Sevilla's under siege, that jewel of the Moors.
That city is the goal of great Castilla's corps.
That shining gem on great Guadalquivir's bright shore
great deeds does witness, stuff of legend, song and lore.For sixteen months the Moor and Christian hosts do fight.
For now I tell the tale of one good Christian knight.
Garcia Perez, liege of Vargas, left and right
does wield the sword and lance and send the foe to flight.One day the good knight rides patrol with but one squire.
Along the river's edge they meet with Moorish ire,
for seven paynims, with their weapons gleaming fire,
attack the pair, surrounding on three sides entire.The squire's courage fails him all, for young was he.
He spurs his horse to flight but turns 'round once to see
his master's visor closed, the lance at rest, ready.
Garcia Perez will not yield, he will not flee.The Knight of Vargas charges full; he holds naught back.
The seven Moors do marvel much at this attack.
They recognize his shield's device, their courage slacks.
The Moors retreat behind their line and bivouac.As he returns to camp, the Lord of Vargas notes
his lady's scarf's no longer tied about his throat.
He rides in search of it, his chances quite remote.
Deep into Moorish lands he rides, much time devotes.He runs across the seven Moors he'd met that day.
The scarf they'd found and looped around a spear displayed.
"Base caitiffs, stand your ground! My lady's pledge convey!"
He shouts and spurs his mount full forward to a fray.When Don Garcia next returns to camp alone,
the scarf, his lady's favor, 'round his neck is thrown.
His head is bare, his sword is red, and thus bestrewn
around his pommel seven turbans are windblown.
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