Then his dagger Don Fernando plucked from out its
jewelled sheath,
And he struck the Moor so fiercely, as he grappled him
beneath,
That the good Damascus weapon sank within the folds
of fat,
And as dead as Julius Cæsar dropped the Gordian
Acrobat.
Meanwhile fast the sun was sinking—it had sunk beneath
the sea,
Ere Fernando Gomersalez smote the latter of the three;
And Al-Widdicomb, the monarch, pointed, with a bitter
smile,
To the deeply-darkening canvass;—blacker grew it all the
while.
"Thou hast slain my warriors, Spaniard! but thou hast
not kept thy time;
Only two had sunk before thee ere I heard the curfew
chime;
Back thou goest to thy dungeon, and thou mayst be
wondrous glad
That thy head is on thy shoulders for thy work to-day,
my lad!
"Therefore all thy boasted valour, Christian dog, of no
avail is!"
Dark as midnight grew the brow of Don Fernando Gomer-
salez;—
Stiffly sate he in his saddle, grimly looked around the
ring,
Laid his lance within the rest, and shook his gauntlet at
the King.
"O, thou foul and faithless traitor! wouldst thou play me
false again?
Welcome death and welcome torture, rather than the
captive's chain!
But I give thee warning, caitiff! Look thou sharply to
thine eye—
Unavenged, at least in harness, Gomersalez shall not
die!"
Thus he spoke, and Bavieca like an arrow forward flew,
Right and left the Moorish squadron wheeled to let the
hero through;
Brightly gleamed the lance of vengeance—fiercely sped
the fatal thrust—
From his throne the Moorish monarch tumbled lifeless in
the dust.
Speed thee, speed thee, Bavieca! speed thee faster than
the wind!
Life and freedom are before thee, deadly foes give chase
behind!
