Through the mountains of Moncayo,
Lo! all in arms arrayed,
Rides pagan Bobalias,
Bobalias the renegade.
Seven times he was a Moor, seven times
To Christ he trembling turned;
At the eighth, the devil cozened him
And the Christian cross he spurned,
And took back the faith of Mahomet,
In childhood he had learned.
He was the mightiest of the Moors,
And letters from afar
Had told him how Sevila
Was marshalling for war.
He arms his ships and galleys,
His infantry and horse,
And straight to Guadalquivir's flood
His pennons take their course.
The flags that on Tablada's plain
Above his camp unfold,
Flutter above three hundred tents
Of silk brocade and gold.
In the middle, the pavilion
Of the pagan they prepare;
On the summit a ruby stone is set,
A jewel rich and rare.
It gleams at morn, and when the night
Mantles the world at length,
It pours a ray like the light of day,
When the sun is at its strength.