cimitar of might.
And his right arm was sleeved in cloth
Of tawny lion's hue,
And at his lance-head, lifted high,
A Turkish pennon flew.
And when he reached Daraja's camp
He saw Daraja stand
Beside his own perfidious love,
And clasp her by the hand.
He made to her the wonted sign,
Then lingered for a while,
For jealous anguish filled his heart
To see her tender smile.
He spurred his courser to the blood;
One clattering bound he took,
The Moorish maiden turned to him.
Ah, love was in her look!
Ah, well he saw his hopeless fate,
And in his jealous mood
The heart that nothing feared in fight
Was whelmed in sorrow's flood.
"O false and faithless one," he said,
"What is it that I view?
Thus the foreboding of my soul
I see at last come true;
Shame that a janizary vile,
Of Christian creed and race,
A butt of bright Alhambra's feasts,
Has taken now my place.
Where is the love thou didst avow,
The pledge, the kiss, the tear,
And all the tender promises
Thou whisperedst in my ear?
Thou, frailer than the withered reed,
More changeful than the wind,
More thankless than the hardest heart
In all of womankind;
I marvel not at what I see,
Nor yet for vengeance call;
For thou art woman to the core,
And in that name is all."
The gallant Moor his courser checked,
His cheek with anger burned,
Men saw, that all his gallant mien
To gloom and rage was turned.

KING JUAN

"Abenamar, Abenamar," said the monarch to the knight,
"A Moor art thou of the Moors, I trow, and the ladies' fond delight,
And on the day when first you lay upon your mother's breast,
On land and sea was a prodigy, to the Christians brought unrest;
The sea was still as a ruined mill and the winds were hushed to rest.
And the broad, broad moon sank down at noon, red in the stormy west.
If thus thou wert born thou well mayst scorn to ope those lips of thine,
That out should fly a treacherous lie, to meet a word of mine."
"I have not lied," the Moor replied, and he bowed his haughty head
Before the King whose wrath might fling his life among the dead.
"I would not deign with falsehood's stain my lineage to betray;
Tho' for the truth my life, in sooth, should be the price I pay.
I am son and squire of a Moorish sire, who with the Christians strove,
And the captive dame of Christian name was his