Chapter IV: Preface (3)

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,
When on thy heaving bosom, thy chosen love, I lay.
Yet well thou'lt know the hand that wrote this letter for thine eye,
For conscience will remind thee of thy fickle treachery.
Dissemble as thou wilt, and play with woman's skill thy part,
Thou knowest there is but one who bears for thee a broken heart."
Thus read the valiant castellan of Baza's castle tower,
Then sealed the scrip and sent it to the Moorish maiden's bower.

ZAIDA OF TOLEDO

Upon a gilded balcony, which decked a mansion high,
A place where ladies kept their watch on every passer-by,
While Tagus with a murmur mild his gentle waters drew
To touch the mighty buttress with waves so bright and blue,
Stands Zaida, radiant in her charms, the flower of Moorish maids,
And with her arching hand of snow her anxious eyes she shades,
Searching the long and dusty road that to Ocaña leads,
For the flash of knightly armor and the tramp of hurrying steeds.
The glow of amorous hope has lit her cheek with rosy red,
Yet wrinkles of too anxious love her beauteous brow o'er-spread;
For she looks to see if up the road there rides a warrior tall--
The haughty Bencerraje, whom she loves the best of all.
At every looming figure that blots the vega bright,
She starts and peers with changing face, and strains her eager sight;
For every burly form she sees upon the distant street
Is to her the Bencerraje whom her bosom longs to greet.
And many a distant object that rose upon her view
Filled her whole soul with rapture, as her eager eyes it drew;
But when it nearer came, she turned away, in half despair,
Her vision had deceived her, Bencerraje was not there.
"My own, my Bencerraje, if but lately you descried
That I was angry in my heart, and stubborn in my pride,
Oh, let my eyes win pardon, for they with tears were wet.
Why wilt thou not forgive me, why wilt thou not forget?
And I repented of that mood, and gave myself the blame,
And thought, perhaps it was my fault that, at the jousting game,
There was no face among the knights so filled with care as thine,
So sad and so dejected, yes, I thought the blame was mine!
And yet I was, if thou with thought impartial wilt reflect,
Not without cause incensed with thee, for all thy strange neglect.
Neglect that not from falseness or words of mine had sprung
But from the slanderous charges made by a lying tongue;
And now I ask thee pardon, if it be not too late,
Oh, take thy Zaida to thy heart, for she is desolate!
For if thou pardon her, and make her thine again, I swear
Thou never wilt repent, dear love, thou thus hast humored her!
It is the law of honor, which thou wilt never break,
That the secret of sweet hours of love thou mayst not common make.
That never shouldst thou fail in love, or into coldness fall,
Toward thy little Moorish maiden, who has given thee her all."
She spoke; and Bencerraje, upon his gallant bay,
Was calling to her from the street, where he loitered blithe and gay,
And quickly she came down to him, to give him, e'er they part,
Her rounded arms, her ivory neck, her bosom, and her heart!

ZAIDE REBUKED

"See, Zaide, let me tell you not to pass along my street,
Nor gossip with my maidens nor with my servants treat;
Nor ask them whom I'm waiting for, nor who a visit pays,
What balls I seek, what robe I think my beauty most displays.
'Tis quite enough that for thy sake so many face to face
Aver that I, a witless Moor, a witless lover chase.
I know that thou art a valiant man, that thou hast slaughtered more,
Among thy Christian enemies, than thou hast drops of gore.
Thou art a gallant horseman, canst dance and sing and play
Better than can the best we meet upon a summer's day.
Thy brow is white, thy cheek is red, thy lineage is renowned,
And thou amid the reckless and the gay art foremost found.
I know how great would be my loss, in losing such as thee;
I know, if I e'er won thee, how great my gain would be:
And wert thou dumb even from thy birth, and silent as the grave,
Each woman might adore thee, and call herself thy slave.
But 'twere better for us both I turn away from thee,
Thy tongue is far too voluble, thy manners far too free;
Go find some other heart than mine that will thy ways endure,
Some woman who, thy constancy and silence to secure,
Can build within thy bosom her castle high and strong,
And put a jailer at thy lips, to lock thy recreant tongue.
Yet hast thou gifts that ladies love; thy bearing bold and bright
Can break through every obstacle that bars them from delight.
And with such gifts, friend Zaide, thou spreadest thy banquet board,
And bidst them eat the dish so sweet, and never say a word!
But that which thou hast done to me, Zaide, shall cost thee dear;
And happy would thy lot have been hadst thou no change to fear.
Happy if when thy snare availed to make the prize thine own,
Thou hadst secured the golden cage before the bird was flown.
For scarce thy hurrying footsteps from Tarfe's garden came,
Ere thou boastedst of thine hour of bliss, and of my lot of shame.
They tell me that the lock of hair I gave thee on that night,
Thou drewest from thy bosom, in all the people's sight,
And gav'st it to a base-born Moor, who took the tresses curled,
And tied them in thy turban, before the laughing world.
I ask not that thou wilt return nor yet the relic keep,
But I tell thee, while thou wearest it, my shame is dire and deep:
They say that thou hast challenged him, and swearest he shall rue
For all the truths he spake of thee--would God they were not true!
Who but can laugh to hear thee blame the whispers that reveal
Thy secret, though thy secret thyself couldst not conceal.
No words of thine can clear thy guilt nor pardon win from me,
For the last time my words, my glance, have been addressed to thee."
Thus to the lofty warrior of Abencerraje's race
The lady spoke in anger, and turned away her face:
"'Tis right," she said, "the Moor whose tongue has proved to me unkind
Should in the sentence of my tongue fit retribution find."

