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Then captured was Guarinos, King Charles's Admiral,
Seven Moorish kings surrounded him, and seized him for their

thrall; Seven times when all the chase was o'er, for Guarinos lots

they cast; Seven times Marlotes won the throw, and the knight was his

at last.

Much joy had then Marlotes, and his captive much did

prize, Above all the wealth of Araby, he was precious in his eyes. Within his tent at evening he made the best of cheer, And thus, the banquet done, he spake unto his prisoner.

“Now, for the sake of Allah, Lord Admiral Guarinos, Be thou a Moslem, and much love shall ever rest between us. Two daughters have I !-all the day shall one thy handmaid

beThe other (and the fairest far) by night shall cherish thee.

“ The one shall be thy waiting-maid, thy weary feet to lave, To scatter perfumes on thy head, and fetch thee garments

brave: The other--she the pretty one shall deck her bridal bower, And my field and my city they both shall be her dower.

“If more thou wishest, more I'll give. Speak boldly what

thy thought is." Thus earnestly and kindly to Guarinos said Marlotes : But not a minute did he take to ponder or to pause, Thus clear and quick the answer of the Christian Captain was.

“Now, God forbid! Marlotes, and Mary his dear mother, That I should leave the faith of Christ and bind me to

another.

For women-I've one wife in France, and I'll wed no more in

Spain,
I change not faith, I break not vow, for courtesy or gain.”

Wroth waxed King Marlotes, when thus he heard hinı say,
And all for ire commanded, he should be led away;
Away unto the dungeon-keep, beneath its vaults to lie.
With fetters bound in darkness deep, far off from sun and

sky.

With iron bands they bound his hands; that sore unworthy

plight Might well express his helplessness, doomed never more to

fight. Again, from cincture down to knee, long bolts of iron he

bore, Which signified the knight should ride on charger never

more.

Three times alone in all the year it is the captive's doom
To see God's daylight bright and clear, instead of dungeon-

gloom; Three times alone they bring him out, like Samson long ago, Before the Moorish rabble-rout to be a sport and show.

On these high feasts they bring him forth, a spectacle to be-
The Feast of Pasque and the great day of the Nativity;
And on that morn, more solemn yet, when the maidens strip

the bowers, And gladden mosque and minaret with the first fruits of the

flowers.

Days come and go of gloom and show. Seven years are past

and gone.

And now doth fall the festival of the holy Baptist John;

Christian and Moslem tilts and jousts, to give it honour due, And rushes on the paths to spread, they force the sulky Jew.

Marlotes in his joy and pride a target high doth rear,
Below the Moorish knights must ride and pierce it with the

spear;
But 'tis so high up in the sky, albeit much they strain.
No Moorish lance may fly so far, Marlotes' prize to gain.

Wroth waxed King Marlotes, when he beheld them fail,
The whisker trembled on his lip, and his cheek for ire was

pale. The herald's proclamation made, with trumpets, through the

town, “Nor child shall suck, nor man shall eat, till the mark be

tumbled down !"

The cry of proclamation and the trumpets haughty sound Did send an echo to the vault where the Admiral was bound.' « Now help me, God!" the captive cries.

" What means this cry so loud ? 0, Queen of Heaven! be vengeance given on these thy haters

proud!

“Oh! is it that some Paynim gay doth Marlotes' daughter

wed, And that they bear my scorned fair in triumph to his bed ! Or is it that the day is come-one of the hateful threeWhen they, with trumpet fife and drum, make heathen game

of me?"

These words the jailer chanced to hear, and thus to him he

said : “These tabours, lord, and trumpets clear conduct no bride

to bed ;

Nor has the feast come round again, when he that hath the

right Commands thee forth, thou foe of Spain, to glad the people's

sight.

“This is the joyful morning of John the Baptist's day, When Moor and Christian feasts at home, each in his nation's

way; But now our king commands that none his banquet shall

begin, Until some knight, by strength or sleight, the spearman's

prize do win.”

Then out and spoke Guarinos : “Oh! soon each man should

feed, Were I but mounted once again on my own gallant steed. Oh, were I mounted as of old, and harnessed cap-a-pie, Full soon Marlotes' prize I'd hold whate'er its price may be.

“Give me my horse, my old grey horse, so be he is not dead, All gallantly caparisoned with plate on breast and head ; And give me the lance I brought from France, and if I win it

not My life shall be the forfeiture, I'll yield it on the spot."

The jailer wondered at his words. Thus to the knight said

he:

“Seven weary years of chains and gloom have little humbled

thee. There's never a man in Spain, I trow, the like so well might

bear, An' if thou wilt I with thy vow will to the King repair.”

The jailer put his mantle on and came unto the King,
He found him sitting on the throne within his listed ring;

Close to his ear he planted him, and the story did begin,
How bold Guarinos vaunted him the spearman's prize to win.

That were he mounted but once more on his own gallant

grey, And armed with the lance he bore on the Roncesvalles day, What never Moorish knight could pierce, he would pierce it

at a blow, Or give with joy his life-blood fierce at Marlotes' feet to flow.

Much marvelling, then said the King: “Bring Sir Guarinos

forth, And in the grange go seek ye for his grey steed of worth; His arms are rusty on the wall, seven years

have

gone, I judge, Since that strong horse hath bent him to be a common

drudge.

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Now this will be a sight indeed to see the enfeebled lord Essay to mount that ragged steed, and draw that rusty

sword; And for the vaunting of his phrase he well deserves to die : So jailer gird his harness on, and bring your champion nigh.”

They have girded on his shirt of mail, his cuisses well they've

clasped, And they've barred the helm on his visage pale, and his hand

the lance hath grasped ; And they have caught the old grey horse, the horse he loved

of yore,

And he stands pawing at the gate, caparisoned once more.

When the knight came out the Moors did shout, and loudly

laughed the King, For the horse he pranced and capered and furiously did fling;

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