by René Basset
Let kettle-drums and trumpets and clarions blend their strain;
Zulema, Tunis' King, now lands upon the coast of Spain,
And with him ride, in arms allied, Marbello and his train."
Gazul dismounted from his steed and hastened to his bride;
She sat there mournful and alone and at his sight she sighed;
He flung his arms about the girl; she shrank from his embrace,
And while he looked in wonder, she hid her blushing face;
He said, "And can it be that thou should'st shrink from my embrace?"
Before she answered with one voice the air around was riven--
"Now let your shots, your cross-bows, sound to the vault of heaven!
Let kettle-drums and trumpets and clarions blend their strain;
Zulema, Tunis' King, now lands upon the coast of Spain,
And with him ride, in arms allied, Marbello and his train."
"Ah, traitor," she replied to him, "four months wert thou away,
And I in vain expected some tidings day by day."
And humbly did the Moor reply, "Do I deserve the blame?
Who drops the lance to take the pen, he does a deed of shame."
They sank into each other's arms just as the word was given:
"Now let your shots, your cross-bows, sound to the vault of heaven!
Let kettle-drums and trumpets and clarions blend their strain;
Zulema, Tunis' King, now lands upon the coast of Spain,
And with him ride, in arms allied, Marbello and his train."
GAZUL CALUMNIATED
Gazul, despairing, issues
From high Villalba's gate,
Cursing the evil fortune
That left him desolate.
Unmoved he in Granada saw
What feuds between the foes
The great Abencerrajes
And the Andallas rose.
He envied not the Moors who stood
In favor with the King!
He did not crave the honors
That rank and office bring.
He only cared that Zaida,
Her soft heart led astray
By lying words of slander,
Had flung his love away.
And thinking on her beauteous face,
Her bearing proud and high,
The bosom of the valiant Moor
Heaved with a mournful sigh.
"And who has brought me this disdain,
And who my hope betrayed,
And thee, the beauteous Zaida,
False to thy purpose made?
And who has caused my spoils of war,
The palm and laurel leaf,
To wither on my forehead, bowed
Beneath the load of grief?'
'Tis that some hearts of treachery black
With lies have crossed thy way,
And changed thee to a lioness,
By hunters brought to bay.
O tongues of malediction!
O slanderers of my fame!
Thieves of my knightly honor!
Ye lay up naught but shame.
Ye are but citadels of fraud,
And castles of deceit;
When ye your sentence pass, ye tread
The law beneath your feet.
May Allah on your cruel plots
Send down the wrath divine,
That ye my sufferings may feel,
In the same plight as mine.
And may ye learn, ye pitiless,
How heavy is the rod
That brings on human cruelty
The chastisement of God.
Ye who profess in word and deed
The path of truth to hold
Are viler than the nightly wolves
That waste the quiet fold."
So forth he rode, that Moorish knight,
Consumed by passion's flame,
Scorned and repulsed by Zaida,
The lovely Moorish dame.
Then spake he to the dancing waves
Of Tagus' holy tide,
"Oh, that thou hadst a tongue, to speak
My story far and wide!
That all might learn, who gaze on thee
At evening, night, or morn,
Westward to happy Portugal,
The sufferings I have borne."
GAZUL'S DESPAIR
Upon Sanlucar's spacious square
The brave Gazul was seen,
Bedecked in brilliant array
Of purple, white, and green.
The Moor was starting for the joust,
Which many a warrior brings
To Gelva, there to celebrate
The truce between the kings.
A fair Moor maiden he adored,
A daughter of the brave,
Who struggled at Granada's siege;
Granada was their grave.
And eager to accost the maid,
He wandered round the square;
With piercing eyes he peered upon
The walls that held the fair.
And for an hour, which seemed like years,
He watched impatient there;
But when he saw the lady mount
Her balcony, he thought,
That the long hour of waiting
That vision rendered short.
Dismounting from his patient steed,
In presence of his flame,
He fell upon his knees and kissed
The pavement in her name.
With trembling voice he spoke to her,
"I cannot, cannot meet,
In any joust where you are near,
Disaster and defeat.
Of yore I lived without a heart,
Kinsmen, or pedigree;
But all of these are mine, if thou
Hast any thought of me.
Give me some badge, if not that thou
Mayst recognize thy knight,
At least to deck him, give him strength,
And succor in the fight."
Celinda heard in jealous doubt;
For some, with envious art,
Had told her that fair Zaida still
Ruled o'er the warrior's heart.
