Moorish Literature Part 16

'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 G.o.d'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 hoa.r.s.e 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, a.s.sured, 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 G.o.d 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 cuira.s.s, 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.

Ign.o.ble origin is thine, For lovers of a n.o.ble line Have no such rancorous hearts as thine.

And here I pray that G.o.d 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 n.o.ble 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 n.o.blest 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.

G.o.d only knows why I the sport of cruel fate should be.

G.o.d 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.