Moorish Literature Part 11

And once upon a cloudy night, Fit curtain for his amorous mood, The gallant Moor the high hills scaled And on Alhambra's terrace stood.

Arrived, he saw a Moorish maid Stand at a window opened wide; He gave her many a precious gem; He gave her many a gift beside.

He spoke and said: "My lady fair, Though I have never wronged him, still Darraja stands upon the watch, By fair or foul, to do me ill.

"Those eyes of thine, which hold more hearts Than are the stars that heaven displays; That slay more Moors with shafts of love Than with his sword the master slays;

"When will they soften at my smile?

And when wilt thou, my love, relent?

Let Tarfe go, whose words are big, While his sword-arm is impotent!

"Thou seest I am not such as he; His haughty words, so seldom true, Are filled with boasting; what he boasts This st.u.r.dy arm of mine can do.

"My arm, my lance, ah! well 'tis known How oft in battle's darkest hour They saved Granada's city proud From yielding to the Christian's power."

Thus amorous Almarada spoke When Tarfe came and caught the word; And as his ear the message seized, His right hand seized upon his sword.

Yet did he deem some Christian troop Was in the darkness hovering by; And at the thought, with terror struck, He turned in eager haste to fly!

Darraja roused him at the din; And with loud voice to Tarfe spoke; He knew him from his cloak of blue, For he had given the Moor that cloak!

THE TWO MOORISH KNIGHTS

Upon two mares both strong and fleet, White as the cygnet's snowy wing, Beneath Granada's arching gate Pa.s.sed Tarfe and Belchite's King.

Like beauty marks the dames they serve; Like colors at their spear-heads wave; While Tarfe kneels at Celia's feet, The King is Dorelice's slave.

With belts of green and azure blue The gallant knights are girded fair; Their cloaks with golden orange glow, And verdant are the vests they wear.

And gold and silver, side by side, Are glittering on their garment's hem; And, mingled with the metals, s.h.i.+ne The lights of many a costly gem.

Their veils are woven iron-gray, The melancholy tint of woe-- And o'er their heads the dusky plumes Their grief and desolation show.

And each upon his target bears Emblazoned badges, telling true Their pa.s.sion and their torturing pangs, In many a dark and dismal hue.

The King's device s.h.i.+nes on his s.h.i.+eld-- A seated lady, pa.s.sing fair; A monarch, with a downcast eye, Before the dame is kneeling there.

His crown is lying at her feet That she may spurn it in disdain; A heart in flames above is set; And this the story of his pain.

"In frost is born this flame of love"-- Such legend circles the device-- "And the fierce fire in which I burn Is nourished by the breath of ice."

Upon her brow the lady wears A crown; her dexter hand sustains A royal sceptre, gilded bright, To show that o'er all hearts she reigns.

An orb in her left hand she bears, For all the world her power must feel; There Fortune prostrate lies; the dame Halts with her foot the whirling wheel.

But Tarfe's s.h.i.+eld is blank and bare, Lest Adelifa should be moved With jealous rage, to learn that he Her Moorish rival, Celia, loved.

He merely blazons on his targe A peaceful olive-branch, and eyes That sparkle in a beauteous face, Like starlets in the autumn skies.

And on the branch of olive s.h.i.+nes This legend: "If thy burning ray Consume me with the fire of love, See that I wither not away."

They spurred their horses as they saw The ladies their approach surveyed; And when they reached their journey's end The King to Dorelice said:

"The G.o.ddesses who reign above With envy of thy beauty tell; When heaven and glory are thy gifts, Why should I feel the pangs of h.e.l.l?

"Oh, tell me what is thy desire?

And does heaven's light more pleasure bring Than to own monarchs as thy slaves, And be the heiress to a king?

"I ask from thee no favor sweet; Nor love nor honor at thy hand; But only that thou choose me out The servant of thy least command.

"The choicest n.o.bles of the realm The glory of this office crave; The lowliest soldier, with delight, Would die to prove himself thy slave.

"Each life, each heart is at thy feet; Thou with a thousand hearts mayst live; And if thou wouldst not grant my prayer, Oh, take the warning that I give.

"For there are ladies in the court To my desires would fain consent, And lovely Bendarrafa once These jealous words but lately sent:

"'Those letters and those written lines, Why dost thou not their sense divine?

Are they not printed on thy heart As thy loved image is on mine?

"'Why art thou absent still so long?

It cannot be that thou art dead?'"

Then ceased the King and silent stood, While Tarfe to his Celia said:

"Celestial Celia be thy name; Celestial calm is on thy brow; Yet all the radiance of thy face Thy cruelty eclipses now.

"A witch like Circe dost thou seem; For Circe could o'ercloud the sky; Oh, let the sun appear once more, And bid the clouds of darkness fly!

"Ah, would to G.o.d that on the feast, The Baptist's consecrated day, I might my arms about thee fling And lead thee from thy home away.

"Yet say not that 'tis in thy power To yield or all my hopes to kill; For thou shalt learn that all the world, In leaguer, cannot bend my will.

"And France can tell how many a time I fought upon the tented field, And forced upon their bended knee Her loftiest paladins to yield.

"I vanquished many a valiant knight Who on his s.h.i.+eld the lilies bore; And on Vandalia's plain subdued Of Red Cross warriors many a score.

"The n.o.blest I had brought to yield Upon Granada's gory plain, Did I not shrink with such vile blood The honor of my sword to stain."

At this the trumpets called to arms; Without one farewell word each knight Turned from the lady of his heart And spurred his steed in headlong flight.

THE KING'S DECISION

Amid a thousand sapient Moors From Andalusia came, Was an ancient Moor, who ruled the land, Rey Bucar was his name.

And many a year this sage had dwelt With the lady he loved best; And at last he summoned the Cortes, As his leman made request.