And one, the loveliest of them all, who wore a strange disguise,
  Yet through her veil such rays she shot that she seemed like the sun on
                high
  When he rises, quenching all the stars that filled the midnight sky. 
  She made a sign to him and spoke directly from her heart,
  Whose tongue is in a woman’s eye.  Ah! well it plays its part! 
  She bade him to redeem the day and avenge each gallant knight
  Who had fallen in the dust before the foe in stubborn fight. 
  And the Moor with gracious mien assents, and from his seat descends;
  But first with glance and waving scarf a tender message sends
  To the lovely Moorish damsel who had called him to the fray,
  And had filled his heart with sudden love upon the festal day. 
  And as he leapt into the sand it was as if he flew,
  For love lent wings at his lady’s nod, some glorious deed to do. 
  And when the bull beheld approach, upon the bloody sand,
  His bold and tall antagonist, a dagger in his hand,
  He roared like thunder, with his hoofs he pawed the dusty ground,
  The plaza shook, the castle tower re-echoed to the sound! 
  Long subject to the hand of man, and in subjection born,
  He thought to subject human foe to hoof and mighty horn. 
  Zulema started toward the beast, loud cries would hold him back,
  But well he knew that victory would follow his attack. 
  The bull was on him with a bound, and, glaring face to face,
  They stood one moment, while a hush fell on the crowded place. 
  With bold right hand Zulema drew his keen and mighty blade;
  Blow after blow ’mid blood and dust upon his foe he laid;
  The startled beast retired before such onslaught of his foe,
  And the people shouted loud applause and the King himself bowed low. 
  The bull with tossing head roared forth a challenge to the knight,
  As Zulema turned, and with a bound rushed to the desperate fight. 
  Ah! cruel were the strokes that rained upon that foaming flank! 
  Into the sand that life-blood like a shower of autumn sank. 
  He roars, he snorts, he spurns the ground, the bloody dust flies high,
  Now here, now there, in angry pain they see the monster fly. 
  He turns to see what new-found foe has crossed his path to-day;
  But when Zulema faces him he stops to turn away. 
  For the third time the fight begins; the bull with many a roar
  Turns to his foe, while from his lips run mingled foam and gore. 
  The Moor enraged to see the beast again before him stand,
  Deals him the deep, the fatal wound, with an unerring hand. 
  That wound, at last, has oped the gate through which may enter death,
  And staggering to the dust the beast snorts forth his latest breath. 
  As the bull falls, the crowded square rings with a loud acclaim,
  And envy burns in many a knight, and love in many a dame. 
  The highest nobles of the land the conqueror embrace;
  He sees the blush of passion burn on many a damsel’s face. 
  And Fame has blown her trumpet and flies from town to town,
  And Apollo takes his pen and writes the hero’s title down.