El muza

Introduction

r Muse of the West, to eastern shores again

Direct thy flight, and view the distant day, When in the groves or ancient halls of Spain,

Thy voice was heard with wild or plaintive lay, In warlike strains on old Grenada's towers,

Or softer notes which floated light and gay. To hail the dawn or cheer the twilight hours.

Or mountain shepherd's song or convent's vesper lay.

'Twas summer, and the sun's fierce rays On old Grenada's turrets blaze, As Don Rinaldo turned his eye Backward its ancient towers to spy. And mark the sun's declining beam Cast lengthening shadows o'er the stream

From some tall monarch of the wood,

Which proudly on its borders stood ;

Or see the sparkling Darrow play

In rippling eddies on its way ;

Or mark the sun's reflected light

Blaze from some cottage window bright,

As slowly passing o'er the plain

He sought the mountain side to gain,

And pass its wild and rugged height.

Ere o'er it closed the shades of night,

Which now approaching bade him chide

The tardy movements of his guide.

" Haste, Pedro, haste, for even now.

We see the sun declining low

Behind yon western mountain's brow ;

Then let us hasten o'er the plain

Our shelter for the night to gain."

His guide, a boasting cavalier,

Who when in safety scoffed at fear.

Replies, " myself and ancestors

Have passed through shipwrecks, storms and

wars.

Have climbed Nevada's wildest height. Nor feared the darkest shades of night.

But yonder forest, dense and wide, Which clothes the rugged mountain side, Where lofty cypress boughs entwine Their gloomy foliage with the vine, Where the bright rays of summer sun On the grey rocks has never shone, Amidst the wild, unbroken gloom, A mountain spirit makes his home Within a cavern dark and deep. Reached by a pathway rough and steep; But its dark caves and secret door No brave adventurer dare explore. The mountain shepherd passing near Crosses his brow with reverent fear. Nor dare pursue the straggling fiock Which strays too near the haunted rock; And oft some passing traveler. Borne on the night breeze from afar. Has heard some ancient Moorish song Blend with the harp's strange notes along. Perhaps the ghosts of Jews and Moors, Which Spain subdued in ancient wars, Still hover o'er Nevada's height. And haunt its rocks and caves at night.

Now as these strange and mystic lays

Forebode some ill in coming days,

Let us retrace our way again

To some safe cottage on the plain

Ere close the gathering shades of night,

And thus avoid the evil sprite."

With timid voice thus spoke the guide,

Then crossed him toward the mountain side.

But Don Rinaldo sought to cheer

His timid guide's increasing fear.

Resolved the forest sprite to brave,

And boldly seek the haunted cave.

Perhaps, he thought, some hermit grey

There pours his melancholy lay.

Or some lone relict of the Moor

Still chants his nation's conflicts o'er,

In sight of old Grenada's towers

Thus spends the lonely evening hours.

As sunk the sun low in the West,

Again the guide Rinaldo pressed

Near to the cave to lead the way,

And listen to the hermit's lay.

Pedro, at first, appeared amazed.

But as the Don his valor praised.

At length exclaimed, '' a cavalier

Each mountain danger scorns to fear;

The Virgin's aid now let us crave,

And boldly seek the mountain cave."

A narrow pathway now they take,

Through forest dense, through vine and brake,

And soon they leave the level plain

And pass the bounds where rural swain

Pauses, then hastens back with fear;

For here the timid shepherd's ear

Had caught the strange and mystic sound,*

And quickly fled the enchanted ground.

The shades which part the night from day

Now veiled the earth with curtain grey;

While every bough, shook by the breeze,

Cast dancing shadows midst the trees,

And wildly bursting on the ear

A harp's weird notes they clearly hear;

The trembling guide now heard the lay.

And turned and fled with speed away.

No threat or call could check his flight,

He quickly disappeared from sight.

The night still deepened o'er the wood

As lost in doubt Rinaldo stood,

Whether to brave the shades of night,

And seek the famous mountain sprite,

Or should he leave the mountain side,

And flee as fled his frightened guide.

While thus he mused, borne on the breeze

Which lightly murmured through the trees.

The harp again with mystic sound

Awakes the solitude profound.

And casts a strange and magic spell

O'er mountain cliff and vine-clad dell.

Not such a strain as mountain sprite.

Or robber clan would hail the night ;

Or fabled fairies in their plays.

