Part 10

Gazul, like some brave bull that stands at bay to meet his fate, Has fled from fair Celinda's frown and reached Sanlucar's gate. The Moor bestrides a sorrel mare, her housings are of gray, The desperate Moor is clad in weeds that shall his grief display. The white and green that once he wore to sable folds give room, Love's purple tints are now replaced by those of grief and gloom. His Moorish cloak is white and blue, the blue was strewn with stars, But now a covering like a cloud the starry radiance mars. And from his head with stripes of black his silken streamers flow, His bonnet blue he dyes anew in tints of grief and woe. Alone are seen the tints of green upon his sword-belt spread, For by that blade the blood of foes in vengeance shall be shed. The color of the mantle which on his arm he bore Is like the dark arena's dust when it is drenched in gore. Black as the buskins that he wears, and black his stirrup's steel, And red with rust of many a year the rowels at his heel. He bears not lance or headed spear, for that which once he bore Was shivered into splinters beside Celinda's door. He bears a rounded target, whose quarterings display The full moon darting through the clouds her ineffectual ray. For though her orb be full the clouds eclipse her silver light; The motto: "Fair but cruel, black-hearted though so bright." And as Celinda stripped the wings which on adventure brave Sustained his flight--no more shall plume above his helmet wave. 'Twas noon one Wednesday when Gazul to Gelva's portal came, And straight he sought the market-place to join the jousting game; The ruler of the city looked at him with surprise, And never lady knew the knight, so dark was his disguise. As they had been as soft as wax, he pierced the targets through With javelins of the hollow cane that in the vega grew; Not one could stand before the Moor; the tilters turned and fled, For by his exploits was revealed the warrior's name of dread. The lists were in confusion, but calm was on his brow, As, lifting up his eyes to heaven, he breathed a desperate vow; "Would God the malediction of Celinda had come true! And the spears of my assailant had pierced my bosom through! And that the dames who pitied me had cursed me where I stand! And bravely falling I became a hero of the land! That never succor came to me, for that were rapture high To her the angry lioness who prays that I may die!" He spoke, he spurred his courser fleet, and started for the plain, And swore within Celinda's sight he'd ne'er return again.

THE BULL-FIGHT

The zambra was but ended, and now Granada's King Abdeli called his court to sit on Vivarrambla's ring; Of noble line the bride and groom whose nuptials bade prepare, The struggle between valiant knights and bulls within the square. And, when on the arena the mighty bull was freed, Straight to the deadly conflict one warrior spurred his steed; His mantle was of emerald of texture damascene, And hope was in his folded hood as in his mantle green; Six squires went with him to the ring beside their lord to stand; Their livery was brilliant green, so did their lord command. Hope was the augury of his love; hope's livery he wore; Yet at his side each squire of his a trenchant rapier bore. Each rapier true was black in hue and sheathed in silver ore; At once the people knew the knight from his audacious mien-- Gazul the brave was recognized as soon as he was seen! With graceful dignity he took his station on the sand, And like a second Mars he seized his rapier in his hand; With courage strong he eyed the bull, who pawed the ground till high The dust of the arena was mingled with the sky. All at the sight were terrified, and now with deadly speed, His horns as keen as points of steel, he rushes at the steed. The brave Gazul was on the watch, to ward the threatened blow, And save his steed, and with one stroke to lay the assailant low. The valiant bull, with lowered head advancing to the strife, Felt from skilled hand the tempered brand pierce to his very life. Deep wounded to the gory ground, where he had stoutly stood, The hornèd warrior sank at last, bathed in his own heart's blood. Still, on his ruddy couch he lay, his courage quenched at last. At this exploit the plaudits of the assembly filled the blast; They hailed the knight whose bravery and skill had done the deed, And slain the hero of the ring, and saved his goodly steed, And done such pleasure to the King, and to Celinda fair, To the Queen of Spain and all her train who sat assembled there.

LOVERS RECONCILED

Soon as in rage Celinda had closed her lattice fast And scorned the Moor ungrateful for his service in the past, Her passion with reflection turns and in repentance ends; She longs to see the Moor again and make to him amends; For in the dance of woman's love through every mood they range And those whose hearts are truest are given most to change. And when she saw the gallant knight before the people all Shiver his lance to splinters against her palace wall, And when she saw his cloak of green was changed to mourning gray, She straightway took her mantle with silver buttons gay, She took her hood of purple pleached with the gold brocade, Whose fringes and whose borders were all in pearls arrayed, She brought a cap with sapphires and emeralds bespread; The green was badge of hope, the blue of jealous rancor dead. With waving plumes of green and white she decked a snowy hood, And armed with double heads of steel a lance of orange-wood-- For colors of the outer man denote the inner mood. A border too of brilliant green around a target set, The motto this, "Tis folly a true lover to forget." And first she learned where bold Gazul was entertained that day, And they told her how his coming had put off the tilters' play, And at her pleasure-house she bade him meet her face to face; And they told him how Celinda longed for his loved embrace, And thrice he asked the messenger if all were not a jest, For oft 'tis dangerous to believe the news we love the best, For lovers' hopes are often thorns of rancor and unrest. They told him that the words were true; and without further speech The glory of his lady's eyes he sallied forth to reach. He met her in a garden where sweet marjoram combined With azure violets a scent that ravished every wind. The musk and jasmine mingled in leaf and branch and flower, Building about the lovers a cool and scented bower. The white leaf matched her lily skin, the red his bounding heart. For she was beauty's spotless queen, he valor's counterpart. For when the Moor approached her he scarcely raised his eye, Dazed by the expectation that she had raised so high. Celinda with a trembling blush came forth and grasped his hand; They talked of love like travellers lost in a foreign land. Then said the Moor, "Why give me now love's sweetest paths to trace, Who in thy absence only live on memories of thy face? If thou should speak of Xerez," he said with kindling eye, "Now take my lance, like Zaida's spouse this moment let me die, And may I some day find thee in a rival's arms at rest, And he by all thy arts of love be tenderly caressed; Unless the Moor whose slander made me odious in thy eyes In caitiff fraud and treachery abuse thine ear with lies." The lady smiled, her heart was light, she felt a rapture new; And like each flower that filled their bower the love between them grew, For little takes it to revive the love that is but true; And aided by his lady's hand he hastes her gems to don, And on his courser's back he flings a rich caparison, A head-stall framed of purple web and studded o'er with gold; And purple plumes and ribbons and gems of price untold; He clasped the lady to his heart, he whispered words of cheer, And then took horse to Gelva to join the tilting there.

CALL TO ARMS

What time the sun in ocean sank, with myriad colors fair, And jewels of a thousand hues tinted the clouds of air, Brave Gazul at Acala, with all his host, drew rein-- They were four hundred noblemen, the stoutest hearts in Spain-- And scarcely had he reached the town when the command 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." And though at night he entered no torch or lamp he hath, For glorious Celinda is the sun upon his path; And as he enters in the town at once the word is 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 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. 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