ZAIDA'S INCONSTANCY

O fairest Zaida, thou whose face brings rapture to mine eyes!
O fairest Zaida, in whose smile my soul's existence lies!
Fairest of Moorish maidens, yet in revengeful mood,
Above all Moorish maidens, stained by black ingratitude.
'Tis of thy golden locks that love has many a noose entwined,
And souls of free men at thy sight full oft are stricken blind;
Yet tell me, proud one, tell me, what pleasure canst thou gain
From showing to the world a heart so fickle and so vain?
And, since my adoration thou canst not fail to know,
How is it that thy tender heart can treat thy lover so?
And art thou not content my fondest hopes to take away,
But thou must all my hope, my life, destroy, in utter ruin lay?
My faithful love, sweet enemy! how ill dost thou requite!
And givest in exchange for it but coldness and despite;
Thy promises, thy pledge of love, thou to the gale wouldst fling;
Enough that they were thine, false girl, that they should all take wing.
Remember how upon that day thou gavest many a sign
Of love and lavished'st the kiss which told me thou wert mine.
Remember, lovely Zaida, though memory bring thee pain,
Thy bliss when 'neath thy window I sang my amorous strain.
By day, before the window, I saw my darling move,
At night, upon the balcony, I told thee of my love.
If I were late or absence detained me from thy sight,
Then jealous rage distraught thy heart, thine eyes with tears were
bright.
But now that thou hast turned from me, I come thy face to greet,
And thou biddest me begone, and pass no longer through thy street.
Thou biddest me look on thee no more, nor even dare to write
The letter or the _billet-doux,_ that caused thee once delight.
Yes, Zaida, all thy favors, thy love, thy vows, are shown
To be but false and faithless, since thou art faithless grown.
But why? thou art a woman, to fickle falseness born;
Thou prizest those who scorn thee--those who love thee thou dost scorn.
I change not, thou art changed, whose heart once fondly breathed my name;
But the more thy bosom turns to ice, the fiercer burns my flame;
For all thy coldness I with love and longing would repay,
For passion founded on good faith can never die away.

ZAIDE'S DESOLATION

It was the hour when Titan from Aurora's couch awoke,
And on the world her radiant face in wonted beauty broke,
When a Moor came by in sad array, and Zaide was his name.
Disguised, because his heart was sad with love's consuming flame;
No shield he bore, he couched no lance, he rode no warrior steed;
No plume nor mantle he assumed, motto or blazon screed;
Still on the flank of his mantle blank one word was written plain,
In the Moorish of the people, "I languish through disdain."
A flimsy cape his shoulders clad, for, when the garb is poor,
Nobility is honored most because 'tis most obscure.
If he in poverty appeared, 'twas love that made him so;
Till love might give the wealth he sought thus mourning would he go.
And still he journeys through the hills and shuns the haunts of men;
None look upon his misery in field or lonely fen.
Fair Zaida ne'er forgets that he is prince of all the land,
And ruler of the castles that at Granada stand;
But gold or silver or brocade can ne'er supply the lack
Of honor in a noble line whose crimes have stained it black;
For sunlight never clears the sky when night has spread her cloak,
But only when the glory of the morning has awoke.
He lives secure from jealous care, holding the priceless dower
Which seldom falls to loving hearts or sons of wealth and power.
Poor is his garb, yet at his side a costly blade appears,
'Tis through security of mind no other arms he bears.

