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."

BAZA REVISITED

Brave Celin came, the valiant son of him the _castelain_
Of the fortress of Alora and Alhama's windy plain.
He came to see great Baza, where he in former days
Had won from Zara's father that aged warrior's praise.
The Moor gazed on that fortress strong, the towers all desolate,
The castle high that touched the sky, the rampart and the gate.
The ruined hold he greeted, it seemed its native land,
For there his bliss had been complete while Zara held his hand.
And Fortune's cruel fickleness he furiously reviled,
For his heart sent madness to his brain and all his words were wild.
"O goddess who controllest on earth our human fate,
How is it I offend thee, that my life is desolate?
Ah! many were the triumphs that from Zara's hands I bore,
When in the joust or in the dance she smiled on me of yore.
And now, while equal fortune incessantly I chase,
Naught can I gather from thy hand but disaster and disgrace.
Since King