Part 5
"Thy words have done me grievous wrong, for, lovely Mooress, couldst thou think That he who loves thee more than life could e'er to such a treachery sink? His life is naught without the thought that thou art happy in thy lot; And while the red blood at his heart is beating thou art ne'er forgot! Thou woundest me because thy heart mistrusts me as a fickle fool; Thou dost not know when passion true has one apt pupil taken to school. Oblivion could not, could not cloud the image on his soul impressed, Unless dark treachery from the first had been the monarch of his breast And if perhaps some weary hours I thought that Vindaraja's mind Might in some happier cavalier the solace of her slavery find, I checked the thought; I drove away the vision that with death was rife, For e'er my trust in thee I lost, in battle I'd forego my life! Yet even the doubt that thou hast breathed gives me no franchise to forget, And were I willing that thy face should cease to fill my vision, yet 'Tis separation's self that binds us closer though the centuries roll, And forges that eternal chain that binds together soul and soul! And even were this thought no more than the wild vision of my mind, Yet in a thousand worlds no face to change for thine this heart could find. Thro' life, thro' death 'twere all the same, and when to heaven our glance we raise, Full in the very heart of bliss thine eyes shall meet my ardent gaze. For eyes that have beheld thy face, full readily the truth will own That God exhausted, when he made thee, all the treasures of his throne! And my trusting heart will answer while it fills my veins with fire That to hear of, is to see thee; and to see, is to desire! Yet unless my Vindaraja I could look upon awhile, As some traveller in a desert I should perish for her smile; For 'tis longing for her presence makes the spring of life to me, And allays the secret suffering none except her eye can see. In this thought alone my spirit finds refreshment and delight; This is sweeter than the struggle, than the glory of the fight; And if e'er I could forget her heaving breast and laughing eye, Tender word, and soft caresses--Vindaraja, I should die! If the King should bid me hasten to release thee from thy chain, Oh, believe me, dearest lady, he would never bid in vain; Naught he could demand were greater than the price that I would pay, If in high Alhambra's halls I once again could see thee gay! None can say I am remiss, and heedless of thy dismal fate; Love comes to prompt me every hour, he will not let my zeal abate. If occasion call, I yield myself, my soul to set thee free; Take this offering if thou wilt, I wait thy word on bended knee. Dost thou suffer, noble lady, by these fancies overwrought? Ah, my soul is filled with sorrow at the agonizing thought; For to know that Vindaraja languishes, oppressed with care, Is enough to make death welcome, if I could but rescue her. Yes, the world shall know that I would die not only for the bliss Of clasping thee in love's embrace and kindling at thy tender kiss. This, indeed, would be a prize, for which the coward death would dare-- I would die to make thee happy, tho' thy lot I might not share! Then, though I should fail to lift the burden on my darling laid, Though I could not prove my love by rescuing my Moorish maid, Yet my love would have this witness, first, thy confidence sublime, Then my death for thee, recorded on the scroll of future time! Yes, my death, for should I perish, it were comfort but to think Thou couldst have henceforth on earth no blacker, bitterer cup to drink! Sorrow's shafts would be exhausted, thou couldst laugh at fortune's power. Tho' I lost thee, yet this thought would cheer me in my parting hour. Yet I believe that fate intends (oh, bear this forecast in thy mind!) That all the love my passions crave will soon a full fruition find; Fast my passion stronger grows, and if of love there measure be, Believe it, dearest, that the whole can find its summary in me! Deem that thou art foully wronged, whose graces have such power to bless, If any of thy subject slaves to thee, their queen, should offer less, And accept this pledged assurance, that oblivion cannot roll O'er the image of thy beauty stamped on this enamored soul. Then dismiss thy anxious musings, let them with the wind away, As the gloomy clouds are scattered at the rising of the day. Think that he is now thy slave, who, when he wooed thee, was thy King; Think that not the brightest morning can to him contentment bring, Till the light of other moments in thy melting eyes he trace, And the gates of Paradise are opened in thy warm embrace. Since thou knowest that death to me and thee will strike an equal blow, It is just that, while we live, our hearts with equal hopes should glow. Then no longer vex thy lover with complaints that he may change; Darling, oft these bitter questions can the fondest love estrange; No, I dream not of estrangement, for thy Chico evermore Thinks upon his Vindaraja's image only to adore."
