by René Basset
And all had lances tawny gray, and all on jennets rode,
Plumes twixt their ears; adown their flanks the costly housings flowed.
Himself upon his gallant steed carries the circling shield,
And a new device is blazoned upon its ample field.
The phoenix there is figured, on flaming nest it dies,
And from its dust and ashes again it seems to rise.
And on the margin of the shield this motto is expressed:
"Tis hard to hide the flames of love once kindled in the breast."
And now the ladies take their seats; each jouster mounts his steed;
From footmen and from horsemen flies fast the loaded reed.
And there appears fair Zaida, whom in a luckless day
The Moor had loved, but since, that love in loathing passed away.
Her treachery had grieved his heart, and she who did the wrong
Mourned with repentant heart amid that gay and happy throng.
And with her was Zafira, to whom her husband brings
More bliss and happiness than reign amid Granada's kings.
And when she looked at brave Gazul his deeds her grief renew;
The more she sees, the more her heart is ravished at the view.
And now she blushes with desire, now grows with envy pale;
Her heart is like the changing beam that quivers in the scale.
Alminda sees the lovely dame with sudden anguish start,
And speaks with hope she may reveal the secret of her heart.
And troubled Zaida makes reply, "A sudden thought of ill
Has flashed across my mind and caused the anguish that I feel."
"'Twere better," said Alminda, "to check thy fancy's flight,
For thought can rob the happiest hours of all their deep delight."
Then said the maid of Xerez, "To me thou showest plain
Thou hast not felt black envy's tooth nor known what is disdain.
To know it, would thy spirit move to pity my despair,
Who writhe and die from agony, in which thou hast no share."
Zafira seized the lady's hand, and silence fell around,
As mixed in loud confusion brushed the jousters to the ground.
In came the Berber tribesmen, in varied cloaks arrayed;
They ranged themselves in companies against the palisade.
The sound of barbarous trumpets rang, the startled horses reared,
And snort and neigh and tramp of hoofs on every side was heard,
Then troop meets troop, and valiant hearts the mimic fight pursue;
They hurl their javelins o'er the sand and pierce the bucklers through.
Long time the battling hosts contend, until that festive day,
The shout, the clash, the applauding cry, in silence die away.
They fain had prayed that time himself would stop Apollo's car.
They hate to see the sunset gloom, the rise of evening's star.
And even when the sun is set, he who a foe discerns,
With no less vigor to his targe the loaded javelin turns,
The onset joined, each lance discharged, the judge's voice is heard;
He bids the heralds sound a truce, and the wide lists are cleared.
ABENUMEYA'S LAMENT
The young Abenumeya, Granada's royal heir,
Was brave in battle with his foe and gallant with the fair.
By lovely Felisarda his heart had been ensnared,
The daughter of brave Ferri; the captain of the guard.
He through the vega of Genii bestrode his sorrel steed,
Alone, on melancholy thoughts his anxious soul to feed,
The tints that clothed the landscape round were gloomy as the scene
Of his past life, wherein his lot had naught but suffering been.
His mantle hue was of iron gray bestrewn with purple flowers,
Which bloomed amid distress and pain, like hope of happier hours.
And on his cloak were columns worked, (his cloak was saffron hued,)
To show that dark suspicion's fears had tried his fortitude;
His shield was blazoned with the moon, a purple streak above,
To show that fears of fickleness are ever born with love.
He bore an azure pennant 'neath the iron of his spear,
To show that lovers oft go wrong deceived by jealous fear.
The hood he wore was wrought of gold and silk of crimson clear;
His bonnet crest was a heron plume with an emerald stone beneath;
And under all a motto ran, "Too long a hope is death."
He started forth in such array, but armed from head to heel
With tempered blade and dagger and coat of twisted steel.
And hangling low at his saddle-bow was the helmet for his head;
And as he journeyed on his way the warrior sighed and said:
"O Felisarda, dearest maid, him in thy memory keep
Who in his soul has writ thy name in letters dark and deep.
Think that for thee in coat of mail he ever rides afield,
In his right hand the spear must stand, his left must grasp the shield.
And he must skirmish in the plain and broil of battle brave,
And wounded be, for weapons ne'er from jealousy can save."
And as he spoke the lonely Moor from out his mantle's fold
With many a sigh, that scorched the air, a lettered page unrolled.
He tried in vain to read it but his eyes with tears were blind,
And mantling clouds of sorrow hid the letters from his mind.
The page was moistened by the tears that flowed in plenteous tide,
But by the breath of sighs and sobs the softened page was dried.
