Out of their skiffs the Arab Pagans spring,

And mounting mules and horses, march; what else

But this for them to do? When forward moves

The host in serried lines, the Emir calls

On Genalfin, his chosen friend: "To thee

Command of all my armies I confide."—

He said—and straight on his bay destrier mounts;

Four Dukes rode with him, and so fast he sped,

Ere long they entered into Sarraguce.

Before a marble terrace he dismounts,

Four Counts his stirrup held, and by the steps

Which led up to the palace he ascends.

To him runs Bramimunde:—"What cruel dole

Is mine, oh, woe! How shamefully," she cried,

"Have I now lost my lord!"—And at his feet

Prostrate she fell. The Emir raised her up,

And, grieving, both into the chamber went.

Aoi.