Moorish Literature Part 25

And now he saw the warring winds that swept across the bay Had struck the battered shallop and carried it away.

"O piteous heaven," he cried aloud, "my hopes are like yon bark: Scattered upon the storm they lie and never reach their mark."

And suddenly from cloudy heavens came down the darkling night And in his melancholy mood the captive left the height.

He gained his boat, with trembling hand he seized the laboring oar And turning to the foaming wave he left his native sh.o.r.e.

"Ah, well I wot on ocean's breast when loud the tempest blows Will rest be found when solid ground denies the heart repose.

Now let the hostile sea perceive no power of hers I dread, But rather ask her vengeance may fall upon my head."

Into the night the shallop turned, while floated far behind The captive's lamentation like a streamer on the wind.

And now, like furies, from the east the gale began to blow, And with the crash of thunder the billows broke below.

STRIKE SAIL!

A Turkish bark was on the sea, the sunny sea of Spain, In sight of cliffs that Hercules made boundaries of the main; And one, Celimo's captive slave, as fierce the billows grew, Was listening as the ship-master this order gave the crew: "Strike sail! Strike sail! The furious gale Is rising fast! Strike sail!"

Fierce fell on them the opposing winds, the ship was helpless driven; And with the ocean's flood were blent the thunder-drops of heaven.

And as the inky clouds were rent, the fiery lightning flared, And 'mid the terror-stricken crew one voice alone was heard: "Strike sail! Strike sail! The furious gale Is rising fast! Strike sail!"

And one there sat upon the deck, in captive misery, Whose tears ran mingling with the flood, the flood of sky and sea.

Lost in the tempest of his thoughts, he fondly breathed a prayer, Whose mournful words were echoed by the mount of his despair: "Strike sail! Strike sail! The furious gale Is rising fast! Strike sail!"

"If I am captive and a slave, the time shall come when G.o.d Will bring me freed, to tread once more my own, my native sod!

Then all my ancient glory shall return to me for aye.

Till then, my soul, be patient and wait that happy day!"

"Strike sail! Strike sail! The furious gale Is rising fast! Strike sail!"

THE CAPTIVE'S ESCAPE

The fair Florida sat at ease, upon a summer's day, Within a garden green and fair that by the river lay, And gayly asked that he her spouse would tell his darling wife The cause of his captivity, the history of his life.

"Now tell me, dearest husband, I pray thee tell me true, Who were thy parents, and what land thy birth and nurture knew?

And wherefore did they take thee a captive from that place, And who has given thee liberty, thy homeward path to trace?"

"Yes, I will tell thee, gentle wife, and I will tell thee true, For tender is the light I see within thine eyes of blue.

In Ronda did my father raise his castle on the height; And 'twas in Antequera first my mother saw the light.

Me, to this dark captivity, the dastard Moors ensnared, Just as the peace had ended and war was not declared.

They took me off in fetters, to barter me for gold, Velez-de-la-Gomera was the town where I was sold.

Seven weary days, and for each day a long and weary night, They set me on the auction-block, before the people's sight.

Yet not a Moorish gentleman and not a Moorish wife A maravedi offered for the mournful captive's life.

At last there came a Moorish dog, in rich attire, and gave A thousand golden pieces to have me for his slave.

He led me to his lofty house, and bade me there remain, Mocked by his lowest underlings, and loaded with a chain.

Ah! vile the life he led me, and deep revenge I swore; Ah! black the life he gave me, and hard the toils I bore!

By day I beat the piled-up hemp cut from the vega plain; By night, within the darkened mill, I ground for him the grain.

And though the very corn I ground, I longed to take for meat, He placed a bridle on my mouth that I should nothing eat!

Therefore, it pleased the G.o.d who rules the heavens, the land, the sea, That the mistress of that mighty house looked tenderly on me.

And when the Moor a-hunting went, one happy autumn day, She came into my prison-house and took my chains away; She bade me sit upon her lap, I answered with delight; Ah, many a gallant present she made to me that night!

She bathed me and she washed my wounds, and garments fresh she gave, Far brighter than were fit to deck the body of a slave; And love's delight we shared that night, for I grew gay and bold!

And in the morn she gave to me a hundred crowns of gold.

She oped the gates, she bade me, with smiles, once more be free; We fled, for fear that Moorish hound would slay both her and me.

And so it pleased the G.o.d who rules the earth and heavens above, To prove his deep compa.s.sion and the greatness of his love; And thus my sad captivity, my days of wandering, o'er, Florida, in thy loving arms I nestle as of yore!"