'Tis love that from Granada's home has sent him thus to rove,
And for the lovely Zaida he languishes with love--
The loveliest face that by God's grace the sun e'er shone above.
From court and mart he lives apart, such is the King's desire;
Yet the King's friend Alfaqui is the fair maiden's sire.
Friend of the King, the throne's support, a monarch's son is he,
And he has sworn that never Moor his daughter's spouse shall be.
He has no ease till the monarch sees his daughter's loveliness.
But she has clasped brave Zaide's hand, and smiled to his caress,
And said that to be his alone is her sole happiness.
And after many journeys wide, wearied of banishment,
He sees the lofty tower in which his Moorish maid is pent.

ZAIDA'S LAMENT

Now the hoarse trumpets of the morn were driving sleep away;
They sounded as the fleeting night gave truce unto the day.
The hubbub of the busy crowd ceased at that dulcet sound,
In which one moment high and low peace and refreshment found.
The hoot of the nocturnal owl alone the silence broke,
While from the distance could be heard the din of waking folk;
And, in the midst of silence, came the sound as Zaida wept,
For all night long in fear of death she waked while others slept.
And as she sighed, she sang aloud a melancholy strain;
"And who would wish to die," she said, "though death be free from pain?"
For evil tongues, who thought to win her favor with a lie,
Had told her that the bold Gazul ordained that she should die;
And so she donned a Moor's attire, and put her own away,
And on the stroke of midnight from Xerez took her way.
And as she sighed, she sang aloud a melancholy strain;
"And who would wish to die," she said, "though death be free from
pain?"

She rode a nimble palfrey and scarce could great Gazul
Excel the ardent spirit with which her heart was full.
Yet at every step her palfrey took, she turned her head for fear,
To see if following on her track some enemy were near.
And as she went, she sang aloud a melancholy strain;
"And who would wish to die," she said, "though death be free from
pain?"

To shun suspicion's eye, at last she left the king's highway,
And took the journey toward Seville that thro' a bypath lay;
With loosened rein her gallant steed right swiftly did she ride,
Yet to her fear he did appear like a rock on the rough wayside.
And as she went, she sang aloud a melancholy strain;
"And who would wish to die," she said, "though death be free from
pain?"

So secretly would she proceed, her very breath she held,
Tho' with a rising storm of sighs her snowy bosom swelled.
And here and there she made a halt, and bent her head to hear
If footsteps sounded; then, assured, renewed her swift career.
And as she went, she sang aloud a melancholy strain;
"And who would wish to die," she said, "though death be free from
pain?"

Her fancy in the silent air could whispering voices hear;
"I'll make of thee a sacrifice, to Albenzaide dear;"
This fancy took her breath away, lifeless she sank at length,
And grasped the saddle-bow; for fear had sapped her spirit's strength.
And as she went, she sang aloud a melancholy strain;
"And who would wish to die," she said, "though death be free from
pain?"

She came in sight of proud Seville; but the darkness bade her wait
Till dawn; when she alighted before a kinsman's gate.
Swift flew the days, and when at last the joyful truth she learned,
That she had been deceived; in joy to Xerez she returned.
And as she went, she sang aloud a melancholy strain;
"And who would wish to die," she said, "though death be free from
pain?"