She answered him in stormy rage:
If in the joust thou dost engage
With such success as I desire,
And all thy broken oaths require,
Thou wilt not reach Sanlucar's square
So proud as when thou last wert there.
But there shalt meet, disconsolate,
Eyes bright with love and dark with hate.
God grant that in the deadly joust
The enemies that thou hast roused,
May hurl at thee the unparried dart
And pierce thee, liar, to the heart.
Thy corpse within thy mantle bound
May horses trail along the ground.
Thou comest thy revenge to seek,
But small the vengeance thou shalt wreak.
Thy friends shall no assistance yield;
Thy foes shall tread thee in the field;
For thou the woman-slayer, then,
Shall meet thy final fate from men.
Those damsels whom thou hast deceived
Shall feel no pang of grief;
Their aid was malediction,
Thy death is their relief.
The Moor was true in heart and soul,
He thought she spake in jest.
He stood up in his stirrups,
Her hand he would have pressed.
"Lady," he said, "remember well
That Moor of purpose fierce and fell
On whom my vengeance I did wreak
Hast felt the curse that now you speak.
And as for Zaida, I repent
That love of mine on her was spent.
Disdain of her and love of thee
Now rule my soul in company.
The flame in which for her I burned
To frost her cruelty has turned.<
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Three cursed years, to win her smile,
In knightly deeds I wrought,
And nothing but her treachery
My faithful service brought,
She flung me off without a qualm,
Because my lot was poor,
And gave, because the wretch was rich,
Her favor to a Moor."
Celinda as these words she heard
Impatiently the lattice barred,
And to the lover's ardent sight
It seemed that heaven was quenched in night.
A page came riding up the street,
Bringing the knight his jennets fleet,
With plumes and harness all bedight
And saddled well with housings bright;
The lance which he on entering bore
Brandished the knight with spirit sore,
And dashed it to the wall,
And head and butt, at that proud door,
In myriad fragments fall.
He bade them change from green to gray;
The plumes and harness borne that day
By all the coursers of his train.
In rage disconsolate,
He rode from Gelva, nor drew rein
Up to Sanlucar's gate.
VENGEANCE OF GAZUL
Not Rodamont the African,
The ruler of Argel,
And King of Zarza's southern coast,
Was filled with rage so fell,
When for his darling Doralice
He fought with Mandricard,
As filled the heart of bold Gazul
When, past Sidonia's guard,
He sallied forth in arms arrayed,
With courage high prepared
To do a deed that mortal man
Never before had dared.
It was for this he bade them bring
His barb and coat of mail;
A sword and dusky scabbard
'Neath his left shoulder trail;
In Fez a Christian captive
Had forged it, laboring
At arms of subtile temper
As bondsman of the King.
More precious 'twas to bold Gazul
Than all his realms could bring.
A tawny tinted alquizel
Beneath his arms he wore;
And, to conceal his thoughts of blood,
No towering spear he bore.
He started forth for Jerez,
And hastening on his course,
Trampled the vega far and wide
With hoof-prints of his horse.
And soon he crossed the splashing ford
Of Guadelate's tide,
Hard by the ancient haven
Upon the valley-side.
They gave the ford a famous name
The waters still retain,
Santa Maria was it called,
Since Christians conquered Spain.
The river crossed, he spurred his steed,
Lest he might reach the gate
Of Jarez at an hour unfit,
Too early or too late.
For Zaida, his own Zaida,
Had scorned her lover leal,
Wedding a rich and potent Moor
A native of Seville;
The nephew of a castellan,
A Moorish prince of power,
Who in Seville was seneschal
Of castle and of tower.
By this accursed bridal
Life's treasure he had lost;
The Moor had gained the treasure,
And now must pay the cost.
The second hour of night had rung
When, on his gallant steed,
He passed thro' Jerez' gate resolved
Upon a desperate deed.
And lo! to Zaida's dwelling
With peaceful mien he came,
Pondering his bloody vengeance
Upon that house of shame.
For he will pass the portal,
And strike the bridegroom low;
But first must cross the wide, wide court,
Ere he can reach his foe.
And he must pass the crowd of men,
Who in the courtyard stand,
Lighting the palace of the Moor,
With torches in their hand.
And Zaida in the midst comes forth,
Her lover at her side;
He has come, amid his groomsmen,
To take her for his bride.
And bold Gazul feels his heart bound
With fury at the sight;
A lion's rage is in his soul,
His brow is black as night.