THE SPANIARD OF ORAN

Right gallant was that gentleman, the warlike knight of Spain, Who served the King in Oran, with sword and lances twain; But, with his heart's devotion and pa.s.sion's ardent fire, He served a gentle Afric maid of high and n.o.ble sire.

And she was fair as n.o.ble, and well could she requite The devotion of a lover and the courage of a knight.

And when one summer evening they paid their vows again, They heard the alarum ring to arms across the darkling plain; For the foes' approach had roused the watch and caused the war-like sound.

The silver moon had shed its ray upon their targes round, The targes shot the message to the silent watch-towers by, And watch-towers sent their tidings by flames that lit the sky; And the fires had called the bells on high to ring their clear alarms-- That tocsin roused the lover locked in the lady's arms.

Ah, sorely felt he in his heart the spur of honor p.r.i.c.k, But love's appeal that held him, it pierced him to the quick.

'Twas cowardice to dally and shrink that foe to face, But, ah, it was ingrat.i.tude to leave her in that case.

And hanging round her lover's neck, she saw that he turned pale, And seized his sword and cast one glance upon his coat of mail; And, with a burst of sighs and tears she bowed her beauteous head; "Oh, rise, my lord, gird on thy arms, and join the fray," she said; "Oh, let my tears this couch bedew; this couch of joy shall be As dolorous as the dreary field of battle, without thee!

Arm, arm thyself and go to war! Hark, hark! the foes approach.

Thy general waits; oh, let him not thy knightliness reproach!

Oh, direly will he visit thee for cowardice to-day, For dire the crime in any clime of soldiers who betray.

Well canst thou glide unnoticed to the camp, without thy sword; Wilt thou not heed my tears, my sighs--begone without a word!

Thy bosom is not made of flesh, for, ah! thou canst not feel, Thou hast no need of arms in fight, for it is hard as steel."

The Spaniard gazed upon her, his heart was full of pride; She held him fast and even her words retained him at her side.

"Lady," he said, and kissed her, "spite of thy words unwise, Thou art as sweet as ever in thy lover's faithful eyes.

And since to love and honor this night thou hast appealed, I take my arms and go, for right it is to thee I yield; I go into the battle and my body seeks the fight, But my soul behind me lingers in thy bosom of delight; Oh, grant me, Lord and Master, to seek the camp below, Oh, let me take the name to-night and I will cheerful go, Bearing the sword, the lance, and coat of mail against the foe!"

MOORISH ROMANCES

[_Metrical Translation by J. Lockhart_]

MOORISH ROMANCES

THE BULL-FIGHT OF GAZUL

[Gazul is the name of one of the Moorish heroes who figure in the "_Historia de las Guerras Civiles de Granada_." The following ballad is one of very many in which the dexterity of the Moorish cavaliers in the bull-fight is described. The reader will observe that the shape, activity, and resolution of the unhappy animal destined to furnish the amus.e.m.e.nt of the spectators, are enlarged upon, just as the qualities of a modern race-horse might be among ourselves: nor is the bull without his name. The day of the Baptist is a festival among the Mussulmans, as well as among Christians.]

King Almanzor of Granada, he hath bid the trumpet sound, He hath summonded all the Moorish lords, from the hills and plains around; From vega and sierra, from Betis and Xenil, They have come with helm and cuira.s.s of gold and twisted steel.

Tis the holy Baptist's feast they hold in royalty and state, And they have closed the s.p.a.cious lists beside the Alhambra's gate; In gowns of black and silver laced, within the tented ring, Eight Moors to fight the bull are placed in presence of the King.

Eight Moorish lords of valor tried, with stalwart arm and true, The onset of the beasts abide, as they come rushing through; The deeds they've done, the spoils they've won, fill all with hope and trust, Yet ere high in heaven appears the sun they all have bit the dust.

Then sounds the trumpet clearly, then clangs the loud tambour, Make room, make room for Gazul--throw wide, throw wide the door; Blow, blow the trumpet clearer still, more loudly strike the drum, The Alcayde of Algava to fight the bull doth come.

And first before the King he pa.s.sed, with reverence stooping low, And next he bowed him to the Queen, and the Infantas all a-row; Then to his lady's grace he turned, and she to him did throw A scarf from out her balcony was whiter than the snow.

With the life-blood of the slaughtered lords all slippery is the sand, Yet proudly in the centre hath Gazul ta'en his stand; And ladies look with heaving breast, and lords with anxious eye, But firmly he extends his arm--his look is calm and high.