The cathedral left he quickly,
On his wild steed speeding onward,
While his moist locks and the feathers
In his hat the wind is moving.
On the road to Alcolea,
By the side of Guadalquivir,
Where the snowy almond blossoms,
And the fragrant golden orange,
Thither bastes the merry rider,
Piping, singing, laughing gaily,
And the birds all swell the chorus,
And the torrent’s noisy waters.
In the fort at Alcolea
Dwelleth Clara de Alvares;
In Navarre her sire is fighting,
And she revels in her freedom.
And afar Almansor heareth
Sounds of kettle-drums and trumpets,
And the castle lights beholds he
Glittering through the trees’ dark shadows.
In the fort at Alcolea
Dance twelve gaily trick’d-out ladies
With twelve knights attired as gaily,
But Almansor’s the best dancer.
As if wing’d by merry fancies,
Round about the hall he flutters,
Knowing how to all the ladies
To address sweet flattering speeches.
Isabella’s lovely hands he
Kisses quickly, and then leaves her,
And before Elvira stands he,
Looking in her face so archly.
He in turns assures each lady
That he heartily adores her;
“On the true faith of a Christian”
Swears he thirty times that evening.