Attend the brighter banners that invade; And the first horn of hunter, pale with want, Sounds to the chase, the second to the war. The long awaited day at last arrived, When, linked together by the seven-armed Nile, Egypt with proud Iberia should unite. Here the Tartesian, there the Gadite tents Rang with impatient pleasure: here engaged Woody Nebrissa’s quiver-bearing crew, Contending warm with amicable skill; While they of Durius raced along the beach And scattered mud and jeers on all behind. The strength of Bætis too removed the helm And stripped the corslet off, and staunched the foot Against the mossy maple, while they tore Their quivering lances from the hissing wound. Others push forth the prows of their compeers, And the wave, parted by the pouncing beak, Swells up the sides, and closes far astern: The silent oars now dip their level wings, And weary with strong stroke the whitening wave. Others, afraid of tardiness, return: Now, entering the still harbour, every surge Runs with a louder murmur up their keel, And the slack cordage rattles round the mast. Sleepless with pleasure and expiring fears Had Gebir risen ere the break of dawn, And o’er the plains appointed for the feast Hurried with ardent step: the swains admired What so transversely could have swept the dew; For never long one path had Gebir trod, Nor long, unheeding man, one pace preserved. Not thus Charoba: she despaired the day: The day was present; true; yet she despaired. In the too tender and once tortured heart Doubts gather strength from habit, like disease; Fears, like the needle verging to the pole, Tremble and tremble into certainty. How often, when her maids with merry voice Called her, and told the sleepless queen ’twas morn, How often would she feign some fresh delay, And tell them (though they saw) that she arose. Next to her chamber, closed by cedar doors A bath of purest marble, purest wave, On its fair surface bore its pavement high: Arabian gold enchased the crystal roof, With fluttering boys adorned and girls unrobed: These, when you touch the quiet water, start From their aërial sunny arch, and pant Entangled mid each other’s flowery wreaths, And each pursuing is in turn pursued. Here came at last, as ever wont at morn, Charoba: long she lingered at the brink, Often she sighed, and, naked as she was, Sat down, and leaning on the couch’s edge, On the soft inward pillow of her arm Rested her burning cheek: she moved her eyes; She blushed; and blushing plunged into the wave. Now brazen chariots thunder through each street, And neighing steeds paw proudly from delay. While o’er the palace breathes the dulcimer, Lute, and aspiring harp, and lisping reed; Loud rush the trumpets bursting through the throng And urge the high-shouldered vulgar; now are heard