"Fueorte qual atsero entre armat,
    Yqual cera entre las damns"

It was a Knight of Aragon, and he was brave to see,
His helmet and his hauberk, and the greaves upon his knee:
His escuderos rode in front, his cavaliers behind,
With stainèd plumes and gonfalons, and music in the wind.

It was the maid Prudencia, the rose-bud of Madrid,
Who watched him from her balcony, among the jasmines hid.
"O, Virgin Mother!" quoth the Knight, "is that the day-break there?" --
It was the saintly light that shone above the maiden's hair!

Then he who crossed the Pyrenees to fight the dogs of France,
Grew pale with love for her whose look had pierced him like a lance;
And they will wed the morrow morn: beat softly, happy stars! --
And, mind you, gallant cavaliers, how Venus conquers Mars.