Celinda's Inconstancy

Gazul, like some brave bull that stands at bay to meet his fate,
Has fled from fair Celinda's frown and reached Sanlucar's gate.
The Moor bestrides a sorrel mare, her housings are of gray,
The desperate Moor is clad in weeds that shall his grief display.
The white and green that once he wore to sable folds give room,
Love's purple tints are now replaced by those of grief and gloom.
His Moorish cloak is white and blue, the blue was strewn with stars,
But now a covering like a cloud the starry radiance mars.
And from his head with stripes of black his silken streamers flow,
His bonnet blue he dyes anew in tints of grief and woe.
Alone are seen the tints of green upon his sword-belt spread,
For by that blade the blood of foes in vengeance shall be shed.
The color of the mantle which on his arm he bore
Is like the dark arena's dust when it is drenched in gore.
Black as the buskins that he wears, and black his stirrup's steel,
And red with rust of many a year the rowels at his heel.
He bears not lance or headed spear, for that which once he bore
Was shivered into splinters beside Celinda's door.
He bears a rounded target, whose quarterings display
The full moon darting through the clouds her ineffectual ray.
For though her orb be full the clouds eclipse her silver light;
The motto: "Fair but cruel, black-hearted though so bright."
And as Celinda stripped the wings which on adventure brave
Sustained his flight--no more shall plume above his helmet wave.
'Twas noon one Wednesday when Gazul to Gelva's portal came,
And straight he sought the market-place to join the jousting game;
The ruler of the city looked at him with surprise,
And never lady knew the knight, so dark was his disguise.
As they had been as soft as wax, he pierced the targets through
With javelins of the hollow cane that in the vega grew;
Not one could stand before the Moor; the tilters turned and fled,
For by his exploits was revealed the warrior's name of dread.
The lists were in confusion, but calm was on his brow,
As, lifting up his eyes to heaven, he breathed a desperate vow;
"Would God the malediction of Celinda had come true!
And the spears of my assailant had pierced my bosom through!
And that the dames who pitied me had cursed me where I stand!
And bravely falling I became a hero of the land!
That never succor came to me, for that were rapture high
To her the angry lioness who prays that I may die!"
He spoke, he spurred his courser fleet, and started for the plain,
And swore within Celinda's sight he'd ne'er return again.