In darkness and in swiftness rides every armed knight,
The foam on the rein ye may see it plain, but nothing else is white.
Lisaro wears on his bonnet a sprig of bay given him by Zayda, his lady.
And ever as they rode, he looked upon his lady’s boon.
“God knows,” quoth he, “what fate may be—I may be slaughtered soon.”
But he lives to win his bride, as we are told in the curt final verse:
Young Lisaro was musing so, when onwards on the path
He well could see them riding slow; then prick’d he in his wrath.
The raging sire, the kinsmen of Zayda’s hateful house,
Fought well that day, yet in the fray the Zegri won his spouse.