And give to me the buskins plain,
Decked by no jewels' glow,
For he to whom the world is false
Had best in mourning go.
And give to me my lance of war,
Whose point is doubly steeled,
And, by the blood of Christians,
Was tempered in the field.
For well I wish my goodly blade
Once more may burnished glow;
And if I can to cleave in twain
The body of my foe.
And hang upon my baldric,
The best of my ten swords.
Black as the midnight is the sheath,
And with the rest accords.
Bring me the horse the Christian slave
Gave to me for his sire,
At Jaen; and no ransom
But that did I require.
And even though he be not shod,
Make haste to bring him here;
Though treachery from men I dread,
From beasts I have no fear.
The straps with rich enamel decked
I bid you lay aside;
And bind the rowels to my heel
With thongs of dusky hide."
Thus spake aloud the brave Gazul,
One gloomy Tuesday night;
Gloomy the eve, as he prepared
For victory in the fight.
For on that day the news had come
That his fair Moorish maid
Had wedded with his bitterest foe,
The hated Albenzaide.
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