The guise of war at once was dropped;
The armory closed its iron door;
And all put on the damask robes
That at high festival they wore.
The Moorish youths and maidens crowd,
With joyful face, the city square;
These mount their steeds, those sit and braid
Bright favors for their knights to wear.
Those stern antagonists in war,
Like friends, within the town are met;