She look’d upon him, and she knew the face of Aguilar, Although his beauty was defac’d with many a ghastly scar, She knew him, and she cursed the dogs that pierced him from afar, And mangled him when he was slain--the Moors of Alpujar. The Moorish maidens, while she spake, around her silence kept, But her master dragged the dame away--then loud and long they wept; They washed the blood, with many a tear, from dint of dart and arrow, And buried him near the waters clear of the brook of Alpujarra. THE BULL-FIGHT OF GAZUL. Gazul is the name of one of the Moorish heroes who figure in the “_Historia de las Guerras Civiles de Granada_.” The following is one of many ballads in which the dexterity of Moorish cavaliers in the Bull-fight is described. The reader will observe that the shape, activity, and resolution of the animal destined to furnish the amusement of the spectators, are enlarged upon, just as the qualities of a modern racehorse might be amongst ourselves--nor is the bull without his name. The day of the Baptist is a festival of the Mussulmans, as well as amongst Christians: King Almanzor of Granada, he hath bid the trumpet sound, He hath summon’d all the Moorish lords, from the hills and plains around; From Vega and Sierra, from Betis and Xenil, They have come with helm and cuirass of gold and twisted steel. ’Tis the holy Baptist’s feast they hold in royalty and state, And they have closed the spacious lists, beside the Alhambra’s gate; In gowns of black with silver laced, within the tented ring, Eight Moors to fight the bull are placed, in presence of the King. Eight Moorish lords of valour tried, with stalwart arm and true, The onset of the beasts abide, as they come rushing through; The deeds they’ve done, the spoils they’ve won, fill all with hope and trust Yet, ’ere high in heaven appears the sun, they all have bit the dust! Then sounds the trumpet clearly, then clangs the loud tambour, Make room, make room for Gazul!--throw wide, throw wide the door! Blow, blow the trumpet clearer still! more loudly strike the drum! The Alcaydé of Algava to fight the bull doth come. And first before the King he passed, with reverence stooping low, And next he bowed him to the Queen and th’ Infantas all a-rowe; Then to his lady’s grace he turned, and she to him did throw A scarf from out her balcony was whiter than the snow. With the life-blood of the slaughtered lords all slippery is the sand, Yet proudly in the centre hath Gazul ta’en his stand; And ladies look with heaving breast, and lords with anxious eye, But firmly he extends his arm--his look is calm and high.