The King Almanzor slept one night,
And, oh! his sleep was blest;
Not all the seven Moorish kings
Could dare to break his rest.
The infante Bobalias
Bethought of him and cried:
"Now rouse thee, rouse thee, uncle dear!
And hasten to my side.
"And bid them fetch the ladders
Owned by my sire the King;
And the seven mules that carry them
Into my presence bring.
"And give to me the seven stout Moors
Who shall their harness set,
For the love, the love of the countess
I never can forget."
"Ill-mannered art thou, nephew,
And never wilt amend;
The sweetest sleep I ever slept,
Thou bringest to an end."
Now they have brought the ladders
Owned by his sire the King.
And, to bear the load along the road,
Seven sturdy mules they bring;
And seven stout Moors, by whom the mules
In housings are arrayed.
And to the walls of the countess
Their journey have they made.
There, at the foot of yonder tower,
They halt their cavalcade.
In the arms of the count Alminique
The countess lay at rest;
The infante has ta'en her by the hand,
And caught her to his breast.