The trumpets blew in merry strain, the Moorish horns resound,
And the strain of joy was echoed from every castle round.
And from his colt dismounting he laid his lance aside,
And greeted all the multitude that filled the plaza wide.
Then to the strong tower of the place he hurried from the street,
And as he went a thousand times his lips would still repeat:
"And, Fortune, do thy worst; it is not meant,
By Allah, that his knight should die in banishment."
ZAIDE'S LOVE
Then Zaide stood enraptured and gazed with placid eye,
For the moment when his heart's desire should be fulfilled was nigh.
Propitious was the moment, and happy was the hour,
When all that he had longed for had come into his power.
And he said: "Thrice happy is the wall, and happy is the bar,
Tho' from my fond embraces, Zaida, it keeps thee far;
For long as thou shalt live on earth, my Zaida, thou art mine;
And the heart that in my bosom beats, long as it beats, is thine.
And happy is the green, green sod on which thy feet are set,
For the pressure of thy tender foot the grass shall ne'er forget,
Shall ne'er forget the white, white heel that o'er the pathway came,
Leaving behind it, everywhere, the print of snow and flame.
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