Would choose such melancholy lays.

He soon dispelled each rising fear.

And toward the sound approached more near,

Till, blending with the notes, each word

And varied tone was clearly heard.

The voice, though heard in accents low.

Kept measured time in numbers slow.

Or blended with a cheerful grace.

As flowed the harp's more lively lays;

Whose plaintive strains or deeper thrill

Spoke proudly of the minstrel's skill,

Who now, as closed the hours of day, Thus played and sang his evening lay.

SONG.

The summer sun sinks in the West; And nature hails the hour of rest; Its golden beams no longer play On proud Nevada's summits grey, And from the cypress broad and tall The twilight shadows cease to fall. While wakens with the evening hour The magic spell of fancy's power, Till airy forms through memory fly, Like shadows of the years gone by. The tread of valiant cavalier, In ancient halls again I hear, And gay pavilions teem once more With social mirth or classic lore; But one sad thought removes the spell, Though fancy yet her tale may tell; Each nodding tower and crumbling wall The once proud city's fame recall; The Moorish exile sighs in vain To tread Grenada's halls again,

And for its ancient groves and vines, In distant countries sadly pines; How like the twilight shadows lone, Which linger till the day is gone, And cast a faint but longer shade. As into night they slowly fade.

The music ceased, the evening shade Hung darkly over cliff and glade, While brightly gleaming from afar. Appeared full many a distant star; The moon's pale crescent dimly shone Above the western mountains lone, But scarce could penetrate the gloom, Which veiled the unknown minstrel's home, Where the dark foliage of the grove And clustered vines bend from above, And almost hide the rocky dell. Which formed the entrance to the cell.

Rinaldo now, with cautious feet, Entered the hermit's lone retreat, But often paused, as o'er his head With rustling sound the night winds sped,

Until a taper's glimmering rays

The grotto's inner walls displays —

A hall so spacious, broad and high,

That scarcely could Rinaldo's eye

Distinctly scan amidst the gloom

The distant outlines of the room,

Where rocks projecting half concealed.

And by the taper half revealed.

Whose shadows by the flickering light

Seemed moving phantoms of the night.

While half resolved the place to fly,

The minstrel's form attracts his eye.

Seated beside a table rude,

On which a glimmering taper stood.

And silent as the rock; a part

Of which he seemed, by sculptor's art.

Fixed like a statue in his seat.

Sole inmate of his lone retreat.

His brow, deep-marked with age and care,

Showed scattered locks of silver hair.

Which seemed to mark with stronger grace

The tranquil features of his face.

His harp, which by the taper's ray

Was clearly seen, before him lay.

Revealing in each fine-wrought part The touches of uncommon art. Rinaldo stood awhile amazed. And on the scene in silence gazed, While legends old of haunted caves, Of spirits seen midst lonely graves, Or tales of midnight demons dire, Who dance around enchanted fire, Or robber bands who often hide Their booty in the mountain side. Ran through his mind, till once again The minstrel woke another strain.

SONG.

Wake, friendly harp, thy simple lay

Recalls departed scenes again. Wakens the scenes long passed away. When in my youth so blithe and gay,

I lightly roamed o'er hill and plain. I sing again the sparkling rill.

Its murmurs echo to my song; I sing the mountain rock and hill, And blend m)^ notes with breezes shrill.

Which waft the strains along.

The lofty peak, the nodding tower,

The hill, the streamlet, and the grove, The vine that climbs my rocky bower. The gentle breeze, the blushing flower,

The songster's lay of love — All answer to my humble strain,

As gaily as in gone-by days; But faithful memory sighs in vain, For friends whose voices ne'er again

Will echo to my lays.

The minstrel paused and raised his eye, When Don Rinaldo, drawing nigh. Addressed the bard: ''A stranger's feet Unbidden seek your lone retreat; Your pardon grant, and let me crave A welcome entrance to your cave; By wild adventure led this way, I listened to your evening lay. And over rock and vine-clad dell. The secret entrance to your cell. Now be thy form a mountain sprite, Conjured by spirits of the night

Which hover o'er Grenada's towers,

Or haunt the crags at midnight hours,

Or relic of the ancient Moor,

Who sings his nation's conflicts o'er,

I cheerfully my errand tell.

Call memory's power or fancy's spell

To wake your weird and magic lays.

