Moorish Literature

by René Basset

  For falling were the towers, falling fast his warriors bold.

  And Zara, lovely Zara, did he give into the care

  Of the noble Countess Palma, who loved the maiden fair.

  And the countess had to Baja come when Queen Isabella came,

  The lovely vega of the town to waste with sword and flame.

  And the countess asked of Zara if she were skilled in aught,

  The needle, or the 'broidery frame, to Christian damsels taught.

  And how she made the hours go by when, on Guadalquivir's strand,

  She sat in the Alhambra, a princess of the land.

  And, while her eyes were full of tears, the Moorish maid replied:

  "'Twas I the silver tinsel fixed on garments duly dyed;

  'Twas I who with deft fingers with gold lace overlaid

  The dazzling robes of flowery tint of velvet and brocade.

  And sometimes would I take my lute and play for dancers there;

  And sometimes trust my own weak voice in some romantic air;

  But now, this moment, I retain but one, one mournful art--

  To weep, to mourn the banishment that ever grieves my heart.

  And since 'tis thou alone whose bread, whose roof my life didst save,

  I weep the bitterest tears of all because I am a slave!

  Yet wouldst thou deign, O lady dear, to make more light to me

  The hours I pass beneath thy roof, in dark captivity,--

  I bid thee build for me, if thou approve of the design,

  An ocean bark, well fitted to cross the surging brine;

  Let it be swift, let it be strong, and leave all barks behind,

  When on the surges of the main it feels the favoring wind.

  We'll launch it from the sloping shore, and, when the wind is high,

  And the fierce billows threatening mix their foam-tops with the sky,

  We'll lower the mainsail, lest the storm should carry us away,

  And sweep us on the reefs that lurk in some deep Afric bay.

  And on the lofty topmast shall this inscription stand,

  Written in letters which they use in every Christian land:

  'This ship is tossed in many a storm, it lands on many a shore,

  And the wide sea, beneath the wind, it swiftly travels o'er;

  'Tis like the human heart which brings no treasure and no gain,

  Till, tossed by hard misfortune, it has known the sea of pain.'

  And let there be upon the fringe round this inscription hung

  Another legend which shall say in the Arabian tongue:

  'Oh, might it be that Allah, the merciful, would send

  To all my captive miseries a swift and happy end.'"

  The countess said: "To build this ship methinks would please me well,

  Such tasks the sorrows of thy heart might lighten or dispel;

  And, Zara, when the summer comes, and winds and floods are free,

  We'll build our bark, we'll hoist our sail, and start across the sea."

  HAMETE ALI

  Hamete Ali on his way toward the city goes,

  His tunic is a brilliant green with stripes of crimson rose,

  In sign that no despondency this daring wanderer knows.

  His arm, that wears the twisted steel, reflects the sunlight sheen,

  And bound to it by many a knot is hung his hood of green.

  And o'er his bonnet azure-blue, two feathery plumes there fly;

  The one is green as the summer and one is blue as sky.

  He does not wear these hues to show that he is passion's slave,

  They are emblems of the life that beats within his bosom brave.

  Yet dusky is his lance's hue and dusky is his shield,

  On which are serpents scattered upon a golden field.

  Their venomed tongues are quivering and ears before them stand,

  To show how slanderous hearts can spread their poison o'er the land.

  A lettered motto in the midst which everyone may read,

  Is written in Arabian script, ah! good that all should heed!

  "'Tis naught but innocence of heart can save me from the blow

  With which the slanderous serpents would lay their victim low."

  Upon a piebald colt he rode along the valley's side,

  The bravest of the valiant Moors and once Granada's pride.

  In furious rage descending from bold Ubeda's steep,

  He crossed the vale and mounted to Baza's castle keep.

  Defiant still of Fortune's power, his thoughts at last found vent,

  For Fortune had been cruel, and in words of discontent,

  As if he blamed the serpent upon his shield displayed,

  The torrent of his heart broke forth and in wrath the warrior said:

  "O wasters of the brightest hope I knew in years long past!

  O clouds by which the blazing sun of bliss is overcast!

  O blight of love, O ruin of aspirations pure!

  Vile worms, that gnaw and waste away the treasures most secure!

  Attempt no more to banish me from my own native land,

  That in my place of honor ye, envious slaves, may stand;

  I, too, have friends, whose swords are keen, whose love is strong and leal.

  To them I look for my defence by stratagem or steel.

  And, Fortune, do thy worst; it is not meant,

  By Allah, that his knight should die in banishment.

  "Permit it not that in the generous breasts of those whose blood

  Flows in my veins, who by my side as faithful champions stood,

  Those cursed asps, whose effigies my shield's circumference fill,

  Could plant the thoughts of villany by which they work me ill.

  Just heaven forbids their words should blot the honor of my name,

  For pure and faithful is my heart, howe'er my foes defame;

  And Zaida, lovely Zaida, at a word that did me wrong,

  Would close her ears in scornful ire and curse the slanderous tongue.

