides he shook. 
Mean time your valiant son, who had before
Gained fame, rode round to every Mirador;
Beneath each lady’s stand a stop he made,
And, bowing, took the applauses which they paid. 
Just in that point of time, the brave unknown
Approached the lists.

Boab. I marked him, when alone
(Observed by all, himself observing none)
He entered first, and with a graceful pride
His fiery Arab dextrously did guide,
Who, while his rider every stand surveyed,
Sprung loose, and flew into an escapade;
Not moving forward, yet, with every bound,
Pressing, and seeming still to quit his ground. 
What after passed
Was far from the Ventanna where I sate,
But you were near, and can the truth relate. [To ABDELM.