Moorish Literature Part 6

THE ADMIRAL'S FAREWELL

The royal fleet with fluttering sail is waiting in the bay; And brave Mustapha, the Admiral, must start at break of day.

His hood and cloak of many hues he swiftly dons, and sets Upon his brow his turban gay with pearls and amulets; Of many tints above his head his plumes are waving wide; Like a crescent moon his scimitar is dangling at his side; And standing at the window, he gazes forth, and, hark!

Across the rippling waters floats the summons to embark.

Blow, trumpets; clarions, sound your strain!

Strike, kettle-drum, the alarum in refrain.

Let the shrill fife, the flute, the sackbut ring A summons to our Admiral, a salvo to our King!

The haughty Turk his scarlet shoe upon the stirrup placed, Right easily he vaulted to his saddle-tree in haste.

His courser was Arabian, in whose crest and pastern show A glossy coat as soft as silk, as white as driven snow.

One mark alone was on his flank! 'twas branded deep and dark; The letter F in Arab script, stood out the sacred mark.

By the color of his courser he wished it to be seen That the soul of the King's Admiral was white and true and clean.

Oh, swift and full of mettle was the steed which that day bore Mustapha, the High Admiral, down to the wave-beat sh.o.r.e!

The haughty Turk sails forth at morn, that Malta he may take, But many the greater conquest his gallant men shall make; For his heart is high and his soul is bent on death or victory, And he pauses, as the clashing sound comes from the distant sea;

Blow, trumpets; clarions, sound your strain!

Strike, kettle-drum, the alarum in refrain.

Let fife and flute, and sackbut in accord Proclaim, Aboard! Aboard!

Thy pinnace waits thee at the slip, lord Admiral, aboard!

And as he hears the summons Love makes for him reply, "O whither, cruel fortune, wilt thou bid the warrior fly?

Must I seek thee in the ocean, where the winds and billows roar?

Must I seek thee there, because in vain I sought thee on the sh.o.r.e?

And dost thou think the ocean, crossed by my flashing sail, With all its myriad waters and its rivers, can avail To quench the ardent fire of love that rages in my breast, And soothe the fever of my soul into one hour of rest?"

And as he mused, in bitter thought, Mustapha reached in haste A balcony; till dawn of day before that house he paced, And all his heart's anxieties he counted o'er and o'er, And, when the darkness of the night toward opening twilight wore, Upon the balcony there came the cause of all his sighs, But a smile was on her rosy lips and a light was in her eyes.

"O lovely Zaida," he began, and gazed into her face, "If my presence at thy window is a burden to thy peace, One pledge bestow upon me, one pledge of love, I pray, And let me kiss thy lily hand before I sail away."

"I grieve for thy departure," the lady made reply, "And it needs no pledge to tell thee I am faithful till I die, But if one token thou must have, take this ere thou depart; ('Twas fashioned by these hands of mine) and keep it on thy heart!"

The Moor rose in his stirrups, he took it from her hand, 'Twas a piece of lace of gold and silk shaped for a helmet band.

There was the wheel of fortune with subtile needle drawn, (Ah, Fortune that had left him there dejected and forlorn!) And as he paused, he heard the sound tumultuous come again, 'Twas from the fleet, down in the bay, and well he knew the strain.

Blow, trumpets; clarions, sound your strain; Strike, kettle-drum, the alarum in refrain.

Let fife and flute, and sackbut in accord Proclaim, Aboard! Aboard!

Thy pinnace waits thee at the slip, lord Admiral, aboard!

Oh, stay my foes, nor in such haste invite me to the field!

Here let me take the triumphs that softer conquests yield!

This is the goal of my desire, the aim of my design, That Zaida's hand in mine be placed and her heart beat close to mine!

Then spake the fair Sultana, and she dropped a tender tear, "Nay mourn not for the present pain, for future bliss is near.

The wings of Time are swift, and they bear a brighter day; And when once the longed-for gift is here 'twill never pa.s.s away!"

Then the Moor's heart beat high with joy; to smiles were changed his sighs, In silent ecstasy he gazed into the lady's eyes.

He rode to meet his waiting fleet, for favoring was the wind, But while his body went on board, he left his heart behind!