  And, Fortune, do thy worst; it is not meant,

  By Allah, that his knight should die in banishment.

  "Nay, Fortune, turn no more thy wheel, I care not that it rest,

  Nor bid thee draw the nail that makes it stand at man's behest

  Oh, may I never say to thee, when for thy aid I call,

  Let me attain the height of bliss whate'er may be my fall!

  And when I roam from those I love, may never cloud arise

  To dim my hope of a return and hide me from their eyes.

  Yet doubtless, 'tis the absent are oftenest forgot,

  Till those who loved when they were near in absence love them not.

  And, Fortune, do thy worst; it is not meant,

  By Allah, that his knight should die in banishment.

  "And since 'tis my unhappy lot, through slander's cruel wiles,

  I should be robbed so many years of Zaida's cheering smiles,

  Yet those who say that I am false, and name Celinda's name,

  Oh, may they gain no end at length but obloquy and shame!

  It is not just that to these words and to these anxious fears,

  These wild complaints, the god of love should close his heedless ears!

  Yes, I deserve a better fate, the fate that makes more sure;

  The fame of those whose slanderous tongue in banishment endure.

  And, Fortune, do thy worst; it is not meant,

  By Allah, that his knight should die in banishment."

  He spoke, and, lo! before him he saw the city stand,

  With walls and towers that frowned in might upon that fertile land.

  And he saw the glittering banners of Almanzor set on high,

  And swaying in the gentle breeze that filled the summer sky.

  And those who stood upon the walls, soon as he came in sight,

  Streamed forth from the portcullis with welcome for the knight,

  For they
marvelled at the prancing steed that rushed across the plain,

  They marvelled at his thundering voice and words of deep disdain.

  And, Fortune, do thy worst; it is not meant,

  By Allah, that his knight should die in banishment.

  And as he rode into the town and galloped to the square,

  Upon the balconies he saw bright dames with faces bare;

  They stood, they gazed with eyes of love and gestures of delight,

  For they joyed to see among them so stout, so fair a knight.

  And all of Baza's people with cries his coming greet,

  And follow at his horse's tail from street to crowded street.

  His heart with gratitude was filled, his bosom filled with pride,

  And with doffed bonnet, lo, he bowed and once again he cried:

  "And, Fortune, do thy worst; it is not meant,

  By Allah, that his knight should die in banishment."

  They led him to the warden's house, and there was feasting high.

  Brave men and beauteous women in crowds were standing by.

  The trumpets blew in merry strain, the Moorish horns resound,

  And the strain of joy was echoed from every castle round.

  And from his colt dismounting he laid his lance aside,

  And greeted all the multitude that filled the plaza wide.

  Then to the strong tower of the place he hurried from the street,

  And as he went a thousand times his lips would still repeat:

  "And, Fortune, do thy worst; it is not meant,

  By Allah, that his knight should die in banishment."

  ZAIDE'S LOVE

  Then Zaide stood enraptured and gazed with placid eye,

  For the moment when his heart's desire should be fulfilled was nigh.

  Propitious was the moment, and happy was the hour,

  When all that he had longed for had come into his power.

  And he said: "Thrice happy is the wall, and happy is the bar,

  Tho' from my fond embraces, Zaida, it keeps thee far;

  For long as thou shalt live on earth, my Zaida, thou art mine;

  And the heart that in my bosom beats, long as it beats, is thine.

  And happy is the green, green sod on which thy feet are set,

  For the pressure of thy tender foot the grass shall ne'er forget,

  Shall ne'er forget the white, white heel that o'er the pathway came,

  Leaving behind it, everywhere, the print of snow and flame.

  But far more happy is the knight, if e'er should Allah send

  To this dark separation a bright and peaceful end.

  For seems to me the hours that pass, without thy presence dear,

  Wear the dark robe of sorrow, that orphaned children wear.

  I seek to have thee with me, for it is only to the weak

  That the happiness is wanting that they do not dare to seek.

  And if the doom of death is ours, it will not haste the more

  Because we scorn to think of it upon this happy shore.

  But ere it come, that doom of death which fills us with alarms,

  May Allah grant to me the boon of resting in thine arms!

  And if, in that supremest bliss, fate favors my design,

  And love is crowned, the lot of life contented I resign.

  O darling Zaida, blest is he, 'mid thousands, who can say

  That on that bosom, in those arms he for one moment lay!

  Come, darling, to thy Zaide's side, and yield to him thy love;

  Thou knowest him brave and good and kind, all other knights above;

  In owning him thy lover true, thou wilt a partner count

  Who above all in valor's list is champion paramount.

  Thy beauty's sway should be unchecked as death's prevailing might,

  But, ah, how many worlds would then sink into endless night!

  But come, fair Zaida, quickly come to these expectant arms,

  And let me win at last the prize of victory o'er thy charms.

  It is a debt thou owest me, oh, let the debt be paid."

  Then Zaida rose and showed herself in beauty's robe arrayed,

  And the Moor cried: "May Allah grant thy sun may ever shine,

  To light with its full splendor this lonely life of mine!