ZAIDA'S CURSE

And Zaida Cegri, desolate,
Whom by the cruel cast of fate,
Within one hour, the brandished blade
From wife had mourning widow made,
On Albenzaide's corse was bowed,
Shedding hot tears, with weeping loud.
Bright as the gold of Araby
Shone out her locks unbound;
And while, as if to staunch the blood,
Her hand lay on the wound,
She fixed her glances on Gazul,
Still by his foes attacked.
"'Twas cruel rage, not jealous love,
That urged this wicked act."
(Thus she began with trembling voice.)
"And I to God will pray
That for thy treacherous violence
Thy dastard life shall pay.
And midway, on thy journey down
To fair Sidonia's castled town,
Mayst thou alone, with no retreat,
The valiant Garci-Perez meet;
And mayst thou, startled at the sight,
Lose all the vigor of thy might;
Thy reins with palsied fingers yield;
And find no shelter in thy shield.
There sudden death or captive shame
Blot all thy valor but the name.
Thy warrior garb thou turnest
To the livery of the slave;
Thy coat of steel is no cuirass,
No harness of the brave;
When to Sidonia thou art come,
To meet thy amorous mate,
May foul suspicion turn her heart
From love to deadly hate.
Begone! no more the course pursue
Of faithless love and vows untrue.
To remain true to such as thee
Were naught but blackest perjury.
I fear not, hound, thy sword of might;
Turn, traitor, turn and leave my sight,
For thou wert born to change thy mind,
And fling all fealty to the wind.
Ignoble origin is thine,
For lovers of a noble line
Have no such rancorous hearts as thine.
And here I pray that God will bring
His curse upon thy soul,
That thou in war, in peace, in love
May meet with failure foul,
And that Sanlucar's lady,
Whom thou wishest for a bride,
Thee from her castle entrance
May spurn thee in her pride.
A widowed wife with bleeding heart,
Hear me one moment ere we part!
Thy knightly service I distrust,
I hear thy voice with deep disgust."
Cut to the heart by words so rude,
The Moor within the palace stood;
Say what he could, 'twas but to find
His vain word wasted on the wind.

THE TOURNAMENT OF ZAIDE

By Zaide has a feast been pledged to all Granada's dames,
For in his absence there had been dire lack of festive games,
And, to fulfil the promise the noble man had made,
He called his friends to join him in dance and serenade.
There should be sport of every kind; the youths in white arrayed
Were, to the ladies all unknown, to lead the camisade.
And ere the radiance of dawn could tint the valley-side,
The merry Moor had come abroad, his friends were at his side.
He gathered round a company, they formed a joyous train;
There were fifty gentlemen, the noblest names in Spain.
Before the dawn they sallied forth the ladies to surprise
And all that snowy gowns conceal to see with open eyes.
They bound their brows with garlands of flowerets sweet and bright,
In one hand each a cane-stalk bore, in one a taper white,
And the clarions began to blow, and trump and Moorish horn,
And whoop and shout and loud huzzas adown the street were borne.
From right to left the clamor spread along the esplanade.
And envious Abaicin a thousand echoes made.
The startled horses galloped by, amid the people's yells;
The town to its foundation shook with the jingle of their bells.
Amid the crowd some run, some shout, "Stop, stop!" the elders say;
Then all take order and advance to Alcazaba's way;
Others from Vavataubin to Alpujarra fare,
Down the street of the Gomelas or to Vivarrambla Square.
Now the whole town is on its feet, from wall to towering wall
They surge with shouts or flock around the tower and castle tall.
The ladies who are tenderest and given most to sleep
Awaken at the hubbub and from their windows peep.
And there are seen dishevelled locks clasped by the lily hand;
And snowy throat and bosom bare, revealed in public, stand;
And in their drowsy disarray, and in their anxious fear,
Each Moorish lady is surprised with many a sudden tear;
And many a heart was filled that night with feverish unrest,
As one tall maid looked through the pane with white and heaving breast.
And many a Moorish girl was seen by revellers that night
Or running in confusion or halting from affright;
But no one saw fair Zaida, except by memory's sight;
And Zaide in the darkness, with Muza as his guide,
Hurried about the city; what a crowd was at their side!
What racket, and what riot, what shout and prank and play!
It would have had no end unless the sun had brought the day,
And now the leading revellers mustered their ranks once more;
To close the frolic with one word; "Go home; the game is o'er."