THE INFANTA SEVILLA AND PERANZUELOS
Upon Toledo's loftiest towers Sevilla kept the height; So wondrous fair was she that love Was blinded at the sight.
She stood amid the battlements, And gazed upon the scene Where Tagus runs through woodland And flowers and glades of green.
And she saw upon the wide highway The figure of a knight; He rode upon a dappled steed, And all his arms were bright.
Seven Moors in chains he led with him, And one arm's length aloof Came a dog of a Moor from Morocco's shore In arms of double proof.
His steed was swift, his countenance In a warlike scowl was set, And in his furious rage he cursed The beard of Mahomet!
He shouted, as he galloped up: "Now halt thee, Christian hound; I see at the head of thy captive band My sire, in fetters bound.
"And the rest are brothers of my blood, And friends I long to free; And if thou wilt surrender all, I'll pay thee gold and fee."
When Peranzuelos heard him, He wheeled his courser round. With lance in rest, he hotly pressed To strike him to the ground; His sudden rage and onset came Swift as the thunder's sound.
The Moor at the first encounter reeled To earth, from his saddle bow; And the Christian knight, dismounting, Set heel on the neck of his foe.
He cleft his head from his shoulders, And, marshalling his train, Made haste once more on his journey Across Toledo's plain.
CELIN'S FAREWELL
He sadly gazes back again upon those bastions high, The towers and fretted battlements that soar into the sky; And Celin, whom the King in wrath has from Granada banned Weeps as he turns to leave for aye his own dear native land; No hope has he his footsteps from exile to retrace; No hope again to look upon his lady's lovely face. Then sighing deep he went his way, and as he went he said: "I see thee shining from afar, As in heaven's arch some radiant star. Granada, queen and crown of loveliness, Listen to my lament, and mourn for my distress.
"I see outstretched before my eyes thy green and beauteous shore, Those meadow-lands and gardens that with flowers are dappled o'er. The wind that lingers o'er those glades received the tribute given By many a trembling calyx, wet with the dews of heaven. From Genil's banks full many a bough down to the water bends, Yon vega's green and fertile line from flood to wall extends; There laughing ladies seek the shade that yields to them delight, And the velvet turf is printed deep by many a mounted knight. I see thee shining from afar, As in heaven's arch some radiant star. Granada, queen and town of loveliness, Listen to my lament, and mourn for my distress.
"Ye springs and founts that sparkling well from yonder mountain-side, And flow with dimpling torrent o'er mead and garden wide, If e'er the tears that from my breast to these sad eyes ascend Should with your happy waters their floods of sadness blend, Oh, take them to your bosom with love, for love has bidden These drops to tell the wasting woe that in my heart is hidden. I see thee shining from afar, As in heaven's arch some radiant star. Granada, queen and crown of loveliness, Listen to my lament, and mourn for my distress.
"Ye balmy winds of heaven, whose sound is in the rippling trees, Whose scented breath brings back to me a thousand memories, Ye sweep beneath the arch of heaven like to the ocean surge That beats from Guadalquivir's bay to earth's extremest verge. Oh, when ye to Granada come (and may great Allah send His guardian host to guide you to that sweet journey's end!), Carry my sighs along with you, and breathe them in the ear Of foes who do me deadly wrong, of her who holds me dear. Oh, tell them all the agony I bear in banishment, That she may share my sorrow, and my foe the King relent. I see thee shining from afar, As in heaven's arch some radiant star. Granada, queen and crown of loveliness, Listen to my lament, and mourn for my distress."
CELIN'S RETURN
Now Celin would be merry, and appoints a festal day, When he the pang of absence from his lady would allay: The brave Abencerrages and Gulanes straight he calls, His bosom friends, to join him as he decks his stately halls. And secretly he bids them come, and in secret bids them go; For the day of merriment must come unnoticed by his foe; For peering eyes and curious ears are watching high and low, But he only seeks one happy day may reparation bring For the foul and causeless punishment inflicted by the King. "For in the widest prison-house is misery for me, And the stoutest heart is broken unless the hand is free."