And tell some tale of ancient days."

"A welcome guest," the bard replied,

" Is he who seeks my mountain side

And finds my quiet, lone retreat,

But seldom trod by stranger's feet.

Though once a hiding place secure

For banished Jew or conquered Moor,

Who often spent a quiet hour

Soothed by some ancient minstrel's power.

But since that time long years have passed.

And I, of minstrels, am the last

To strike the harp which oft before.

Touched by the charm of ancient lore,

Has poured its notes, in former days.

In cheerful, mild, or mournful lays.

In festive halls or convents lone.

Touched by a minstrel now unknown,

Whose ashes, and whose unmarked mound, No modern traveler has found. My simple lays shall trace his fame With knights of royal rank and name, Whose deeds have been forgotten long, Save in the minstrel's tale or song."

CANTO I. The distant past, a dim and fading scene

Where twilight lingers and yet half reveals Its shadowy forms, while mists that intervene

Enlarge the pictures which they half conceal. The hills still stand, the rivers onward flow;

The lofty mountains, as in days gone by, Are still unchanged. These scenes of long ago

Recall the past and wake the smile or sigh. To view the rustic shepherd with his flock.

Or see the maiden, by the dancing rill Selecting flowers; or on the dizzy rock

Observe the hunter as he mounts the hill; Or trace, extended o'er the distant plain.

The tents of war and lines of glittering steel And banners gay, the insignia of Spain,

Proud Aragon, and pennants of Castile; Or see the crescent banner on the towers

Of old Grenada floating o'er the walls; To note the haughty Moslem's fading powers

Which still their nation's pride and power recalls.

And fancy midst the shadows still can trace

The warlike chief, arrayed in armor bright. And princely form, the foremost of his race,

The cavalier, the dark and steel-clad knight. These varied scenes invite the humble muse

To chant her notes in numbers grave or gay,, Or warlike strains, as she her theme pursues

Of by-gone days or countries far away.

minstrel's tale THE FLAG OF TRUCE.

The sun had passed his noonday hour, And from each battlement and tower

The lengthening shadows fall; And mimic beacons brightly glowed

On snow-crowned mountains tall; While on its sloping sides are seen Grey rocks, contrasting with the green Of lofty pines, while, grand and bold. Some lofty peak, with crown of gold,

Seemed monarch over all.

From western hills a somber shade Lengthens across the vale and glade. Yet, dancing on its way.

The sparkling Genii still reflects

The sun's departing ray; While from Grenada's walls and towers, The soldiers mark the passing hours By tracing from the tower or wall, Like giant forms, the shadows tall

Their ghostly forms display.

But little relish had the Moor For nature's beauties, while before

Each massive wall and gate The strong invader's army lay

In warlike pomp and state. The sun which shed its cheerful beams O'er nature, still as brightly gleams On waving banners, tents and spears. Which to Grenada now appears

The harbingers of fate.

The watchful sentinel whose form, Alike in sunshine or in storm.

Is known by friend and foe. Regards alike the chilling storm

Or sunshine's cheerful glow.

Now traces, from the camp of Spain, A horseman start with fearless rein. Bearing aloft a flag of white. And emblems of a high-born knight, His princely rank to show.

Now, from Grenada's guarded walls, A peaceful, answering signal falls,

While, with a practiced eye. The Moorish chief surveys with care

The knight now coming nigh, Mounted upon a jet black steed. His stalwart form and reckless speed, El Muza oft had seen before As foremost on the field of war,

A dreaded enemy.

The Moorish knight now calmly waits To welcome, at the city gates,

The Spanish messenger, And greets Melendez, haughty lord.

With words of formal cheer; Who, with a proud, defiant look. Abruptly to El Muza spoke:

" I ask an audience with your king To whom I now a message bring, Which he should quickly hear.

"My king's command," El Muza said, "Must be most faithfully obeyed,

The messenger to guide In safety to the royal court ;

Nor heed the haughty pride, Which justly merits a return; But as a soldier I must learn To kindly treat each messenger Who bears the flag of truce in war;

No aid shall be denied."

"I scorn alike your threats or aid," With angry voice Don Lopez said,

"Now quickly lead the way; My message to your waiting king

Admits of no delay."

The haughty Don and Moorish guide. Now to the court in silence ride; As two fierce lions, each would fain Break from the bondage of his chain,

And seize upon his prey.

