Yet did he deem some Christian troop Was in the darkness hovering by; And at the thought, with terror struck, He turned in eager haste to fly! Darraja roused him at the din; And with loud voice to Tarfe spoke; He knew him from his cloak of blue, For he had given the Moor that cloak! THE TWO MOORISH KNIGHTS Upon two mares both strong and fleet, White as the cygnet's snowy wing, Beneath Granada's arching gate Passed Tarfe and Belchite's King. Like beauty marks the dames they serve; Like colors at their spear-heads wave; While Tarfe kneels at Celia's feet, The King is Dorelice's slave. With belts of green and azure blue The gallant knights are girded fair; Their cloaks with golden orange glow, And verdant are the vests they wear. And gold and silver, side by side, Are glittering on their garment's hem; And, mingled with the metals, shine The lights of many a costly gem. Their veils are woven iron-gray, The melancholy tint of woe-- And o'er their heads the dusky plumes Their grief and desolation show. And each upon his target bears Emblazoned badges, telling true Their passion and their torturing pangs, In many a dark and dismal hue. The King's device shines on his shield-- A seated lady, passing fair; A monarch, with a downcast eye, Before the dame is kneeling there. His crown is lying at her feet That she may spurn it in disdain; A heart in flames above is set; And this the story of his pain. "In frost is born this flame of love"-- Such legend circles the device-- "And the fierce fire in which I burn Is nourished by the breath of ice." Upon her brow the lady wears A crown; her dexter hand sustains A royal sceptre, gilded bright, To show that o'er all hearts she reigns. An orb in her left hand she bears, For all the world her power must feel; There Fortune prostrate lies; the dame Halts with her foot the whirling wheel. But Tarfe's shield is blank and bare, Lest Adelifa should be moved With jealous rage, to learn that he Her Moorish rival, Celia, loved. He merely blazons on his targe A peaceful olive-branch, and eyes That sparkle in a beauteous face, Like starlets in the autumn skies. And on the branch of olive shines This legend: "If thy burning ray Consume me with the fire of love, See that I wither not away." They spurred their horses as they saw The ladies their approach surveyed; And when they reached their journey's end The King to Dorelice said: "The goddesses who reign above With envy of thy beauty tell; When heaven and glory are thy gifts, Why should I feel the pangs of hell? "Oh, tell me what is thy desire? And does heaven's light more pleasure bring Than to own monarchs as thy slaves, And be the heiress to a king?