Blow, trumpets; clarions, sound your strain!

Strike, kettle-drum, the alarum in refrain.

Let the shrill fife, the flute, the sackbut ring A summons to our Admiral, a salvo to our King.

MORIANA AND GALVAN

Twas Princess Moriana, Upon a castle's height, That played with Moorish Galvan At cards for her delight; And oft he lost the stakes he set, Full many a coin I wis; When Moriana lost, she gave Her hand for him to kiss.

And after hours of pleasure Moor Galvan sank to sleep; And soon the lady saw a knight Descend the mountain steep; His voice was raised in sorrow, His eyes with tears were wet, For lovely Moriana His heart could ne'er forget.

For her, upon St. John's Day, While she was gathering flowers, The Moors had made a captive, Beneath her father's towers.

And Moriana raised her eyes And saw her lover ride, And on her cheeks her Moorish lord The sparkling tears descried.

With anger raged his spirit, And thus to her he cried: "What ails thee, gentle lady?

Why flows with tears thine eye?

If Moors of mine have done thee wrong, I swear that they shall die; If any of thy maidens Have caused thee this distress, The whip across their shoulders Shall avenge their wickedness.

Or, if the Christian countrymen Have sorrow for thee made, I will, with conquering armies, Their provinces invade.

The warlike weapons that I don Are festal robes to me; To me the din of battle Is sweet tranquillity; The direst toils the warrior bears With steadfast joy I meet; To me the watch that nightlong lasts Is like a slumber sweet."

"No Moors of thine within these halls Have caused to me this pain; No maidens waiting in my bower Have showed to me disdain; Nor have my Christian kinsmen To mourn my spirit made, Provoking thee in vengeance Their province to invade.

Vain the deep cause of my distress From Galvan's eye to hide-- 'Tis that I see down yonder mount A knight in armor ride.

'Tis such a sight that does my tears From very heart-springs move; For yonder knight is all to me, My husband and my love."

Straight the Moor's cheek with anger flushed, Till red eclipsed the brown, And his clenched fist he lifted As if to strike her down.

He gnashed his teeth with pa.s.sion, The fangs with blood were red, He called his slaves and bade them Strike off the lady's head.

He bade them bind and take her First to the mountain's height, That she the doom might suffer Within her husband's sight; But all the lady answered, When she was brought to death, Were words of faith and loyalty Borne on her parting breath: "Behold, I die a Christian, And here repeat my vows Of faithfulness to yonder knight, My loved and lawful spouse."

THE BEREAVED FATHER

"Rise up, rise up, thou h.o.a.ry head, What madness causes thy delay?

Thou killest swine on Thursday morn, And eatest flesh on fasting day.

"'Tis now seven years since first I trod The valley and the wandering wood; My feet were bare, my flesh was torn, And all my pathway stained in blood.

"Ah, mournfully I seek in vain The Emperor's daughter, who had gone A prisoner made by caitiff Moors, Upon the morning of St. John.

"She gathered flowers upon the plain, She plucked the roses from the spray, And in the orchard of her sire They found and bore the maid away."

These words has Moriana heard, Close nestled in the Moor's embrace; The tears that welled from out her eyes Have wet her captor's swarthy face.

THE WARDEN OF MOLINA

The warden of Molina, ah! furious was his speed, As he dashed his glittering rowels in the flank of his good steed, And his reins left dangling from the bit, along the white highway, For his mind was set to speed his horse, to speed and not to stay.

He rode upon a grizzled roan, and with the wind he raced, And the breezes rustled round him like a tempest in the waste.

In the Plaza of Molina at last he made his stand, And in a voice of thunder he uttered his command:

To arms, to arms, my captains!

Sound, clarions; trumpets, blow; And let the thundering kettle-drum Give challenge to the foe.

"Now leave your feasts and banquetings and gird you in your steel!

And leave the couches of delight, where slumber's charm you feel; Your country calls for succor, all must the word obey, For the freedom of your fathers is in your hands to-day.

Ah, sore may be the struggle, and vast may be the cost; But yet no tie of love must keep you now, or all is lost.

In b.r.e.a.s.t.s where honor dwells there is no room in times like these To dally at a lady's side, kneel at a lady's knees.