Four Moorish knights now guard the way, And hold the gathering crowd at bay,

Who rush with hurried feet To view the Spanish messenger,

And throng each narrow street; While many a knight and cavalier, Anxious the herald's terms to hear. With hasty footsteps now resort. And gather near the royal court,

And there in silence wait.

The palace reached, the haughty Don Asks for an audience alone;

Boabdil waves his hand; While each proud councillor and chief

Retire at his command.

With many a dark and silent frown, And leave the Don and king alone; While lords and knights impatient wait, And gathered near the palace gate.

In hasty council stand.

Hamit, an aged councillor,

Now breaks the silence of the hour.

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Which gathers like a pall O'er courtiers, lords and councillors,

Who gather near the hall. "Grenada's strength and power," he sighed, "Departed when King Hassen died. O for a monarch, or a knight, Once more to lead the doubtful fight,

And save Grenada's fall.

The Spanish herald's haughty mood And secret message bode no good;

Let strong and dauntless hands And valiant hearts lead forth our troops,

And check the invading bands." He ceased to speak, and once again Oppressive silence held her reign; Though many a councillor and lord, And many a knight with plume and sword.

Amidst the council stands.

At length El Muza calmly said. As on his sword his hand he laid,

" My silence is not fear. But older lords and councillors

I first would gladly hear. To-morrow morn the foe shall feel Once more the force of Moorish steel. Although I fear our honored king For gold his power is bartering,

The purchase shall be dear."

He then commands each waiting knight To make arrangements for the fight,

While he again must guard The Spanish herald's safe return

Beyond each watch and ward. The royal courtiers now amazed In silence on the chieftain gazed; While from the knights the warlike shout, Which echoed now so bravely out,

Was through the palace heard.

The king and Spanish messenger Start at the sound with sudden fear,

And soon their council close. *'This sudden outcry," says the Don,

" Treason or danger shows." El Muza now is called to guard

Beyond the gates the Spanish lord, Whose haste to mount his waiting steed And great impatience to proceed His sudden fears disclose.

"What means this fierce and warlike shout Which lately rang so wildly out?

And why this motley band Which throngs the streets," Don Lopez said,

"Without your king's command?" The knight replied, "More would you know, Ask of your friend, but not your foe. But since to ask is not to hear. Your errand and your mission here

I fain would understand."

The Don resumed his wonted pride, And with contempt he thus replied:

" Go ask your vassal lord. For soon the knights and lords of Spain

Will dine around his board Without his leave or guards, and when I choose to tread your halls again. The Moslem shouts which now I hear

Will change to silence, and to fear Of the avenging sword."

"Let him that puts the armor on Not boast until the held is won,"

The Moorish chief replied. ''Another battle field may cool

Your haughty pomp and pride. I little fear the boasting knight, When face to face we meet in fight. I check my boasting till the day. When once again in war's array

Our valor shall be tried."

The guards now^ passed the portal's close In angry mood. The rival foes

No longer hold debate.

Don Lopez seeks the Spanish camp.

The Moor the hall of state. The sun had shed his parting ray. And twilight's shadows sad and gray Soon yield to darker shades of night, Save when some lamp with glimmering light

Reveals some tower or gate.

The sentinels upon the wall Appear like shadows grim and tall

Against the western sky; And silence reigns through camp and street,

Yet broken by the sigh Of winds that murmur through the grove, And echo to the sighs of love, As friends and lovers sadly part, And whisper from each sorrowing heart

Perchance a last good bye.

Now in the council hall of state Assembled in a close debate

Are many a lord and knight ; Some counsel that the Moorish king

Forbid the morrow's fight. The king would grant the terms of peace. Brought by Don Lopez, and would cease The conflict longer to sustain, And to the threat'ning hosts of Spain

Would yield his kingly might.

The warlike knights would never yield, Until again the doubtful field

Was lost or bravely won, And with the king's consent declare

That at the rising sun A signal flag should be displayed, And every chief for war arrayed His band in readiness should hold To sally forth with courage bold

As woke the signal gun.

The council closed, the midnight hour O'er nature holds her wonted power.

And sweet and soft repose Has spread her calm and magic spell

Alike o'er friends and foes; The soldier in his peaceful dreams Visits his native fields and streams. And with his family once more Relates his past adventures o'er,

Forgetting all his woes.

