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Anonymous

"Moorish Literature"


Sadly we march along the crowded street,
While trumpets hoarsely blare and drums tempestuous beat.
That day the master's knights were sent,
As if on sport and jousting bent;
And Aliatar, on his way,
By cruel ambush they betray;
With sword and hauberk they surround
And smite the warrior to the ground.
And wounded deep from every vein
He bleeding lies upon the plain.
The furious foes in deadly fight
His scanty followers put to flight,
In panic-stricken fear they fly,
And leave him unavenged to die.
Sadly we march along the crowded street,
While trumpets hoarsely blare and drums tempestuous beat.
Ah sadly swift the news has flown
To Zaida in the silent town;
Speechless she sat, while every thought
Fresh sorrow to her bosom brought;
Then flowed her tears in larger flood,
Than from his wounds the tide of blood.
Like dazzling pearls the tear-drops streak
The pallid beauty of her cheek.
Say, Love, and didst thou e'er behold
A maid more fair and knight more bold?
And if thou didst not see him die,
And Zaida's tears of agony,
The bandage on thine orbs draw tight--
That thou mayst never meet the sight!
Sadly we march along the crowded street,
While trumpets hoarsely blare and drums tempestuous beat.


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