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Anonymous

"Moorish Literature"


And such he was through all the world by minstrel harps extolled,
Both for the vigor of his arm and for his bearing bold.
His very foes, whom he had made surrender in the fight,
While trembling at his valor, asked blessings on the knight.
And Fame herself, whose pace is swift, whose voice like fire can run,
Grew weary with reciting the deeds that he had done.
To tell aright his jeopardies, escapes, and rescues wrought,
A swifter-flying pinion and a louder tongue she sought!
Such was Zulema, such was he, the warrior of renown,
The son of that Zulema who ruled Toledo's town.
Ah! bright the fame the father left, for it shall never die--
The glory of his greater son shall keep its memory.
Now once it happened that he reached a city's towering gate;
'Twas Avila, and there that day the games they celebrate.
The mighty square, when he arrived, was changed into a bower;
And every knight wore fluttering plumes and every dame a flower.
The scene was strange, because the Moor, in southern cities reared,
Had never seen how gay Castile on festal days appeared.


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