Fresh wounds he felt at sight of it, and when the cause he sought,
His spirit to Granada flew upon the wings of thought.
He thought of Albaicin, the palace of the dame,
With its gayly gilded capitals and its walls of ancient fame.
And the garden that behind it lay in which the palm was seen
Swaying beneath the load of fruit its coronet of green.
"O mistress of my soul," he said, "who callest me thine own,
How easily all bars to bliss thy love might trample down!
But time, that shall my constancy, thy fickleness will show,
The world shall then my steadfast heart, thy tongue of treachery know.
Woe worth the day when, for thy sake, I fair Granada sought,
These anxious doubts may cloud my brow, they cannot guard thy thought.
My foes increase, thy cruelty makes absence bitterer still,
But naught can shake my constancy, and none can do me ill."
On this from Alpujarra the tocsin sounded high.
He rushed as one whose life is staked to save the maid or die.
THE DESPONDENT LOVER
He leaned upon his sabre's hilt,
He trod upon his shield,
Upon the ground he threw the lance
That forced his foes to yield.
His bridle hung at saddle-bow,
And, with the reins close bound,
His mare the garden entered free
To feed and wander round.
Upon a flowering almond-tree
He fixed an ardent gaze;
Its leaves were withered with the wind
That flowers in ruin lays.
Thus in Toledo's garden park,
Did Abenamar wait,
Who for fair Galliana
Watched at the palace gate.
The birds that clustered on the towers
Spread out their wings to fly,
And from afar his lady's veil
He saw go floating by.
And at this vision of delight,
Which healed his spirit's pain,
The exiled Moor took courage,
And hope returned again.
"O Galliana, best belo
ved,
Whom art thou waiting now?
And what has treacherous rendered
My fortune and thy vow?
Thou swearedst I should be thine own,
Yet 'twas but yesterday
We met, and with no greeting
Thou wentest on thy way.
Then, in my silence of distress,
I wandered pondering--
If this is what to-day has brought,
What will to-morrow bring?
Happy the Moor from passion free,
In peace or turmoil born,
Who without pang of hate or love,
Can slumber till the morn.
O almond-tree, thou provest
That the expected hours
Of bliss may often turn to bane,
As fade thy dazzling flowers.
A mournful image art thou
Of all that lays me low,
And on my shield I'll bear thee
As blazon of my woe.
For thou dost bloom in many a flower,
Till blasted by the wind,
And 'tis of thee this word is true--
'The season was not kind.'"
He spoke and on his courser's head
He slipped the bridle rein,
And while he curbed his gentle steed
He could not curb his pain,
And to Ocana took his course,
O'er Tagus' verdant plain.
LOVE AND JEALOUSY
"Unless thou wishest in one hour
Thine April hope shouldst blighted be,
Oh, tell me, Tarfe, tell me true,
How I may Zaida chance to see.
I mean the foreigner, the wife
New wedded, her with golden hair,
And for each lock a charm besides
She counts--for she is passing fair.
Her, whom the Moorish nobles all
To heaven in their laudation raise,
Till the fine ladies of the land
Are left to languish in dispraise.
The mosque I visit every day,
And wait to see her come in sight;
I wait to see her, where the rout
And revel lengthen out the night.
However, cost me what it may,
I cannot meet the lovely dame.
Ah, now my eyes are veiled in tears,
Sure witness of my jealous flame.
And tell me, Tarfe, that my rage
Has cause enough, for since I've been
Granada's guest (and would to God
Granada I had never seen!)
My lord forsakes me every night,
Nor till the morning comes again;
He shuns as painful my caress,
My very presence brings him pain;
Little indeed he recks of me,
If only he may elsewhere reign.
For if we in the garden meet,
Or if we in the chamber be,
His actions his estrangement prove,
He has not even words for me.
And if I say to him, 'My life!'
He answers me, 'My dearest dear,'
Yet with a coldness that congeals
My very heart with sudden fear.
And all the while I strive to make
His soul reveal a traitorous thought,
He turns his back on me, as if
To him my trembling fear was naught.
And when about his neck I cling,
He drops his eyes and bows his face,
As if, from thought of other arms
He longed to slip from my embrace.
His bosom heaves with discontent,
Deep as from hell the sigh is wrenched;
My heart with dark suspicion beats,
And all my happiness is quenched.
And if I ask of him the cause,
He says the cause in me is found;
That I am vain, the rover I,
And to another's bosom bound.
