Moorish Literature Part 23

Believe me by the oath I swear my heart I here resign, And all I have of love and care are, Adelifa, thine.

Believe that Abenamar would his own life betray If he had courage thus to throw life's choicest gem away."

Then Adelifa smiled on him and at the words he said, Upon his heaving bosom her blushing cheek she laid.

And from that hour each jealous thought far from her mind she thrust And confidence returned again in place of dark distrust.

FUNERAL OF ABENAMAR

The Moors of haughty Gelves have changed their gay attire.

The caftan and the braided cloak, the brooch of twisted wire, The gaudy robes, the mantles of texture rich and rare, The fluttering veils and tunic bright the Moors no longer wear.

And wearied is their valorous strength, their sinewy arms hang down; No longer in their lady's sight they struggle for the crown.

Whether their loves are absent or glowing in their eyes, They think no more of jealous feud nor smile nor favor prize; For love himself seems dead to-day amid that gallant train And the dirge beside the bier is heard and each one joins the strain, And silently they stand in line arrayed in mourning black For the dismal pall of Portugal is hung on every back.

And their faces turned toward the bier where Abenamar lies, The men his kinsmen silent stand, amid the ladies' cries And thousand thousands ask and look upon the Moorish knight, By his coat of steel they weeping kneel, then turn them from the sight.

And some proclaim his deeds of fame, his spirit high and brave, And the courage of adventure that had brought him to the grave.

Some say that his heroic soul pined with a jealous smart, That disappointment and neglect had broke that mighty heart; That all his ancient hopes gave way beneath the cloud of grief, Until his green and youthful years were withered like a leaf; And he is wept by those he loved, by every faithful friend, And those who slandered him in life speak evil to the end.

They found within his chamber where his arms of battle hung A parting message written all in the Moorish tongue: "Dear friends of mine, if ever in Gelves I should die, I would not that in foreign soil my buried ashes lie.

But carry me, and dig my grave upon mine own estate, And raise no monument to me my life to celebrate, For banishment is not more dire where evil men abound, Than where home smiles upon you, but the good are never found."

BALLAD OF ALBAYALDOS

Three mortal wounds, three currents red, The Christian spear Has oped in head and thigh and head-- Brave Albayaldos feels that death is near.

The master's hand had dealt the blow, And long had been And hard the fight; now in his heart's blood low He wallows, and the pain, the pain is keen.

He raised to heaven his streaming face And low he said: "Sweet Jesus, grant me by thy grace, Unharmed to make this pa.s.sage to the dead.

"Oh, let me now my sins recount, And grant at last Into thy presence I may mount, And thou, dear mother, think not of my past.

"Let not the fiend with fears affright My trembling soul; Though bitter, bitter is the night Whose darkling clouds this moment round me roll.

"Had I but listened to your plea, I ne'er had met Disaster; though this life be lost to me, Let not your ban upon my soul be set.

"In him, in him alone I trust, To him I pray, Who formed this wretched body from the dust.

He will redeem me in the Judgment Day.

"And Muza, one last service will I ask, Dear friend of mine: Here, where I died, be it thy pious task To bury me beneath the tall green pine.

"And o'er my head a scroll indite, to tell How, on this sod, Fighting amid my valiant Moors, I fell.

And tell King Chico how I turned to G.o.d,

"And longed to be a Christian at the last, And sought the light, So that the accursed Koran could not cast My soul to suffer in eternal night."

THE NIGHT RAID OF REDUAN

Two thousand are the Moorish knights that 'neath the banner stand Of mighty Reduan, as he starts in ravage thro' the land.

With pillage and with fire he wastes the fields and fruitful farms, And thro' the startled border-land is heard the call to arms; By Jaen's towers his host advance and, like a lightning flash, Ubeda and Andujar can see his hors.e.m.e.n dash, While in Baeza every bell Does the appalling tidings tell, "Arm! Arm!"

Rings on the night the loud alarm.

So silently they gallop, that gallant cavalcade, The very trumpet's m.u.f.fled tone has no disturbance made.

It seems to blend with the whispering sound of breezes on their way, The rattle of their harness and the charger's joyous neigh.

But now from hill and turret high the flaming cressets stream And watch-fires blaze on every hill and helm and hauberk gleam.

From post to post the signal along the border flies And the tocsin sounds its summons and the startled burghers rise, While in Baeza every bell Does the appalling tidings tell, "Arm! Arm!"

Rings on the night the loud alarm.

Ah, suddenly that deadly foe has fallen upon the prey, Yet stoutly rise the Christians and arm them for the foe, And doughty knights their lances seize and scour their coats of mail, The soldier with his cross-bow comes and the peasant with his flail.

And Jaen's proud hidalgos, Andujar's yeomen true, And the lords of towered Ubeda the pagan foes pursue; And valiantly they meet the foe nor turn their backs in flight, And worthy do they show themselves of their fathers' deeds of might, While in Baeza every bell Does the appalling tidings tell, "Arm! Arm!"

Rings on the night the loud alarm.

