Moorish Literature Part 12

The day was set on which his lords And commoners should meet, And they talked to the King of his wide realm's need, As the King sat in his seat.

And many the laws they pa.s.sed that day; And among them a law that said That the lover who took a maid for his love The maid of his choice must wed; And he who broke this ordinance Should pay for it with his head.

And all agreed that the law was good; Save a cousin of the King, Who came and stood before him, With complaint and questioning;

"This law, which now your Highness Has on your lieges laid, I like it not, though many hearts It has exultant made.

"Me only does it grieve, and bring Disaster on my life; For the lady that I love the best, Is already wedded wife;

"Wedded she is, wedded amiss; Ill husband has she got.

And oft does pity fill my heart For her distressful lot.

"And this one thing I tell thee, King, To none else has it been told: If I think her love is silver, She thinks my love is gold."

Then spake Rey Bucar in reply, This sentence uttered he: "If thy love be wedded wife, the law Hath no penalty for thee."

ALMANZOR AND BOBALIAS

The King Almanzor slept one night, And, oh! his sleep was blest; Not all the seven Moorish kings Could dare to break his rest.

The infante Bobalias Bethought of him and cried: "Now rouse thee, rouse thee, uncle dear!

And hasten to my side.

"And bid them fetch the ladders Owned by my sire the King; And the seven mules that carry them Into my presence bring.

"And give to me the seven stout Moors Who shall their harness set, For the love, the love of the countess I never can forget."

"Ill-mannered art thou, nephew, And never wilt amend; The sweetest sleep I ever slept, Thou bringest to an end."

Now they have brought the ladders Owned by his sire the King.

And, to bear the load along the road, Seven st.u.r.dy mules they bring;

And seven stout Moors, by whom the mules In housings are arrayed.

And to the walls of the countess Their journey have they made.

There, at the foot of yonder tower, They halt their cavalcade.

In the arms of the count Alminique The countess lay at rest; The infante has ta'en her by the hand, And caught her to his breast.

THE MOORISH INFANTA AND ALFONZO RAMOS

Beneath the shade of an olive-tree Stood the infanta fair; A golden comb was in her hands, And well she decked her hair.

To heaven she raised her eyes, and saw, That early morning-tide, A clump of spears and an armored band From Guadalquivir ride.

Alfonzo Ramos with them came, The admiral of Castile.

"Now welcome, Alfonzo Ramos!

Now welcome, steed and steel, What tidings do you bring of my fleet, What tidings of woe or weal?"

"I'll tell thee tidings, lady, If my life thou wilt a.s.sure."

"Tell on, Alfonzo Ramos, Thy life shall be secure."

"Seville, Seville has fallen, To the arms of the Berber Moor."

"But for my word thy head this day To the vultures had been tost!"

"If head of mine were forfeited, Tis thine must pay the cost."

THE BULL-FIGHT OF ZULEMA

He was a valorous gentleman, a gay and gallant knight, Like stars on heaven's fifth circle was the splendor of his might.

In peace, accomplished in the arts of great Apollo's choir, In war, the brilliant swordsman that Mars might well admire.

His great exploits were written on history's brightest page, And rightly was he reckoned as the mirror of his age; Great deeds he did with point of lance and won bright honor's crown, Before the year when each red cheek was clothed in manly down.

And such he was through all the world by minstrel harps extolled, Both for the vigor of his arm and for his bearing bold.

His very foes, whom he had made surrender in the fight, While trembling at his valor, asked blessings on the knight.

And Fame herself, whose pace is swift, whose voice like fire can run, Grew weary with reciting the deeds that he had done.

To tell aright his jeopardies, escapes, and rescues wrought, A swifter-flying pinion and a louder tongue she sought!

Such was Zulema, such was he, the warrior of renown, The son of that Zulema who ruled Toledo's town.

Ah! bright the fame the father left, for it shall never die-- The glory of his greater son shall keep its memory.

Now once it happened that he reached a city's towering gate; 'Twas Avila, and there that day the games they celebrate.

The mighty square, when he arrived, was changed into a bower; And every knight wore fluttering plumes and every dame a flower.

The scene was strange, because the Moor, in southern cities reared, Had never seen how gay Castile on festal days appeared.

He marked the Adelifas in the King's pavilion stand, And he asked, and his prayer was granted, to join the champion band.

Yet when they gave consent they feared that great Zulema's might Would surely quite excel in joust the best Castilian knight.

But a thousand times they asked that heaven would give to him success, And a thousand times they wondered at his glorious Moorish dress.

Full many a lady's beck and smile were on the warrior bent, And they looked on his manly beauty and they sighed with deep content.

But now Zulema by the hand the wardens take and greet, And 'mid the highest n.o.blemen they yield the knight a seat.

His seat was placed in honor 'mid ladies gay and bright, Mid warriors of Castile, the first in courage and in might.

Then suddenly, more swift than wind, more wild than comet's glare, Jerama's bull, far famed was he, rushed on the crowded square.

Ah! brave was he in flashing eyes, and fierce was he in heart, His brow was like a storm-cloud, each horn a giant's dart, His wide-spread nostrils snorted fire, his neck was short and deep, His skin was black as the thunder-cloud that crowns the mountain's steep.

Before his coming fled the crowd, until the sunny square Was emptied of the mult.i.tude, and every stone was bare.

Those only who on horseback sat remained to face the foe.

Now trembling with alarm they stand, and now with hope they glow.

Good sport they looked to have with him, and lay him in the dust, But the Andalusian hero evaded every thrust.

And sometimes, with a gallant charge he threw them from their seat, He gored them with his savage horn, and trod them with his feet!

Ah! great the shame of the vanquished knights; they dared not raise their eyes To the ladies who looked down and smiled from banks and balconies.

For those soft eyes were fixed no more upon each vanquished knight, But on the monster proud and strong who conquered them in fight.

The dames upon the royal seat to Zulema turned their eyes, And one, the loveliest of them all, who wore a strange disguise, Yet through her veil such rays she shot that she seemed like the sun on high When he rises, quenching all the stars that filled the midnight sky.

She made a sign to him and spoke directly from her heart, Whose tongue is in a woman's eye. Ah! well it plays its part!

She bade him to redeem the day and avenge each gallant knight Who had fallen in the dust before the foe in stubborn fight.

And the Moor with gracious mien a.s.sents, and from his seat descends; But first with glance and waving scarf a tender message sends To the lovely Moorish damsel who had called him to the fray, And had filled his heart with sudden love upon the festal day.

And as he leapt into the sand it was as if he flew, For love lent wings at his lady's nod, some glorious deed to do.

And when the bull beheld approach, upon the b.l.o.o.d.y sand, His bold and tall antagonist, a dagger in his hand, He roared like thunder, with his hoofs he pawed the dusty ground, The plaza shook, the castle tower re-echoed to the sound!

Long subject to the hand of man, and in subjection born, He thought to subject human foe to hoof and mighty horn.