Moorish Literature Part 17

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 ta.s.sel 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 pa.s.sed, 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 gla.s.s 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 n.o.ble 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 cl.u.s.tered 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 s.e.x, 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.