e heart of bold Gazul
When, past Sidonia's guard,
He sallied forth in arms arrayed,
With courage high prepared
To do a deed that mortal man
Never before had dared.
It was for this he bade them bring
His barb and coat of mail;
A sword and dusky scabbard
'Neath his left shoulder trail;
In Fez a Christian captive
Had forged it, laboring
At arms of subtile temper
As bondsman of the King.
More precious 'twas to bold Gazul
Than all his realms could bring.
A tawny tinted _alquizel_
Beneath his arms he wore;
And, to conceal his thoughts of blood,
No towering spear he bore.
He started forth for Jerez,
And hastening on his course,
Trampled the vega far and wide
With hoof-prints of his horse.
And soon he crossed the splashing ford
Of Guadelate's tide,
Hard by the ancient haven
Upon the valley-side.
They gave the ford a famous name
The waters still retain,
Santa Maria was it called,
Since Christians conquered Spain.
The river crossed, he spurred his steed,
Lest he might reach the gate
Of Jarez at an hour unfit,
Too early or too late.
For Zaida, his own Zaida,
Had scorned her lover leal,
Wedding a rich and potent Moor
A native of Seville;
The nephew of a castellan,
A Moorish prince of power,
Who in Seville was seneschal
Of castle and of tower.
By this accursed bridal
Life's treasure he had lost;
The Moor had gained the treasure,
And now must pay the cost.
The second hour of night had rung
When, on his gallant steed,
He passed thro' Jerez' gate resolved
Upon a desperate deed.
And lo! to Zaida's dwelling
With peaceful mien he came,
Pondering his bloody vengeance
Upon that house of shame.
For he will pass the portal,
And strike the bridegroom low;
But first must cross the wide, wide court,
Ere he can reach his foe.
And he must pass the crowd of men,
Who in the courtyard stand,
Lighting the palace of the Moor,
With torches in their hand.
And Zaida in the midst comes forth,
Her lover at her side;
He has come, amid his groomsmen,
To take her for his bride.
And bold Gazul feels his heart bound
With fury at the sight;
A lion's rage is in his soul,
His brow is black as night.
But now he checks his anger,
And gently on his steed
Draws near, with smile of greeting,
That none may balk