As if, since I have known his love,
I at the window show my face,
Or take another's hand in mine,
Or seek the bull-ring, joust, or race;
Or if my footsteps have been found
To wander a suspected place,
The prophet's curse upon me fall,
Unless to keep the nuptial pact
And serve the pleasure of my lord.
I kept the Koran's law exact!
But wherefore should I waste the time
These tedious questions to recall?
Thou knowest the chase on which he hies,
And yet in silence hidest all.
Nay, swear not--I will naught believe;
Thine oaths are but a fowler's net,
And woe betide the dame who falls
Into the snare that thou hast set.
For men are traitors one and all;
And all their promises betray;
Like letters on the water writ,
They vanish, when love's fires decay.
For to fulfil thy promise fair,
What hours thou hast the whole day long,
What chances on the open road,
Or in the house when bolts are strong.
O God! but what a thought is this?
I strangle, in the sudden thrall
Of this sharp pang of agony,
Oh, hold me, Tarfe, lest I fall."
Thus Adelifa weeping cried
At thought of Abenamar's quest:
In Moorish Tarfe's arms she fell,
And panting lay upon his breast.
THE CAPTIVE OF TOLEDO
Upon the loftiest mountain height
That rises in its pride,
And sees its summits mirrored
In Tagus' crystal tide,
The banished Abenamar,
Bound by a captive chain,
Looks on the high-road to Madrid
That seams the dusty plain.
He measures, with his pining eyes,
The stretching hills that stand
Between his place of banishment
And his sweet native land.
His sighs and tears of sorrow
No longer bear restraint,
And thus in words of anguish
He utters his complaint:
"Oh, dismal is the exile
That wrings the heart with woes
And locks the lips in silence,
Amid unfeeling foes.
O road of high adventure,
That leadest many a band
To yon ungrateful country where
My native turrets stand,
The country that my valor
Did oft with glory crown,
The land that lets me languish here,
Who won for her renown.
Thou who hast succored many a knight,
Hast thou no help for me,
Who languish on Toledo's height
In captive misery?
'Tis on thy world-wide chivalry
I base my word of blame,
'Tis that I love thee most of all,
Thy coldness brings me shame.
Oh, dismal is the exile,
That wrings my heart with woes,
And locks my lips in silence
Among unfeeling foes.
The warden of fierce Reduan
With cruelty more deep
That that of a hidalgo,
Has locked this prison keep;
And on this frontier set me,
To pine without repose,
To watch, from dawn to sunset,
Over his Christian foes.
Here like a watch-tower am I set
For Santiago's lord,
And for a royal mistress
Who breaks her plighted word.
And when I cry with anguish
And seek in song relief,
With threats my life is threatened,
Till silence cloak my grief.
Oh, dismal is the exile,
That wrings my heart with woes,
And locks my lips in silence
Among unfeeling foes.
And when I stand in silence,
Me dumb my jailers deem,
And if I speak, in gentle words,
They say that I blaspheme.
Thus grievously perverting
The sense of all I say,
Upon my lips the raging crowd
The gag of silence lay.
Thus heaping wrong on wrong my foes
Their prisoner impeach,
Until the outrage of my heart
Deprives my tongue of speech.
And while my word the passion
Of my sad heart betrays,
My foes are all unconscious
Of what my silence says.
Now God confound the evil judge
Who caused my misery,
And had no heart of pity
To soften his decree.
Oh, dismal is the exile,
That wrings my heart with woes,
And locks my lips in silence
Among unfeeling foes.
THE BLAZON OF ABENAMAR
By gloomy fortune overcast,
Vassal of one he held in scorn,
Complaining of the wintry world,
And by his lady left forlorn,
The wretched Abenamar mourned,
Because his country was unkind,
Had brought him to a lot of woe,
And to a foreign home resigned.
A stranger Moor had won the throne,
And in Granada sat in state.
Many the darlings of his soul
He claimed with love insatiate,
He, foul in face, of craven heart,
Had won the mistress of the knight;
Her blooming years of beauteous youth
Were Abenamar's own by right.
But royal favor had decreed
A foreign tyrant there should reign,
For many a galley owned him lord
And master, in the seas of Spain.
Oh, haply 'twas that Zaida's self,
Ungrateful like her changing sex,
Had chosen this emir, thus in scorn
Her Abenamar's soul to vex.
This was the thought that turned to tears
The eyes of the desponding knight,
As on his sufferings past he thought,
His labors and his present plight;
His hopes, to disappointment turned;
His wealth, now held in alien hands,
His agony o'er love betrayed,
Lost honor, confiscated lands.
And as his loyalty had met