Moorish Literature Part 21

He thought of Albaicin, the palace of the dame, With its gayly gilded capitals and its walls of ancient fame.

And the garden that behind it lay in which the palm was seen Swaying beneath the load of fruit its coronet of green.

"O mistress of my soul," he said, "who callest me thine own, How easily all bars to bliss thy love might trample down!

But time, that shall my constancy, thy fickleness will show, The world shall then my steadfast heart, thy tongue of treachery know.

Woe worth the day when, for thy sake, I fair Granada sought, These anxious doubts may cloud my brow, they cannot guard thy thought.

My foes increase, thy cruelty makes absence bitterer still, But naught can shake my constancy, and none can do me ill."

On this from Alpujarra the tocsin sounded high.

He rushed as one whose life is staked to save the maid or die.

THE DESPONDENT LOVER

He leaned upon his sabre's hilt, He trod upon his s.h.i.+eld, Upon the ground he threw the lance That forced his foes to yield.

His bridle hung at saddle-bow, And, with the reins close bound, His mare the garden entered free To feed and wander round.

Upon a flowering almond-tree He fixed an ardent gaze; Its leaves were withered with the wind That flowers in ruin lays.

Thus in Toledo's garden park, Did Abenamar wait, Who for fair Galliana Watched at the palace gate.

The birds that cl.u.s.tered on the towers Spread out their wings to fly, And from afar his lady's veil He saw go floating by.

And at this vision of delight, Which healed his spirit's pain, The exiled Moor took courage, And hope returned again.

"O Galliana, best beloved, Whom art thou waiting now?

And what has treacherous rendered My fortune and thy vow?

Thou swearedst I should be thine own, Yet 'twas but yesterday We met, and with no greeting Thou wentest on thy way.

Then, in my silence of distress, I wandered pondering-- If this is what to-day has brought, What will to-morrow bring?

Happy the Moor from pa.s.sion free, In peace or turmoil born, Who without pang of hate or love, Can slumber till the morn.

O almond-tree, thou provest That the expected hours Of bliss may often turn to bane, As fade thy dazzling flowers.

A mournful image art thou Of all that lays me low, And on my s.h.i.+eld I'll bear thee As blazon of my woe.

For thou dost bloom in many a flower, Till blasted by the wind, And 'tis of thee this word is true-- 'The season was not kind.'"

He spoke and on his courser's head He slipped the bridle rein, And while he curbed his gentle steed He could not curb his pain, And to Ocana took his course, O'er Tagus' verdant plain.

LOVE AND JEALOUSY

"Unless thou wishest in one hour Thine April hope shouldst blighted be, Oh, tell me, Tarfe, tell me true, How I may Zaida chance to see.

I mean the foreigner, the wife New wedded, her with golden hair, And for each lock a charm besides She counts--for she is pa.s.sing fair.

Her, whom the Moorish n.o.bles all To heaven in their laudation raise, Till the fine ladies of the land Are left to languish in dispraise.

The mosque I visit every day, And wait to see her come in sight; I wait to see her, where the rout And revel lengthen out the night.

However, cost me what it may, I cannot meet the lovely dame.

Ah, now my eyes are veiled in tears, Sure witness of my jealous flame.

And tell me, Tarfe, that my rage Has cause enough, for since I've been Granada's guest (and would to G.o.d Granada I had never seen!) My lord forsakes me every night, Nor till the morning comes again; He shuns as painful my caress, My very presence brings him pain; Little indeed he recks of me, If only he may elsewhere reign.

For if we in the garden meet, Or if we in the chamber be, His actions his estrangement prove, He has not even words for me.

And if I say to him, 'My life!'

He answers me, 'My dearest dear,'

Yet with a coldness that congeals My very heart with sudden fear.

And all the while I strive to make His soul reveal a traitorous thought, He turns his back on me, as if To him my trembling fear was naught.

And when about his neck I cling, He drops his eyes and bows his face, As if, from thought of other arms He longed to slip from my embrace.

His bosom heaves with discontent, Deep as from h.e.l.l the sigh is wrenched; My heart with dark suspicion beats, And all my happiness is quenched.

And if I ask of him the cause, He says the cause in me is found; That I am vain, the rover I, And to another's bosom bound.

As if, since I have known his love, I at the window show my face, Or take another's hand in mine, Or seek the bull-ring, joust, or race; Or if my footsteps have been found To wander a suspected place, The prophet's curse upon me fall, Unless to keep the nuptial pact And serve the pleasure of my lord.

I kept the Koran's law exact!

But wherefore should I waste the time These tedious questions to recall?

