"Amid the hardships of the siege
Let pleasure yield a respite brief;
(For war must ever have its truce)
And give our hardships some relief.
"What solace to the war-worn frame,
To every soul what blest release,
To fling aside the targe and mail,
And don one hour the plumes of peace!
"And he who shall the victor be
Among the jousters of the game,
I pledge my knightly word to him,
In token of his valorous fame,
"On his right arm myself to bind
The favor of my lady bright;
'Twas given me by her own white hand,
The hand as fair as it is white."
'Twas thus that Tarfe, valiant Moor,
His proclamation wrote at large;
He, King Darraja's favored squire,
Has nailed the cartel to his targe.
'Twas on the day the truce was made,
By Calatrava's master bold,
To change the quarters of his camp,
And with his foes a conference hold.
Six Moorish striplings Tarfe sent
In bold Abencerraje's train--
His kindred both in race and house--
To meet the leaguers on the plain.
In every tent was welcome warm;
And when their challenge they display,
The master granted their request
To join the joust on Easter day.
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