on the platform were seated with the King
Bent back to see how well the cane that gallant Moor could fling.
And as Azarque forward rides, as in retreat he flies,
"Now, Allah guard thee, gallant knight," with shouts the people cries.
"My curse upon him; he shall die," the jealous King replies.
But Celindaja paid no heed to all that cavalcade;
Her lips were parched, her throat was dry, her heart was sore dismayed.
She asked that they would bring her fruit, but yet she strove in vain
With juice of any earthly tree to slake her fevered pain.
"Now let the sport be ended," the angry King decreed.
The joust was late, and every judge in weariness agreed.
And as they closed the empty lists, they heard the King's command,
"Now seize, now seize Azarque, a traitor to this land."
The double lines of cavaliers who led the jousting train
Threw down upon the open square the spear of idle cane;
Then swiftly seized the lance of steel and couching it for fight,
According to the royal wish rode down upon the knight.
For arms and plea must ever bootless prove
To curb the passions of a king in love.

The other band came forth to save Azarque from his foes,
But the stout Moor waves his hand to them ere they in battle close.
Then calmly cries: "Tho' love, it seems, has no respect for law,
'Tis right that ye keep peace to-day and from the lists withdraw!
Nay, gentlemen, your lances lower before it be too late;
And let our foes their lances raise, in sign of passion's hate;
Thus without blood accorded be a victory and defeat.
'Tis only bloodshed makes the one more bitter or more sweet,
For arms or reason unavailing prove
To curb the passions of a king in love."

At last they seize the struggling Moor, the chains are on his hands;
And the populace, with anger filled, arrange themselves in bands.
They place a guard at every point, in haste to set him free,
But where the brave commander who shall lead to victory?
And where the leader who shall shout and stir their hearts to fight?
These are but empty braggarts, but prowlers of the night,
Cut-throats and needy idlers--and so the tumult ends--
Azarque lies in prison, forsaken by his friends.
For, ah, both arms and reason powerless prove
To turn the purpose of a king in love.

Alone does Celindaja the coward crowd implore,
"Oh, save him, save him, generous friends, give back to me my Moor."
She stands