ranged above;
  And “Fire and Blood” the motto runs.  It speaks of war and love. 
  In double file a company of warriors succeed;
  The bold Aliatares come mounted on Arab steeds. 
  The livery that they wear is dyed in tint of crimson red;
  And flower and leaf in white relief its surface overspread. 
  The globe of heaven, which many a star and constellation strow,
  Borne upon Atlas’ shoulders, is the blazon that they show. 
  And a Moor of Aliatar this motto does express,
  Written upon a streamer, “I Endure through Weariness.” 
  The Adelifas follow; a mighty race are they. 
  Their armor is more costly, their mantles are more gay. 
  Of bright carnation is the web, enriched with saffron streaks,
  And for favors there are fluttering veils upon their helmet peaks. 
  A globe they blazon on their shields, but it is bruised and broke
  By a savage with a bludgeon, who deals it many a stroke;
  And a rod, and underneath it this motto tells the tale,
  All written in Arabian scrip.  It says, “The Strong Prevail.” 
  The eight Azarques following these into the plaza spring,
  With air of haughty arrogance they gallop round the ring. 
  Of blue and purple and pale gold are the mantles that they wear,
  And for plumes they carry amulets that dangle high in air. 
  On their left arm are their targets, painted a dazzling green. 
  The orb of heaven is outlined there on which two hands are seen,
  The motto, “Green is paramount,” is lettered full in view;
  Its arrogance explains to all those targets’ vivid hue. 
  Then foams the King in rage to see his doting love was fleered,
  And his heart is filled with bitter thought as that proud shield
                appeared. 
  And he called the warden of his keep, Celin his henchman tried,
  And he pointed to Azarque, and, flushed with anger, cried—­
  “The sun upon that haughty shield myself will bid it set;
  It works some mischief upon me, like an evil amulet.” 
  Azarque drew his ready lance, his strong arm hurled it high,
  The light shaft soared amid the clouds, and vanished in the sky. 
  And those whose vision followed it grew dizzy at the sight,
  They knew not whither it had flown, nor where it would alight. 
  The ladies of the burgesses at many a window press
  To see the javelin from his hand rise with such readiness,
  And those who on the platform were seated with the King
  Bent back to see how well the cane that gallant Moor could fling. 
  And as Azarque forward rides, as in retreat he flies,
  “Now, Allah guard thee, gallant knight,” with shouts the people cries. 
  “My curse upon him; he shall die,” the jealous King replies. 
  But Celindaja paid no heed to all that cavalcade;
  Her lips were parched, her throat was dry, her heart was sore dismayed. 
  She asked that they would bring her fruit, but yet she strove in vain