All else is lost to sense and sight. All save the distant campfire's light.

And still more distant skies, Whose twinkling orbs look calmly down,

With soft and tranquil eyes; No sound save when the sentinel Repeats the watchword "all is well," And the gay stream that dances by Chimes with the fitful winds that sigh,

Or night birds' notes that rise.

Rest, weary soldier, soon the day Will chase thy airy dreams away,

And battle's wild alarms Arouse thee from thy peaceful dreams.

And break thy slumber's charms; Rest, friends and lovers, soon once more To waken at the sound of war ; Rest, quiet city, soon to hear The notes of terror and of fear.

And crash of sounding arms.

Canto II. The Battle

Full oft has the voice of the fierce god of war Aroused the dull poet and broken his slumbers, Or when the loud battle cry sounds from afar, It wakens the muse to his wild thrilling numbers. What charm has the demon who revels in blood To change the soft notes of affection and love, As changed is the stream when it meets the wild

flood ?

O oft changing muse, though so fickle you prove, Thy aid I invoke, mystic genius of song, To paint the bold warrior in battle array. To picture the field where the mighty and

strong Fall like the sere leaf in the chill autumn day, Where proud boasting kings are for glory contending, Where fierce rushing squadrons for honor are

vying, Where cries of distress with war's thunders are blending,

And shouts of the victors with groans of the

dying.

O demon of war, let the angel of pity With balm for the wounded abide in thy train, To drop the sad tear o'er the war-ruined city, And breathe the last sigh o'er the graves of the

slain.

Above the mountain summits gray, Brightly arose the orb of day.

And smiled on grove and streams, While proud Grenada's lofty towers

Reflect its golden beams. On horsemen clad in armor bright, On cavalier armed for the fight, On lines of soldiers in array, On banners decked with crescent gay,

The morning sunlight gleams.

While clearly from the tented plain, Where widely spreads the camp of Spain,

Is heard the signal gun ; While answering peals and banners gay.

Greeted the morning sun.

Say, does this proud and grand array, Portend some gay and festal day ; Or will war's dark and fearful cloud, Ere night the scene in darkness shroud, So gaily now begun ?

El Muza from Alhambra's towers; Had marked the slowly passing hours,

And with impatient ear, Listened to hear the sentinel

Proclaim the morning near ; And ere the gently opening dawn, Had yet unveiled the grove and lawn, His voice is heard through tower and hall, While ever ready at his call

Aroused each cavalier.

A gallant troop of horsemen bold Their trusty steeds in waiting hold,

Who many a field had won, And ready at their chief's command

Each danger scorned to shun ; And lines of foot with measured tread. Who oft on well fought fields had bled, 5

And turbaned knights, whose cimeters Had gained renown in other wars, Now hailed the morning sun.

El Muza foremost in command Arranged with care each gathering band,

And often to the plain Would turn his dark and fearless eye

To view the hosts of Spain; His stately form and manly height Bespoke at once a gallant knight, And well a stranger's eye might trace That dauntless courage in his face

No danger could restrain.

From childhood bred a cavalier. No foe to shun, no danger fear,

By wild adventure led, Ere war had called him to the field,

He oft alone had strayed O'er proud Nevada's dizzy heights. But seldom trod by bravest knights; Or, in some distant country lone, Disguised as Spanish knight or don,

His part he well had played.

But now inured to scenes of war, With restless eye he views afar

The warlike hosts of Spain, Who, with DeLeon at their head, Had sad dismay and terror spread O'er many a city now enslaved; And wheresoe'er his banner waved

Resistance seemed in vain.

He sees o'er lines of glittering steel The banners of the proud Castile,

And haughty Aragon, Whose polished armor as they moved

Gleamed in the morning sun. Grenada's walls had long withstood The closest siege, while scenes of blood Had deeply marked each passing day; And still the threatening array

In bold defiance shone.

The Moorish troops the onset wait Impatient, near the castle gate.

Beyond the promised hour. And yet no signal gun is heard

Or banner from the tower; Now murmurs half-suppressed arose, " Boabdil fears his country's foes, Our vacillating king's delay Will place the fortunes of the day

Within DeLeon's power."

El Muza with impatience now Turns from the warlike scene below

Toward the castle gate.

