Moorish Literature Part 26

Three bulls against the knight are loosed, and two come roaring on, He rises high in stirrup, forth stretching his rejon; Each furious beast upon the breast he deals him such a blow He blindly totters and gives back, across the sand to go.

"Turn, Gazul, turn," the people cry--the third comes up behind, Low to the sand his head holds he, his nostrils snuff the wind; The mountaineers that lead the steers, without stand whispering low, "Now thinks this proud alcayde to stun Harpado so?"

From Guadiana comes he not, he comes not from Xenil, From Gaudalarif of the plain, or Barves of the hill; But where from out the forest burst Xarama's waters clear, Beneath the oak-trees was he nursed, this proud and stately steer.

Dark is his hide on either side, but the blood within doth boil, And the dun hide glows, as if on fire, as he paws to the turmoil.

His eyes are jet, and they are set in crystal rings of snow; But now they stare with one red glare of bra.s.s upon the foe.

Upon the forehead of the bull the horns stand close and near, From out the broad and wrinkled skull, like daggers they appear; His neck is ma.s.sy, like the trunk of some old knotted tree, Whereon the monster's s.h.a.ggy mane, like billows curled, ye see.

His legs are short, his hams are thick, his hoofs are black as night, Like a strong flail he holds his tail in fierceness of his might; Like something molten out of iron, or hewn from forth the rock, Harpado of Xarama stands, to bide the alcayde's shock.

Now stops the drum--close, close they come--thrice meet, and thrice give back; The white foam of Harpado lies on the charger's breast of black-- The white foam of the charger on Harpado's front of dun-- Once more advance upon his lance--once more, thou fearless one!

Once more, once more;--in dust and gore to ruin must thou reel-- In vain, in vain thou tearest the sand with furious heel-- In vain, in vain, thou n.o.ble beast, I see, I see thee stagger, Now keen and cold thy neck must hold the stern alcayde's dagger!

They have slipped a noose around his feet, six horses are brought in, And away they drag Harpado with a loud and joyful din.

Now stoop thee, lady, from thy stand, and the ring of price bestow Upon Gazul of Algava, that hath laid Harpado low.

THE ZEGRI'S BRIDE

[The reader cannot need to be reminded of the fatal effects which were produced by the feuds subsisting between the two great families, or rather races, of the Zegris and the Abencerrages of Granada. The following ballad is also from the "_Guerras Civiles_."]

Of all the blood of Zegri, the chief is Lisaro, To wield rejon like him is none, or javelin to throw; From the place of his dominion, he ere the dawn doth go, From Alcala de Henares, he rides in weed of woe.

He rides not now as he was wont, when ye have seen him speed To the field of gay Toledo, to fling his l.u.s.ty reed; No gambeson of silk is on, nor rich embroidery Of gold-wrought robe or turban--nor jewelled tahali.

No amethyst nor garnet is shining on his brow, No crimson sleeve, which damsels weave at Tunis, decks him now; The belt is black, the hilt is dim, but the sheathed blade is bright; They have housened his barb in a murky garb, but yet her hoofs are light.

Four hors.e.m.e.n good, of the Zegri blood, with Lisaro go out; No flashing spear may tell them near, but yet their shafts are stout; In darkness and in swiftness rides every armed knight-- The foam on the rein ye may see it plain, but nothing else is white.

Young Lisaro, as on they go, his bonnet doffeth he, Between its folds a sprig it holds of a dark and glossy tree; That sprig of bay, were it away, right heavy heart had he-- Fair Zayda to her Zegri gave that token privily.

And ever as they rode, he looked upon his lady's boon.

"G.o.d knows," quoth he, "what fate may be--I may be slaughtered soon; Thou still art mine, though scarce the sign of hope that bloomed whilere, But in my grave I yet shall have my Zayda's token dear."

Young Lisaro was musing so, when onward on the path, He well could see them riding slow; then p.r.i.c.ked he in his wrath.

The raging sire, the kinsmen of Zayda's hateful house, Fought well that day, yet in the fray the Zegri won his spouse.

THE BRIDAL OF ANDALLA

[The following ballad has been often imitated by modern poets, both in Spain and in Germany:

"_Pon te a las rejas azules, dexa la manga que labras, Melancholica Xarifa, veras al galan Andalla." etc_.]

"Rise up, rise up, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down; Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town.

