rage;
[_Is going out: Shouts within are heard,_--Victoria!
Victoria!
But these loud clamours better news presage.

_Enter the_ DUKE OF ARCOS, _and Soldiers; their Swords drawn and
bloody._

_D. Arcos._ Granada now is yours; and there remain
No Moors, but such as own the power of Spain.
That squadron, which their king in person led,
We charged, but found Almanzor on their head:
Three several times we did the Moors attack,
And thrice with slaughter did he drive us back:
Our troops then shrunk; and still we lost more ground,
'Till from our queen we needful succour found:
Her guards to our assistance bravely flew,
And with fresh vigour did the fight renew:
At the same time
Did Lyndaraxa with her troops appear,
And, while we charged the front, engaged the rear:
Then fell the king, slain by a Zegry's hand.

_K. Ferd._ How could he such united force withstand?

_D. Arcos._ Discouraged with his death, the Moorish powers
Fell back, and, falling back, were pressed by ours;
But as, when winds and rain together crowd,
They swell till they have burst the bladdered cloud;
And first the lightning, flashing deadly clear,
Flies, falls, consumes, kills ere it does appear,--
So from his shrinking troops, Almanzor flew,
Each blow gave wounds, and with each wound he slew:
His force at once I envied and admired,
And rushing forward, where my men retired,
Advanced alone.

_K. Ferd._ You hazarded too far
Your person, and the fortune of the war.

_D. Arcos._ Already both our arms for fight did bare,
Already held them threatening in the air,
When heaven (it must be heaven) my sight did guide
To view his arm, upon whose wrist I spied
A ruby cross in diamond bracelets tied;
And just above it, in the brawnier part,
By nature was engraved a bloody heart:
Struck with these tokens, which so well I knew,
And staggering back some paces, I withdrew:
He followed, and supposed it was my fear;
When, from above, a shrill voice reached his ear:--
"Strike not thy father!"--it was heard to cry;
Amazed, and casting round his wondrous eye,
He stopped; then, thinking that his fears were vain,
He lifted up his thundering arm again:
Again the voice withheld him from my death;
"Spare, spare his life," it cried, "who gave thee breath!"
Once more he stopped; then threw his sword away;
"Blessed shade," he said, "I hear thee, I obey
Thy sacred voice;" then, in the sight of all,
He at my feet, I on his neck