His followers all he bade them dress in Christian array, With rude and rustic mantles of color bright and gay; With silken streamers in their caps, their caps of pointed crown, With flowing blouse, and mantle and gaberdine of brown. But he himself wore sober robes of white and lion gray, The emblems of the hopeless grief in which the warrior lay. And the thoughts of Adalifa, of her words and glancing eyes, Gave colors of befitting gloom to tint his dark disguise. And he came with purpose to perform some great and glorious deed, To drive away the saddening thoughts that made the bosom bleed. "For in the widest prison-house is misery to me, And the stoutest heart is broken unless the arm be free."
There streams into Granada's gate a stately cavalcade Of prancing steeds caparisoned, and knights in steel arrayed; And all their acclamations raise, when Celin comes in sight-- "The foremost in the tournament, the bravest in the fight"-- And Moorish maiden Cegri straight to the window flies, To see the glittering pageant and to hear the joyous cries. She calls her maidens all to mark how, from misfortune free, The gallant Celin comes again, the ladies' knight is he! They know the story of his fate and undeserved disgrace, And eagerly they gaze upon the splendor of his face. Needs not his exploit in the fields, his valorous deeds to tell-- The ladies of Granada have heard and know them well! "For in the widest prison-house is misery to me, And the stoutest heart must break unless the warrior's arm be free."
The beauty of Granada crowds Elvira's gate this night; There are straining necks and flushing cheeks when Celin comes in sight; And whispered tales go round the groups, and hearts indignant swell, As they think what in Granada that hero knight befell. Now a thousand Moorish warriors to Celin's fame aspire, And a thousand ladies gaze on him with passionate desire. And they talk of Adalifa, to whom he made his vow, Though neither speech nor written page unites them longer now. "For in the widest prison-house is misery to me, And the stoutest heart must break unless the warrior's arms be free."
The city waits his coming, for the feast has been prepared, By rich and poor, by high and low the revel shall be shared; And there are warriors high in hope to win the jousting prize, And there are ladies longing for a smile from Celin's eyes. But when the news of gladness reached Adalifa's ear, Her loving heart was touched with grief and filled with jealous fear; And she wrote to Celin, bidding him to hold no revel high, For the thought of such rejoicing brought the tear-drop to her eye; The Moor received the letter as Granada came in sight, And straight he turned his courser's head toward Jaen's towering height, And exchanged for hues of mourning his robe of festal white. "For in the widest prison-house is misery to me, And the stoutest heart is broke unless the warrior's arm be free."
BAZA REVISITED
Brave Celin came, the valiant son of him the _castelain_ Of the fortress of Alora and Alhama's windy plain. He came to see great Baza, where he in former days Had won from Zara's father that aged warrior's praise. The Moor gazed on that fortress strong, the towers all desolate, The castle high that touched the sky, the rampart and the gate. The ruined hold he greeted, it seemed its native land, For there his bliss had been complete while Zara held his hand. And Fortune's cruel fickleness he furiously reviled, For his heart sent madness to his brain and all his words were wild. "O goddess who controllest on earth our human fate, How is it I offend thee, that my life is desolate? Ah! many were the triumphs that from Zara's hands I bore, When in the joust or in the dance she smiled on me of yore. And now, while equal fortune incessantly I chase, Naught can I gather from thy hand but disaster and disgrace. Since King Fernando brought his host fair Baza to blockade, My lot has been a wretched lot of anguish unalloyed. Yet was Fernando kind to me with all his kingly art, He won my body to his arms, he could not win my heart." While thus he spoke the mantle that he wore he cast away; 'Twas green, 'twas striped with red and white, 'twas lined with dismal gray. "Best suits my fate, best suits the hue, in this misfortune's day; Not green, not white nor purple, but the palmer's garb of gray. I ask no plumes for helm or cap of nature's living green, For hope has vanished from my life of that which might have been! And from my target will I blot the blazon that is vain-- The lynx whose eyes are fixed upon the prey that it would gain. For the glances that I cast around meet fortune's foul disdain; And I will blot the legend, as an accursed screed. 'Twas writ in Christian letters plain that all the world might read: 'My good right arm can gain me more altho' its range be short, Then all I know by eye-sight or the boundless range of thought.' The blue tahala fluttering bright upon my armored brow In brilliant hue assorts but ill with the lot I meet with now. I cast away this gaudy cap, it bears the purple dye; Not that my love is faithless, for I own her constancy; But for the fear that there may be, within the maiden's sight, A lover worthier of her love than this unhappy knight." With that he took his lance in hand, and placed it in its rest, And o'er the plain with bloody spur the mournful Celin pressed. On his steed's neck he threw the reins, the reins hung dangling low, That the courser might have liberty to choose where he would go; And he said: "My steed, oh, journey well, and make thy way to find The bliss which still eludes me, tho' 'tis ever in my mind. Nor bit nor rein shall now restrain thy course across the lea, For the curb and the bridle I only use from infamy to flee."