ZAIDE'S COMPLAINT

Brave Zaide paces up and down impatiently the street
Where his lady from the balcony is wont her knight to greet,
And he anxiously awaits the hour when she her face will show
Before the open lattice and speak to him below.
The Moor is filled with desperate rage, for he sees the hour is fled
When day by day the dazzling ray of sunlight gilds that head,
And he stops to brood in desperate mood, for her alone he yearns
Can aught soothe the fire of fierce desire with which his bosom burns.
At last he sees her moving with all her wonted grace,
He sees her and he hastens to their old trysting-place;
For as the moon when night is dark and clouds of tempest fly
Rises behind the dim-lit wood and lights the midnight sky,
Or like the sun when tempests with inky clouds prevail,
He merges for one moment and shows his visage pale;
So Zaida on her balcony in gleaming beauty stood,
And the knight for a moment gazed at her and checked his angry mood.
Zaide beneath the balcony with trembling heart drew near;
He halted and with upward glance spoke to his lady dear:
"Fair Moorish maiden, may thy life, by Allah guarded still,
Bring thee the full fruition of that that thou dost will;
And if the servants of thy house, the pages of my hall,
Have lied about thine honor, perdition seize them all;
For they come to me and murmur low and whisper in my ear
That thou wishest to disown me, thy faithful cavalier;
And they say that thou art pledged to one a Moor of wealth and pride,
Who will take thee to his father's house and claim thee as his bride,
For he has come to woo thee from the wide lands of his sire;
And they say that his scimitar is keen and his heart a flame of fire.
And if, fair Zaida, this is true, I kneel before thy feet
Imploring thou wilt tell me true, and fling away deceit;
For all the town is talking, still talking of our love,
And the tongues of slander, to thy blame, to my derision move."
The lady blushed, she bowed her head, then to the Moor replied:
"Dear heart of mine, of all my friends the most undoubted friend,
The time has come our friendship should have an early end;
If all, indeed, these tidings know, as you yourself declare,
Pray tell me who of all the town first laid this secret bare.
For if the life that now I lead continue, I shall die.
'Tis cheered by love, but tortured by hopeless agony.
God only knows why I the sport of cruel fate should be.
God only knows the man who says that I am false to thee.
Thou knowest well that Zaida has loved thee long and true,
Tho' her ancient lineage, Moorish knight, is more than is thy due,
And thou knowest well the loud expostulations of my sire.
Thou knowest how my mother curses me with curses dire
Because I wait for thee by day, for thee by night I wait.
Tho' far thou comest in the eve, yet dost thou tarry late.
They say to hush the common talk 'tis time that I be wed,
And to his home by some fond Moor in bridal veil be led.
Ah! many are the lovely dames, tall and of beauteous face,
Who are burning in Granada to take my envied place.
They look at thee with loving eyes and from the window call;
And, Zaide, thou deservest well the brightest of them all,
For thou thyself thine amorous eyes have turned and yet will turn
Upon the Moorish maidens who for thy embraces burn."
Then with dejected visage the Moor this answer made,
While a thousand thoughts of sorrow his valorous breast invade:
"Ah, little did I think," he said, "and little did I know
That thou, my lovely Zaida, would ever treat me so;
And little did I think thou wouldst have done this cruel deed
And by thy changeful heart would thus have made my heart to bleed.
And this for one unworthy, a man who could not claim
That thou should sacrifice to him thy love, thy life, thy name.
And art thou she who long ago, when evening veiled the sky,
Didst say to me with tender smile from the lofty balcony,
'Zaide, I am thine own, thine own, thine own I still shall be,
And thou the darling of my soul art life itself to me'?"