" Alas! " he sighs, " this long delay

Forbodes my country's fate; Cordova, drenched with Moslem blood, The fatal siege had well withstood; But indecision and delay In war ne'er win the doubtful day,

A lesson learned too late.

Proud Ferdinand shall feel once more The strength and valor of the Moor,

Warder, unclose the gate. The signal from our timid king

We will no longer wait."

Each cavalier now mounts his steed

And scarce restrains his onward speed; The gates unclose, whose heavy jar Echoes the boding tramp of war, The mystic voice of fate.

The morn was past, the noonday sun On castle, tower and landscape shone,

While gaily in its beams. Full many a banner in the breeze

With proud defiance streams; While from each wall and palace high, The citizens, with anxious eye, Look down upon the plain below. Where martial ranks to meet the foe

A gay procession seems.

The doting father seeks to trace Among the troops his brave son's place.

By his proud steed of gray; The trembling mother views the scene

With terror and dismay; The timid maiden, from the height Traces her lover's badge of white, Which hastily upon his arm

She placed at parting, as a charm To guard him in the fray.

But son and lover soon are lost To view, amidst the charging host

And clouds of dust that rise, As pressing on to meet the foe

Each gallant horseman flies; Now loud and high the Moslem shout Rings from the charging squadrons out, While from the Spanish ranks afar The answering signal shout of war

And cannon's peal replies.

Now bold DeLeon o'er the plain Leads forth the cavaliers of Spain, But the fierce onset of the Moors

His troops could scarce withstand; The Spanish troops borne backward now, Like flocks beneath the mountain's brow, When from Nevada's summit brown, The avalanche comes thundering down

In terror o'er the land.

Now from Grenada's walls arose A shout of triumph, as their foes

Before the onset yield; And many a Spanish cavalier

Lies bleeding on the field. The brave DeLeon strives in vain The fearful onset to sustain, 'Till, marching to his aid appears A troop of chosen grenadiers.

Like lines of glittering steel.

As sweeps the tempest o'er the land And pours its rage on every hand,

While in its onward course The lofty cypress and the pine

Bend low beneath its force. Till the strong mountain's rugged form, Checks the fierce onset of the storm, So stood the stubborn grenadiers. Against the Moorish cavaliers.

And checked their outward course.

Borne backward now, then firm again, Stand the unyielding troops of Spain

Against the charging host, While many a valiant grenadier

Falls bravely at his post; Loud clanged the cimeter and spear, While every charging cavalier Urges the wild and fearful fray, Until the fortunes of the day

To Spain are well nigh lost.

But now the Spanish troops appear In solid columns in the rear.

And with a thundering sound. The crash of dread artillery

Scatters destruction round; The Moorish ranks are rent and riven. Like reeds before the blasts of heaven. "Forward," El Muza vainly cries. The crescent banner falters, flies.

While carnage strews the ground.

El Muza still most bravely fights. Supported by a band of knights.

Who scorn to yield or fly. Until his snow-white plume and steed

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Attract Don Lopez' eye, Whose chosen troop of cavaliers, With powerful steeds and heavy spears, Charge fiercely on the gallant band, Who meet the onset hand to hand,

And wild, defiant cry.

With crash of steel the foes engage. While mingled sounds of pain and rage

Rise from the fearful fray; But short the conflict, ere the din

Of battle passed away.

As when the hurricane's wild force Is spent, the ruin in its course Reveals its track; so now appear The slaughtered knights and broken spears.

As relics of the day.

The blood of many a soldier brave Has stained the river's peaceful wave;

The battle's fearful roar Is hushed. The vanquished Moorish troops

Have gained the walls once more; The thinned and wearied ranks of Spain Move slowly to their camp again,

While on the field, in death's repose, Lay mingled forms of friends and foes, Whom morn shall wake no more.

But where the gallant chief, whose form Was foremost in the battle storm,

Who led the Moorish band? No more his gallant cavaliers

Shall follow his command; As closed the fierce and bloody fray. With broken cimeter he lay. Midst mingled forms of friend and foe, Unconscious by a fearful blow.

Dealt by a foeman's hand.

Behind the western mountain's brow, Again the sun descending low

Forsakes the grove and streams; While highest peak and loftiest tower

Reflect the parting beams; But golden sunset wakes no more The fading glory of the Moor, But sadly in the castle halls The banner droops against the walls,

Where blood-stained armor gleams.