CAPTIVE ZARA
In Palma there was little joy, so lovely Zara found; She felt herself a slave, although by captive chain unbound. In Palma's towers she wandered from all the guests apart; For while Palma had her body, 'twas Baza held her heart. And while her heart was fixed on one, her charms no less enthralled The heart of this brave cavalier, Celin Andalla called. Ah, hapless, hapless maiden, for in her deep despair She did not know what grief her face had caused that knight to bear; And though the Countess Palma strove with many a service kind To show her love, to soothe the pang that wrung the maiden's mind, Yet borne upon the tempest of the captive's bitter grief, She never lowered the sail to give her suffering heart relief. And, in search of consolation to another captive maid, She told the bitter sorrow to no one else displayed. She told it, while the tears ran fast, and yet no balm did gain, For it made more keen her grief, I ween, to give another pain. And she said to her companion, as she clasped her tender hand: "I was born in high Granada, my loved, my native land; For years within Alhambra's courts my life ran on serene; I was a princess of the realm and handmaid to a queen. Within her private chamber I served both night and day, And the costliest jewels of her crown in my protection lay. To her I was the favorite of all the maids she knew; And, ah! my royal mistress I loved, I loved her true! No closer tie I owned on earth than bound me to her side; No closer tie; I loved her more than all the world beside. But more I loved than aught on earth, the gallant Moorish knight, Brave Celin, who is solely mine, and I his sole delight. Yes, he was brave, and all men own the valor of his brand; Yes, and for this I loved him more than monarchs of the land. For me he lived, for me he fought, for me he mourned and wept, When he saw me in this captive home like a ship to the breakers swept. He called on heaven, and heaven was deaf to all his bitter cry, For the victim of the strife of kings, of the bloody war, was I; It was my father bade him first to seek our strong retreat. Would God that he had never come to Baza's castle seat! Would God that he had never come, an armored knight, to stand Amid the soldiers that were ranked beneath my sire's command. He came, he came, that valiant Moor, beneath our roof to rest. His body served my father; his heart, my sole behest; What perils did he face upon that castle's frowning height! Winning my father's praise, he gained more favor in my sight. And when the city by the bands of Christians was assailed, My soul 'neath terrors fiercer still in lonely terror quailed. For I have lost my sire, and I have lost my lover brave, For here I languish all alone, a subject and a slave. And yet the Moor, altho' he left with me his loving heart, I fear may have forgotten that I own his better part. And now the needle that I ply is witness to the state Of bondage, which I feel to-day with heart disconsolate. And here upon the web be writ, in the Arabian tongue, The legend that shall tell the tale of how my heart is wrung. Here read: 'If thou hast ta'en my heart when thou didst ride away, Remember that myself, my living soul, behind thee stay.' And on the other side these words embroidered would I place: 'The word shall never fail that once I spake before thy face.' And on the border underneath this posy, written plain: 'The promise that I made to thee still constant shall remain.' And last of all, this line I add, the last and yet the best: 'Thou ne'er shalt find inconstancy in this unchanging breast.' Thus runs the embroidery of love, and in the midst appears A phoenix, painted clear, the bird that lives eternal years. For she from the cold ashes of life at its last wane, Takes hope, and spreads her wings and soars through skyey tracks again. And there a hunter draws his bow outlined with skilful thread, And underneath a word which says, 'Nay, shoot not at the dead.'" Thus spake the Moorish maiden, and in her eyes were tears of grief, Tho' in her busy needle she seemed to find relief. And the kindly countess called from far: "Zara, what aileth thee? Where art thou? For I called, and yet thou didst not answer me."
THE JEALOUS KING