GUHALA'S LOVE

The bravest youth that e'er drew rein
Upon Granada's flowery plain,
A courteous knight, of gentle heart,
Accomplished in the jouster's art;
Well skilled to guide the flying steed,
And noted for each warlike deed;
And while his heart like steel was set
When foeman in the battle met,
'Twas wax before his lady's eyes
And melted at her amorous sighs;
And he was like a diamond bright
Amid the sword-thrusts of the fight,
And in the zambra's festive hour
Was gracious as the summer's flower.
In speech he showed the generous mind,
Where wit and wisdom were combined;
And, while his words no envy woke,
He weighed each sentence that he spoke.
And yet his mantle was of blue,
And tinged with sorrow's violet hue;
For fair Guhala, Moorish maid,
Her spell upon his heart had laid;
And thus his cape of saffron bare
The color emblem of despair;
On turban and on tassel lie
The tints that yield an August sky;
For anxious love was in his mind;
And anxious love is ever blind.
With scarce a word did he forsake
The lady pining for his sake;
For, when the festal robe he wore,
Her soul the pall of sorrow wore.
And now he journeyed on his way
To Jaen, for the jousting day,
And to Guhala, left alone,
All relic of delight was gone.
Tho' the proud maid of matchless face
A thousand hearts would fain embrace,
She loved but one, and swiftly ran
And spake her mind to Arbolan.
"O Arbolan, my Moor, my own,
Surely thy love is feeble grown!
The least excuse can bid thee part,
And tear with pain this anxious heart.
Oh, that it once were granted me
To mount my steed and follow thee;
How wouldst thou marvel then to see
That courage of true love in me,
Whose pulse so feebly throbs in thee."
Thus to see Arbolan depart
So fills with grief Guhala's heart.
The Moorish maid, while on he sped,
Lies sickening on her mournful bed.
Her Moorish damsels strive to know
The secret of this sudden blow;
They ask the cause that lays her low;
They seek the sad disease to heal,
Whose cause her feigning words conceal.
And less, indeed, the doubling folds
The Moor within his turban holds,
Than are the wiles Guhala's mind
In search of secrecy can find.
To Zara only, whom she knows,
Sole friend amid a ring of foes,
The sister of her lover leal,
She will the secret cause reveal.
And seeking an occasion meet
To tell with truth and tongue discreet,
While from her eyes the tear-drops start,
She opens thus her bleeding heart:
"O Zara, Zara, to the end,
Thou wilt remain my faithful friend.
How cruel is the lot I bear,
Thy brother's peril makes me fear!
'Tis for his absence that I mourn.
I sicken, waiting his return!"
Such were the words Guhala said.
The love-lorn and afflicted maid
Nor further power and utterance found,
But, fainting, sank upon the ground;
For strength of love had never art
To fill with life a pining heart.

AZARCO OF GRANADA

Azarco left his heart behind
When he from Seville passed,
And winsome Celindaja
As hostage held it fast.
The heart which followed with the Moor
Was lent him by the maid,
And at their tearful parting,
"Now guard it well," she said.
"O light of my distracted eyes,
When thou hast reached the fight,
In coat of double-proof arrayed,
As fits a gallant knight,
Let loyal love and constancy
Be thy best suit of mail,
In lonely hours of absence,
When faith is like to fail.
The Moorish girls whom thou shalt meet
Are dazzling in their grace,
Of peerless wit and generous heart,
And beautiful of face.
These in the dance may lure thy heart
To think of me no more,
But none will e'er adore thee
As I, thy slave, adore.
For to live lonely without thee
Untouched by jealous fear,
Is more than my poor heart can brook,
Thou art to me so dear.
If e'er in festal halls thou meet
Some peril to my peace,
Azarco, turn thy look away,
And check thine eyes' caprice.
For 'tis by wandering eyes the foes
Of constancy increase.
May Allah and the prophet
Make thy pathway safe and clear;
And may one thought be thine abroad
And Celindaja's here."

AZARCO REBUKED

"Draw rein, draw rein one moment,
And calm thy hurrying steed,
Who bounds beneath the furious spur
That makes his flank to bleed.
Here would I, by my grief distraught,
Upon the very spot,
Remind thee of the happy hours
Thou, faithless, hast forgot.
When thou, upon thy prancing barb,
Adown this street would pace,
And only at my window pause
To gaze into my face.
At thought of all thy cruelty
A stricken slave I pine;
My heart is burning since it touched
That frozen breast of thine.
How many pledges didst thou give,
To win me for thine own!
Our oaths were mutual; I am true,
Whilst thou art recreant grown.
My eyes, they thrilled thee yesterday,
To-day thou hast no fears;
For love is not alike two days
Within a thousand years.
I thought thy name a pledge to me
Of fondest hope; no less
That thou wouldst take as pledges true
My kiss and soft caress.
What were thy glowing words but lures
Thy victim's eyes to blind?
Now safe from treachery's hour I bear
No rancor in my mind.
But better had I known the truth,
When I desired to know,
And listened to thy pleading words,
And read thy written vow.
Nay, give me no excuses vain,
For none of them I ask,
Plead truth to her thou cozenest now--
They'll serve thee in the task.
And if my counsel thou wilt take,
Forget these eyes, this heart,
Forget my grief at thy neglect--
Forget me--and depart."
Thus to the Moor, Azarco,
The lovely Zaida cried,
And closed her lattice, overwhelmed
With sorrow's rising tide.
He spurred his barb and rode away,
Scattering the dust behind,
And cursed the star that made his heart
Inconstant as the wind.