The gates of dawn are opened and sunlight fills the land, The Christians issuing from the gates in martial order stand, They close in fight, and paynim host and Christian knights of Spain, Not half a league from the city gate, are struggling on the plain.

The din of battle rises like thunder to the sky, From many a crag and forest the thundering echoes fly, And there is sound of clashing arms, of sword and rattling steel, Moorish horns, the fife and drum, as the scattering squadrons reel, And the dying moan and the wounded shriek for the hurt that none can heal, While in Baeza every bell Does the appalling tidings tell, "Arm! Arm!"

Rings on the night the loud alarm.

SIEGE OF JAEN

Now Reduan gazes from afar on Jaen's ramparts high, And tho' he smiles in triumph yet fear is in his eye, And vowed has he, whose courage none charged with a default, That he would climb the ramparts and take it by a.s.sault, Yet round the town the towers and walls the city's streets impale, And who of all his squadrons that bastion can scale?

He pauses until one by one his hopes have died away, And his soul is filled with anguish and his face with deep dismay.

He marks the tall escarpment, he measures with his eye The soaring towers above them that seem to touch the sky.

Height upon height they mount to heaven, while glittering from afar Each cresset on the watch-towers burns like to a baleful star.

His eyes and heart are fixed upon the rich and royal town, And from his eye the tear of grief, a manly tear, flows down.

His bosom heaves with sighs of grief and heavy discontent, As to the royal city he makes his sad lament: "Ah, many a champion have I lost, fair Jaen, at thy gate, Yet lightly did I speak of thee with victory elate, The prowess of my tongue was more than all that I could do, And my word outstripped the lance and sword of my squadron strong and true.

And yet I vowed with courage rash thy turrets I would bring To ruin and thy subjects make the captives of my King.

That in one night my sword of might, before the morrow's sun, Would do for thy great citadel what centuries have not done.

I pledged my life to that attempt, and vowed that thou shouldest fall, Yet now I stand in impotence before thy castle tall.

For well I see, before my might shall win thee for my King, That thou, impregnable, on me wilt rout and ruin bring, Ah, fatal is the hasty tongue that gives such quick consent, And he who makes the hasty vow in leisure must repent.

Ah! now too late I mourn the word that sent me on this quest, For I see that death awaits me here whilst thou livest on at rest, For I must enter Jaen's gates a conqueror or be sent Far from Granada's happy hills in hopeless banishment; But sorest is the thought that I to Lindaraja swore: If Jaen should repulse me I'd return to her no more; No more a happy lover would I linger at her side, Until Granada's warrior host had humbled Jaen's pride."

Then turning to his warriors, the Moorish cavalier Asks for their counsel and awaits their answer while with fear.

Five thousand warriors tried and true the Moors were standing near, All armed with leathern buckler, all armed with sword and spear.

"The place," they answer, "is too strong, by walls too high 'tis bound, Too many are the watch-towers that circle it around.

The knights and proud hidalgos who on the wall are seen, Their hearts are bold, their arms are strong, their swords and spears are keen.

Disaster will be certain as the rising of the day, And victory and booty are a slippery prize," they say, "It would be wise in this emprise the conflict to forego; Not all the Moors Granada boasts could lay proud Jaen low."

THE DEATH OF REDUAN

He shrank not from his promise, did Reduan the brave, The promise to Granada's King with daring high he gave; And when the morning rose and lit the hills with ruddy glow, He marshalled forth his warriors to strike a final blow.

With shouts they hurry to the walls, ten thousand fighting men-- Resolved to plant the crescent on the bulwarks of Jaen.

The bugle blast upon the air with clarion tone is heard, The burghers on the city wall reply with scoffing word; And like the noise of thunder the clattering squadrons haste, And on his charger fleet he leads his army o'er the waste.

In front of his attendants his march the hero made, He tarried not for retinue or clattering cavalcade, And they who blamed the rash a.s.sault with weak and coward minds Deserted him their leader bold or loitered far behind.

And now he stands beneath the wall and sees before him rise The object of the great campaign, his valor's priceless prize; He dreams one moment that he holds her subject to his arms, He dreams that to Granada he flies from war's alarms, Each battlement he fondly eyes, each bastion grim and tall, And in fancy sees the crescents rise above the Christian wall.

But suddenly an archer has drawn his bow of might, And suddenly the bolt descends in its unerring flight, Straight to the heart of Reduan the fatal arrow flies, The gallant hero struck to death upon the vega lies.

And as he lies, from his couch of blood, in melancholy tone, Thus to the heavens the hero stout, though fainting, makes his moan, And ere his lofty soul in death forth from its prison breaks, Brave Reduan a last farewell of Lindaraja takes: "Ah, greater were the glory had it been mine to die, Not thus among the Christians and hear their joyful cry, But in that happy city, reclining at thy feet, Where thou with kind and tender hands hast wove my winding-sheet.

Ah! had it been my fate once more to gaze upon thy face, And love and pity in those eyes with dying glance to trace, Altho' a thousand times had death dissolved this mortal frame, Soon as thy form before me in radiant beauty came, A thousand times one look of thine had given me back my breath, And called thy lover to thy side even from the gate of death.