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Updated: May 27, 2025
With scarce a word did he forsake The lady pining for his sake; For, when the festal robe he wore, Her soul the pall of sorrow wore. And now he journeyed on his way To Jaen, for the jousting day, And to Guhala, left alone, All relic of delight was gone. Tho' the proud maid of matchless face A thousand hearts would fain embrace, She loved but one, and swiftly ran And spake her mind to Arbolan.
"O Arbolan, my Moor, my own, Surely thy love is feeble grown! The least excuse can bid thee part, And tear with pain this anxious heart. Oh, that it once were granted me To mount my steed and follow thee; How wouldst thou marvel then to see That courage of true love in me, Whose pulse so feebly throbs in thee." Thus to see Arbolan depart So fills with grief Guhala's heart.
In the middle, the pavilion Of the pagan they prepare; On the summit a ruby stone is set, A jewel rich and rare. It gleams at morn, and when the night Mantles the world at length, It pours a ray like the light of day, When the sun is at its strength. Brave Arbolan a prisoner lay Within the Tower of Gold; By order of the King there stood Four guards to keep the hold.
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