ADELIFA'S FAREWELL

Fair Adelifa tore her hair,
Her cheeks were furrowed o'er with care,
When brave Azarco she descried
Ascending the tall galley's side.
She flung the dust upon her head,
She wrung her lily hands and shed
Hot tears, and cursed the bitter day
That bore her heart's delight away.
"Thou, who my glory's captain art,
And general of my bleeding heart,
Guardian of every thought I know,
And sharer of my lot of woe;
Light that illumes my happy face,
The bliss of my soul's dwelling-place;
Why must thou disappear from me,
Thou glass wherein myself I see?
Azarco, bid me understand
What is it thou dost command--
Must I remain and wait for thee?
Ah, tedious will that waiting be.
To war thou farest, but I fear
Another war awaits thee here.
Thou thinkest in some rural nest
Thou'lt set me to be safe at rest.
Ah, if my absence cause thee pain,
My love attend thee on yon plain.
Thy valiant arms' unaided might
Shall win thee victory in the fight.
My faith, Azarco, is thy shield;
It will protect thee in the field.
Thou shalt return with victory,
For victory embarks with thee.
But thou wilt say, Azarco dear,
That women's lightness is to fear.
As with armed soldiers, so you find,
Each woman has a different mind.
And none shall ever, without thee,
Me in the dance or revel see;
Nor to the concert will I roam,
But stay in solitude at home.
The Moorish girls shall never say
I dress in robes of holiday;
'Twere vain to make the body fine
Whose soul is on the sea with thine."
With this Celinda came in sight,
Bahata's sister tall and bright;
This to an end her farewell brought,
But not her dark and anxious thought.

AZARCO'S FAREWELL

"Now saddle me the silver gray,
The steed of noble race,
And give to me the shield of Fez,
And my strong corslet lace;
Give me a double-headed lance,
With points of temper fine;
And, with the casque of stubborn steel,
That purple cap of mine.
Its plumes unite the saffron's tint
With heron's crest of snow,
And one long spray of fluttering gray.
Then give it e'er I go,
And I'll put on the hood of blue
That Celin's daughter fair,
My Adelifa, best-beloved,
Once gave to me to wear.
And the square boss of metal bring,
That circling boughs entwine
With laurels, in whose leaves of gold
The clustered emeralds shine.
Adonis, hastening to the hunt,
His heavenly mistress shuns,
The mountain boars before him flee,
And, 'Die,' the motto runs."
'Twas thus the Moor Azarco spoke,
Just as the war begun,
To stout Almoralife
Of Baza, Zelma's son.
Almoralife, brave and wise,
Full many a minstrel sings,
A knight who in Granada
Was counted with its kings.
And when they bring the boss of gold
He heaves a thousand sighs
O'er brave Adonis and his doom,
Who by the wild boar dies.
"O Adelifa, soul of mine,
Rejoice, and murmur not,
Up to the end be merry,
When worms shall be thy lot.
My day of life must needs be short,
Thy firmness must be long;
Although thou art a woman,
Unlike thy sex, be strong.
Be not like Venus, tho' in form
Thou art indeed her peer,
For she forgot in absence,
And did to death her dear.
And when alone, upon my face
And likeness fix thine eyes,
And none admit to do me wrong,
And thy soft heart surprise.
'Twixt sadness and repining
Love runs his changing way,
The gay he oft makes sorrowful,
The sorrowful makes gay.
Then, mark, love, in my portrait mark,
The wide eyes' mute appeal,
For this enchanted painting
Can speak and breathe and feel.
Think how those eyes shed many a tear,
When for thy face they yearn;
And let those tears thy patience win
To tarry my return."
At this Galvano came to say
That ship and favoring gale
Awaited him, and all his host
Were eager to set sail.
The Moor went forth to victory,
He was not pleasure's slave;
His gallant heart was ever prompt
To keep the pledge he gave.