  And tho' my stammering tongue be dumb, and like a broken lute,

  And in its loudest efforts to speak thy praise be mute,

  It can at least announce to thee, loud as the thunder's peal,

  The service that I owe to thee, the passion that I feel."

  The Moorish lady smiled at this, and spake in tender tone;

  "If all this silent tongue of thine has said be loyal shown,

  If all thy vows be from thy heart, and all thy heavy sighs

  From out a breast unchanging, a constant spirit rise,

  I swear that I would grant thy wish and follow thy behest;

  But, ah, I fear lest thy fierce love should bring to me no rest,

  I fear these honeyed words that from thy lips so lightly fly

  At last should prove a serpent's fang to sting me till I die."

  Then swore to her the Moor: "If this the end should ever be,

  May the firm earth beneath my feet yawn wide and swallow me!

  And may the blessed sunlight, the symbol of my hope,

  Wither these orbs and leave me in eternal night to grope!"

  At this the lovers joined their hands and hearts, and, with a kiss,

  Sealed all their vows of friendship and promises of bliss--

  Their love was strong and solid and constant should remain,

  Till death should end their bondage and break the golden chain.

  ZAIDA'S JEALOUSY.

  Kind friend of Bencerraje's line, what judgment dost thou hold

  Of all that Zaida's changeful moods before thine eyes unfold?

  Now by my life I swear that she to all would yield her will;

  Yet by my death I swear that she to all is recreant still.

  Come near, my friend, and listen while I show to you this note,

  Which to the lovely lady in bitter grief I wrote;

  Repeat not what I read to thee, for 'twere a deadly shame,

  Since thou her face admirest, should slander smirch her name:

  "O Moorish maiden, who like time, forever on the wing,

  Dost smiles and tears, with changing charm, to every bosom bring,

  Thy love is but a masquerade, and thou with grudging hand

  Scatterest the crumbs of hope on all the crowds that round thee stand.

  With thee there is no other law of love and kindliness

  But what alone may give thee joy and garland of success.

  With each new plume thy maidens in thy dark locks arrange,

  With each new tinted garment thy thoughts, thy fancies change.

  I own that thou art fairer than even the fairest flower

  That at the flush of early dawn bedecks the summer's bower.

  But, ah, the flowers in summer hours change even till they fade,

  And thou art changeful as the rose that withers in the shade.

  And though thou art the mirror of beauty's glittering train,

  Thy bosom has one blemish, thy mind one deadly stain;

  For upon all alike thou shed'st the radiance of thy smile,

  And this the treachery by which thou dost the world beguile.

  I do not plead in my complaint thy loveliness is marred,

  Because thy words are cruel, because thy heart is hard;

  Would God that thou wert insensible as is the ocean wild

  And not to all who meet thee so affable and mild;

  Ah, sweetest is the lingering fruit that latest comes in time,

  Ah, sweetest is the palm-tree's nut that those who reach must climb.

  Alas! 'twas only yesterday a stranger reached the town--

  Thou offeredst him thy heart and bade him keep it for his own! />
  O Zaida, tell me, how was this? for oft I heard thee say

  That thou wert mine and 'twas to me thy heart was given away.

  Hast thou more hearts than one, false girl, or is it changefulness

  That makes thee give that stranger guest the heart that I possess?

  One heart alone is mine, and that to thee did I resign.

  If thou hast many, is my love inadequate to thine?

  O Zaida, how I fear for thee, my veins with anger glow;

  O Zaida, turn once more to me, and let the stranger go.

  As soon as he hath left thy side his pledges, thou wilt find,

  Were hollow and his promises all scattered to the wind.

  And if thou sayst thou canst not feel the pains that absence brings,

  'Tis that thy heart has never known love's gentle whisperings.

  'Tis that thy fickle mind has me relinquished here to pine,

  Like some old slave forgotten in this palace court of thine.

  Ah, little dost thou reck of me, of all my pleasures flown,

  But in thy pride dost only think, false lady, of thine own.

  And is it weakness bids me still to all thy faults be blind

  And bear thy lovely image thus stamped upon my mind?

  For when I love, the slight offence, though fleeting may be the smart,

  Is heinous as the treacherous stroke that stabs a faithful heart.

  And woman by one look unkind, one frown, can bring despair

  Upon the bosom of the man whose spirit worships her.

  Take, then, this counsel, 'tis the last that I shall breathe to thee,

  Though on the winds I know these words of mine will wasted be:

  I was the first on whom thou didst bestow the fond caress,

  And gave those pledges of thy soul, that hour of happiness;

  Oh, keep the faith of those young days! Thy honor and renown

  Thou must not blight by love unkind, by treachery's heartless frown.

  For naught in life is safe and sure if faith thou shouldst discard,

  And the sunlight of the fairest soul is oft the swiftest marred.

  I will not sign this letter nor set to it my name;

  For I am not that happy man to whom love's message came,

  Who in thy bower thy accents sweet enraptured heard that day,