But now he checks his anger,
And gently on his steed
Draws near, with smile of greeting,
That none may balk the deed.
And when he reached the bridal,
Where all had taken their stand,
Upon his mighty sword-hilt
He sudden laid his hand;
And in a voice that all could hear
"Base craven Moor," said he,
"The sweet, the lovely Zaida
Shall ne'er be bride to thee.
And count me not a traitor, I
Defy thee face to face,
Lay hand upon thy scimitar
If thou hast heart of grace."
And with these words he dealt one stroke,
A cruel stroke and true,
It reached the Moor, it struck his heart
And pierced it through and through.
Down fell the wretch, that single stroke
Had laid him with the dead--
"Now let him die for all his deeds,"
The assembled people said.
Gazul made bravely his defence,
And none could check his flight;
He dashed his rowels in his steed,
And vanished in the night.
GAZUL AND ALBENZAIDE
"Tho' thou the lance can hurl as well
As one a reed might cast,
Talk not of courage for thy crimes
Thy house's honor blast.
Seek not the revel or the dance,
Loved by each Moorish dame.
The name of valor is not thine,
Thou hast a coward's name;
And lay aside thy mantle fair
Thy veil and gaberdine,
And boast no more of gold and gems--
Thou hast disgraced thy line.
And see thine arms, for honor fit,
Are cheap and fashioned plain;
Yet such that he whose name is lost
May win it back again.
And Albenzaide keep thy tastes
Proportioned to thy state;
For oft from unrestrained desires
Spring hopes infatuate.
Flee from thy thoughts, for they have wings,
Whose light ambition lifts
Thy soul to empty altitudes,
Where purpose veers and drifts.
Fling not thyself into the sea,
From which the breezes blow
Now with abrupt disdain, and now
With flattering whispers low.
For liberty once forfeited
Is hard to be regained,
And hardest, when the forfeit falls
On heart and hand unstained."
Thus spake Gazul, the Moorish lord
Of fame and honor bright;
Yet, as a craven beggar,
Fair Zaida scorned the knight.
GAZUL'S ARMS
"Now scour for me my coat of mail,
Without delay, my page,
For, so grief's fire consumes me,
Thy haste will be an age;
And take from out my bonnet
The verdant plumes of pride,
Which once Azarco gave me,
When he took to him his bride.
And in their place put feathers black,
And write this motto there:
'Heavy as lead is now his heart,
Oppressed with a leaden care,'
And take away the diamonds,
And in their place insert
Black gems, that shall to all proclaim
The deed that does me hurt,
For if thou take away those gems
It will announce to all
The black and dismal lot that does
Unfortuned me befall.
And give to me the buskins plain,
Decked by no jewels' glow,
For he to whom the world is false
Had best in mourning go.
And give to me my lance of war,
Whose point is doubly steeled,
And, by the blood of Christians,
Was tempered in the field.
For well I wish my goodly blade
Once more may burnished glow;
And if I can to cleave in twain
The body of my foe.
And hang upon my baldric,
The best of my ten swords.
Black as the midnight is the sheath,
And with the rest accords.
Bring me the horse the Christian slave
Gave to me for his sire,
At Jaen; and no ransom
But that did I require.
And even though he be not shod,
Make haste to bring him here;
Though treachery from men I dread,
From beasts I have no fear.
The straps with rich enamel decked
I bid you lay aside;
And bind the rowels to my heel
With thongs of dusky hide."
Thus spake aloud the brave Gazul,
One gloomy Tuesday night;
Gloomy the eve, as he prepared
For victory in the fight.
For on that day the news had come
That his fair Moorish maid
Had wedded with his bitterest foe,
The hated Albenzaide.
The Moor was rich and powerful,
But not of lineage high,
His wealth outweighed with one light maid
Three years of constancy.
Touched to the heart, on hearing this,
He stood in arms arrayed,
Nor strange that he, disarmed by love,
'Gainst love should draw his blade.
And Venus, on the horizon,
Had shown her earliest ray
When he Sidonia left, and straight
To Jerez took his way.
THE TOURNAMENT
His temples glittered with the spoils and garlands of his love,
When stout Gazul to Gelvas came, the jouster's skill to prove.
He rode a fiery dappled gray, like wind he scoured the plain;
Yet all her power and mettle could a slender bit restrain;
The livery of his pages was purple, green, and red--
Tints gay as was the vernal joy within his bosom shed.