United States or Belgium ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
And after hours of pleasure Moor Galvan sank to sleep; And soon the lady saw a knight Descend the mountain steep; His voice was raised in sorrow, His eyes with tears were wet, For lovely Moriana His heart could ne'er forget. For her, upon St. John's Day, While she was gathering flowers, The Moors had made a captive, Beneath her father's towers.
These words has Moriana heard, Close nestled in the Moor's embrace; The tears that welled from out her eyes Have wet her captor's swarthy face. The warden of Molina, ah! furious was his speed, As he dashed his glittering rowels in the flank of his good steed, And his reins left dangling from the bit, along the white highway, For his mind was set to speed his horse, to speed and not to stay.
Let the shrill fife, the flute, the sackbut ring A summons to our Admiral, a salvo to our King. Twas Princess Moriana, Upon a castle's height, That played with Moorish Galvan At cards for her delight; And oft he lost the stakes he set, Full many a coin I wis; When Moriana lost, she gave Her hand for him to kiss.
And Moriana raised her eyes And saw her lover ride, And on her cheeks her Moorish lord The sparkling tears descried. With anger raged his spirit, And thus to her he cried: "What ails thee, gentle lady? Why flows with tears thine eye?
Word Of The Day