Thou knowest the chase on which he hies, And yet in silence hidest all.

Nay, swear not--I will naught believe; Thine oaths are but a fowler's net, And woe betide the dame who falls Into the snare that thou hast set.

For men are traitors one and all; And all their promises betray; Like letters on the water writ, They vanish, when love's fires decay.

For to fulfil thy promise fair, What hours thou hast the whole day long, What chances on the open road, Or in the house when bolts are strong.

O G.o.d! but what a thought is this?

I strangle, in the sudden thrall Of this sharp pang of agony, Oh, hold me, Tarfe, lest I fall."

Thus Adelifa weeping cried At thought of Abenamar's quest: In Moorish Tarfe's arms she fell, And panting lay upon his breast.

THE CAPTIVE OF TOLEDO

Upon the loftiest mountain height That rises in its pride, And sees its summits mirrored In Tagus' crystal tide, The banished Abenamar, Bound by a captive chain, Looks on the high-road to Madrid That seams the dusty plain.

He measures, with his pining eyes, The stretching hills that stand Between his place of banishment And his sweet native land.

His sighs and tears of sorrow No longer bear restraint, And thus in words of anguish He utters his complaint: "Oh, dismal is the exile That wrings the heart with woes And locks the lips in silence, Amid unfeeling foes.

O road of high adventure, That leadest many a band To yon ungrateful country where My native turrets stand, The country that my valor Did oft with glory crown, The land that lets me languish here, Who won for her renown.

Thou who hast succored many a knight, Hast thou no help for me, Who languish on Toledo's height In captive misery?

'Tis on thy world-wide chivalry I base my word of blame, 'Tis that I love thee most of all, Thy coldness brings me shame.

Oh, dismal is the exile, That wrings my heart with woes, And locks my lips in silence Among unfeeling foes.

The warden of fierce Reduan With cruelty more deep That that of a hidalgo, Has locked this prison keep; And on this frontier set me, To pine without repose, To watch, from dawn to sunset, Over his Christian foes.

Here like a watch-tower am I set For Santiago's lord, And for a royal mistress Who breaks her plighted word.

And when I cry with anguish And seek in song relief, With threats my life is threatened, Till silence cloak my grief.

Oh, dismal is the exile, That wrings my heart with woes, And locks my lips in silence Among unfeeling foes.

And when I stand in silence, Me dumb my jailers deem, And if I speak, in gentle words, They say that I blaspheme.

Thus grievously perverting The sense of all I say, Upon my lips the raging crowd The gag of silence lay.

Thus heaping wrong on wrong my foes Their prisoner impeach, Until the outrage of my heart Deprives my tongue of speech.

And while my word the pa.s.sion Of my sad heart betrays, My foes are all unconscious Of what my silence says.

Now G.o.d confound the evil judge Who caused my misery, And had no heart of pity To soften his decree.

Oh, dismal is the exile, That wrings my heart with woes, And locks my lips in silence Among unfeeling foes.

THE BLAZON OF ABENAMAR

By gloomy fortune overcast, Va.s.sal of one he held in scorn, Complaining of the wintry world, And by his lady left forlorn, The wretched Abenamar mourned, Because his country was unkind, Had brought him to a lot of woe, And to a foreign home resigned.

A stranger Moor had won the throne, And in Granada sat in state.

Many the darlings of his soul He claimed with love insatiate, He, foul in face, of craven heart, Had won the mistress of the knight; Her blooming years of beauteous youth Were Abenamar's own by right.

But royal favor had decreed A foreign tyrant there should reign, For many a galley owned him lord And master, in the seas of Spain.

Oh, haply 'twas that Zaida's self, Ungrateful like her changing s.e.x, Had chosen this emir, thus in scorn Her Abenamar's soul to vex.

This was the thought that turned to tears The eyes of the desponding knight, As on his sufferings past he thought, His labors and his present plight; His hopes, to disappointment turned; His wealth, now held in alien hands, His agony o'er love betrayed, Lost honor, confiscated lands.

And as his loyalty had met Such ill requital from the King, He called his page and bade him straight A limner deft before him bring.

For he would have him paint at large, In color, many a new device And write his sufferings on his s.h.i.+eld.

No single blazon would suffice.

And first a green field parched and seared; A coal, in myriad blazes burned, And like his ardent hopes of yore, At length to dust and ashes turned.

And then a miser, rich in gold, Who locks away some jewel bright, For fear the thief a gem may steal, Which yet can yield him no delight.

A fair Adonis done to death Beneath the wild boar's cruel tusk.