VIII. Wroth waxed King Marlotes, when thus he heard him say, And all for ire commanded, he should be led away; Away unto the dungeon keep, beneath its vault to lie, With fetters bound in darkness deep, far off from sun and sky. IX. 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. X. 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. XI. On three 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. XII. Days come and go of gloom and show. Seven years are come and gone, And now doth fall the festival of the holy Baptist John; Christian and Moslem tilts and jousts, to give it homage due; And rushes on the paths to spread they force the sulky Jew. XIII. 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 so far may fly, Marlotes' prize to gain. XIV. Wroth waxed King Marlotes, when he beheld them fail, The whisker trembled on his lip, and his cheek for ire was pale; And heralds proclamation made, with trumpets, through the town,-- "Nor child shall suck, nor man shall eat, till the mark be tumbled down." XV. The cry of proclamation, and the trumpet's haughty sound, Did send an echo to the vault where the admiral was bound. "Now, help me God!" the captive cries, "what means this din so loud? Oh, Queen of Heaven! be vengeance given on these thy haters proud! XVI. "O! is it that some Pagan 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 three, When they, with trumpet, fife, and drum, make heathen game of me?"-- XVII. These words the jailer chanced to hear, and thus to him he said, "These tabors, Lord, and trumpets clear, conduct no bride to bed; Nor has the feast come round again, when he that has the right, Commands thee forth, thou foe of Spain, to glad the people's sight. XVIII. "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."--