CELINDA'S COURTESY

Azarco on his balcony
With humble Cegri stood.
He talked, and Cegri listened
In a sad and listless mood;
For of his own exploits he read,
Writ in an open scroll,
But envious Cegri heard the tale
With rage and bitter dole.
And thro' Elvira's gate, where spreads
A prospect wide and free,
He marked how Phoebus shot his rays
Upon the Spanish sea;
And bending to the land his eye
To notice how the scene
Of summer had its color changed
To black from radiant green,
He saw that, thro' the gate there passed
A light that was not day's,
Whose splendor, like a dazzling cloud,
Eclipsed the solar rays.
That presence changed the tint of earth,
Drew off the dusky veil,
And turned to living verdure
The leafage of the dale.
"Till now," Azarco said, "the scene
Has filled my heart with pain;
'Tis freshened by Celinda's face,
Or passion turns my brain.
Ah, well may men her beauty praise,
For its transcendent might
Elates the human spirit,
And fills it with delight."
And as he saw her coming in,
The Moor his bonnet doffed,
And bowed to do her honor,
And spoke in accents soft.
Celinda court'sied to the ground,
Such favor was not slight,
Her kindly greeting gratified
The fond hopes of the knight.
And glad and gloomy, each in turn,
For such a quick success,
He checked a thousand words of love,
That might his joy express.
And following her with eager eyes--
"I owe thee much," said he,
"Who dost reward with such a boon
My merest courtesy.
That favor, tho' unmerited,
Sweet lady, shall remain
Counted among those choicest gifts
Our reckoning cannot gain.
Its memory shall suffice to chase
The grinding pangs of care;
And softening turn the ills of life
To glory's guerdon rare."
On this Celinda took her leave,
And vanished from his view,
And, thinking proudly of her smile,
Azarco straight withdrew.

GAZUL'S DESPONDENCY

Scarce half a league from Gelva the knight dismounted stood,
Leaning upon his upright spear, and bitter was his mood.
He thought upon Celinda's curse, and Zaida's fickle mind,
"Ah, Fortune, thou to me," he cried, "hast ever proved unkind."
And from his valiant bosom burst a storm of angry sighs,
And acts and words of anguish before his memory rise.
"Celinda's loss I count as naught, nor fear her wicked will;
I were a fool, thus cursed by her, to love the lady still."
In rage from out the sod he drew his spear-head, as he spoke,
And in three pieces shivered it against a knotted oak.
He tore away the housings that 'neath his saddle hang,
He rent his lady's favor as with a lion's fang--
The silken ribbon, bright with gold, which in his crest he bore,
By loved Celinda knotted there, now loved by him no more.
He drew, as rage to madness turned, her portrait from his
breast;
He spat on it, and to that face derisive jeers addressed.
"Why should I dress in robes of joy, whose heart is wounded
sore,
By curses, that requite so ill the duteous love I bore?
Stripped as I am of every hope, 'tis better I go bare,
For the black mantle of my soul is but tormenting care;
I vengeance take on yonder oak, pierced by my lance's steel--
I dote, for, ah! the trees I wound, cannot, like women, feel."
He took the bridle off his steed, "Roam as thou wilt," said he.
"As I gave Zaida her release, I give release to thee."
The swift horse galloped out of sight; in melancholy mood,
The knight, unhorsed and helmetless, his lonely path pursued.

GAZUL IN LOVE

Not greater share did Mars acquire of trophies and renown,
Than great Gazul took with him from Gelva's castled town;
And when he to Sanlucar came his lady welcomed him,
His cup of happiness at last was beaded to the brim.
Alone the joyful lovers stood within a garden glade;
Amid the flowers, those happy hours fled to the evening shade.
With fingers deft Celinda wove a wreath, in which were set
The rose's rudy petals and the scented mignonette.
She plaited him a baldric, with violets circled round,
For violets are for lovers, and with this his waist she bound.
And then the flowery garland she tied upon his head,
"Thy face is delicate and fair as Ganymede's," she said;
"And if great Jove beheld thee now, he'd send his eagle down,
To take thee to the palace halls that high Olympus crown."
The brave Gazul his lady took and kissed her with a smile;
"She could not be so fair," said he, "the girl, who by her guile
Brought ruin on the Trojan realm, and set its towers afire,
As thou art, lady of my heart and queen of my desire."
"If I, indeed, seem fair to thee, then let the bridal rite
Me and the husband of my heart for evermore unite."
"Ah, mine will be the gain," he said, and kissed her with delight.

CELINDA'S INCONSTANCY

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