Moorish Literature / Comprising Romantic Ballads, Tales of the Berbers, Stories of the Kabyles, Folk-Lore, and National Traditions - Unknown

Takes hope, and spreads her wings and soars through skyey tracks again.

And there a hunter draws his bow outlined with skilful thread,

And underneath a word which says, 'Nay, shoot not at the dead.'

Thus spake the Moorish maiden, and in her eyes were tears of grief,

Tho' in her busy needle she seemed to find relief.

And the kindly countess called from far: "Zara, what aileth thee?

Where art thou? For I called, and yet thou didst not answer me."

'Twas eight stout warriors matched with eight, and ten with valiant ten,