Burned the Moor's heart at once with wrath, at once with passion's flame,
To save the life and, more than life, the honor of his dame.
Straight to his feet he sprung and straight he drew his mighty sword,
And plunged into the robber crowd and uttered not a word.
No jousting game was e'er so brisk as that which then he waged;
On arm and thigh with deadly blow the slashing weapon raged;
Though certain was his death, yet still, with failing heart, he prayed
That till his lady could escape, that death might be delayed.
But, in the dark, a deadly stone, flung with no warning sound,
Was buried in his forehead and stretched him on the ground.