From gay guitar and violin the silver notes are flowing, And the lovely lute doth speak between the trumpet's lordly blowing, And banners bright from lattice light are waving everywhere, And the tall, tall plume of our cousin's bridegroom floats proudly in the air: Rise up, rise up, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down; Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town.

"Arise, arise, Xarifa, I see Andalla's face, He bends him to the people with a calm and princely grace.

Through all the land of Xeres and banks of Guadalquivir Rode forth bridegroom so brave as he, so brave and lovely never.

Yon tall plume waving o'er his brow of purple mixed with white, I guess 'twas wreathed by Zara, whom he will wed to-night; Rise up, rise up, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down; Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town.

"What aileth thee, Xarifa, what makes thine eyes look down?

Why stay ye from the window far, nor gaze with all the town?

I've heard you say on many a day, and sure you said the truth, Andalla rides without a peer, among all Granada's youth.

Without a peer he rideth, and yon milk-white horse doth go Beneath his stately master, with a stately step and slow;

Then rise, oh, rise, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down; Unseen here through the lattice, you may gaze with all the town."

The Zegri lady rose not, nor laid her cushion down, Nor came she to the window to gaze with all the town; But though her eyes dwelt on her knee, in vain her fingers strove, And though her needle pressed the silk, no flower Xarifa wove; One bonny rose-bud she had traced, before the noise drew nigh-- That bonny bud a tear effaced, slow drooping from her eye.

"No--no," she sighs--"bid me not rise, nor lay my cushion down, To gaze upon Andalla with all the gazing town."

"Why rise ye not, Xarifa, nor lay your cushion down?

Why gaze ye not, Xarifa, with all the gazing town?

Hear, hear the trumpet how it swells, and how the people cry!

He stops at Zara's palace gate--why sit ye still--oh, why?"

"At Zara's gate stops Zara's mate; in him shall I discover The dark-eyed youth pledged me his truth with tears, and was my lover?

I will not rise, with dreary eyes, nor lay my cushion down, To gaze on false Andalla with all the gazing town!"

ZARA'S EAR-RINGS

"My ear-rings! my ear-rings! they've dropped into the well, And what to say to Muca, I cannot, cannot tell."

'Twas thus, Granada's fountain by, spoke Albuharez' daughter, "The well is deep, far down they lie, beneath the cold blue water-- To me did Muca give them, when he spake his sad farewell, And what to say when he comes back, alas! I cannot tell.

"My ear-rings! my ear-rings! they were pearls in silver set, That when my Moor was far away, I ne'er should him forget, That I ne'er to other tongue should list, nor smile on other's tale, But remember he my lips had kissed, pure as those ear-rings pale-- When he comes back, and hears that I have dropped them in the well, Oh, what will Muca think of me, I cannot, cannot tell.

"My ear-rings! my ear-rings! he'll say they should have been, Not of pearl and of silver, but of gold and glittering sheen, Of jasper and of onyx, and of diamond shining clear, Changing to the changing light, with radiance insincere-- That changeful mind unchanging gems are not befitting well-- Thus will he think--and what to say, alas! I cannot tell.

"He'll think when I to market went, I loitered by the way; He'll think a willing ear I lent to all the lads might say; He'll think some other lover's hand, among my tresses noosed, From the ears where he had placed them, my rings of pearl unloosed; He'll think, when I was sporting so beside this marble well, My pearls fell in,--and what to say, alas! I cannot tell.

"He'll say, I am a woman, and we are all the same; He'll say I loved when he was here to whisper of his flame-- But when he went to Tunis my virgin troth had broken, And thought no more of Muca, and cared not for his token.

My ear-rings! my ear-rings! O luckless, luckless well, For what to say to Muca, alas! I cannot tell.

"I'll tell the truth to Muca, and I hope he will believe-- That I thought of him at morning, and thought of him at eve; That, musing on my lover, when down the sun was gone, His ear-rings in my hand I held, by the fountain all alone; And that my mind was o'er the sea, when from my hand they fell, And that deep his love lies in my heart, as they lie in the well."

THE LAMENTATION FOR CELIN

At the gate of old Granada, when all its bolts are barred, At twilight at the Vega gate there is a trampling heard; There is a trampling heard, as of horses treading slow, And a weeping voice of women, and a heavy sound of woe.

"What tower is fallen, what star is set, what chief come these bewailing?"

"A tower is fallen, a star is set. Alas! alas for Celin!"