Moorish Literature Part 19

With waving plumes of green and white she decked a snowy hood, And armed with double heads of steel a lance of orange-wood-- For colors of the outer man denote the inner mood.

A border too of brilliant green around a target set, The motto this, "Tis folly a true lover to forget."

And first she learned where bold Gazul was entertained that day, And they told her how his coming had put off the tilters' play, And at her pleasure-house she bade him meet her face to face; And they told him how Celinda longed for his loved embrace, And thrice he asked the messenger if all were not a jest, For oft 'tis dangerous to believe the news we love the best, For lovers' hopes are often thorns of rancor and unrest.

They told him that the words were true; and without further speech The glory of his lady's eyes he sallied forth to reach.

He met her in a garden where sweet marjoram combined With azure violets a scent that ravished every wind.

The musk and jasmine mingled in leaf and branch and flower, Building about the lovers a cool and scented bower.

The white leaf matched her lily skin, the red his bounding heart.

For she was beauty's spotless queen, he valor's counterpart.

For when the Moor approached her he scarcely raised his eye, Dazed by the expectation that she had raised so high.

Celinda with a trembling blush came forth and grasped his hand; They talked of love like travellers lost in a foreign land.

Then said the Moor, "Why give me now love's sweetest paths to trace, Who in thy absence only live on memories of thy face?

If thou should speak of Xerez," he said with kindling eye, "Now take my lance, like Zaida's spouse this moment let me die, And may I some day find thee in a rival's arms at rest, And he by all thy arts of love be tenderly caressed; Unless the Moor whose slander made me odious in thy eyes In caitiff fraud and treachery abuse thine ear with lies."

The lady smiled, her heart was light, she felt a rapture new; And like each flower that filled their bower the love between them grew, For little takes it to revive the love that is but true; And aided by his lady's hand he hastes her gems to don, And on his courser's back he flings a rich caparison, A head-stall framed of purple web and studded o'er with gold; And purple plumes and ribbons and gems of price untold; He clasped the lady to his heart, he whispered words of cheer, And then took horse to Gelva to join the tilting there.

CALL TO ARMS

What time the sun in ocean sank, with myriad colors fair, And jewels of a thousand hues tinted the clouds of air, Brave Gazul at Acala, with all his host, drew rein-- They were four hundred n.o.blemen, the stoutest hearts in Spain-- And scarcely had he reached the town when the command was given: "Now let your shots, your cross-bows, sound to the vault of heaven!

Let kettle-drums and trumpets and clarions blend their strain; Zulema, Tunis' King, now lands upon the coast of Spain, And with him ride, in arms allied, Marbello and his train."

And though at night he entered no torch or lamp he hath, For glorious Celinda is the sun upon his path; And as he enters in the town at once the word is given: "Now let your shots, your cross-bows, sound to the vault of heaven!

Let kettle-drums and trumpets and clarions blend their strain; Zulema, Tunis' King, now lands upon the coast of Spain, And with him ride, in arms allied, Marbello and his train."

Gazul dismounted from his steed and hastened to his bride; She sat there mournful and alone and at his sight she sighed; He flung his arms about the girl; she shrank from his embrace, And while he looked in wonder, she hid her blus.h.i.+ng face; He said, "And can it be that thou should'st shrink from my embrace?"

Before she answered with one voice the air around was riven-- "Now let your shots, your cross-bows, sound to the vault of heaven!

Let kettle-drums and trumpets and clarions blend their strain; Zulema, Tunis' King, now lands upon the coast of Spain, And with him ride, in arms allied, Marbello and his train."

"Ah, traitor," she replied to him, "four months wert thou away, And I in vain expected some tidings day by day."

And humbly did the Moor reply, "Do I deserve the blame?

Who drops the lance to take the pen, he does a deed of shame."

They sank into each other's arms just as the word was given: "Now let your shots, your cross-bows, sound to the vault of heaven!

Let kettle-drums and trumpets and clarions blend their strain; Zulema, Tunis' King, now lands upon the coast of Spain, And with him ride, in arms allied, Marbello and his train."

GAZUL CALUMNIATED

Gazul, despairing, issues From high Villalba's gate, Cursing the evil fortune That left him desolate.

Unmoved he in Granada saw What feuds between the foes The great Abencerrajes And the Andallas rose.

He envied not the Moors who stood In favor with the King!

He did not crave the honors That rank and office bring.

He only cared that Zaida, Her soft heart led astray By lying words of slander, Had flung his love away.

And thinking on her beauteous face, Her bearing proud and high, The bosom of the valiant Moor Heaved with a mournful sigh.

"And who has brought me this disdain, And who my hope betrayed, And thee, the beauteous Zaida, False to thy purpose made?

And who has caused my spoils of war, The palm and laurel leaf, To wither on my forehead, bowed Beneath the load of grief?'

'Tis that some hearts of treachery black With lies have crossed thy way, And changed thee to a lioness, By hunters brought to bay.

O tongues of malediction!

O slanderers of my fame!

Thieves of my knightly honor!

Ye lay up naught but shame.

Ye are but citadels of fraud, And castles of deceit; When ye your sentence pa.s.s, ye tread The law beneath your feet.

May Allah on your cruel plots Send down the wrath divine, That ye my sufferings may feel, In the same plight as mine.

And may ye learn, ye pitiless, How heavy is the rod That brings on human cruelty The chastis.e.m.e.nt of G.o.d.

Ye who profess in word and deed The path of truth to hold Are viler than the nightly wolves That waste the quiet fold."

So forth he rode, that Moorish knight, Consumed by pa.s.sion's flame, Scorned and repulsed by Zaida, The lovely Moorish dame.

Then spake he to the dancing waves Of Tagus' holy tide, "Oh, that thou hadst a tongue, to speak My story far and wide!

That all might learn, who gaze on thee At evening, night, or morn, Westward to happy Portugal, The sufferings I have borne."

GAZUL'S DESPAIR

Upon Sanlucar's s.p.a.cious square The brave Gazul was seen, Bedecked in brilliant array Of purple, white, and green.

The Moor was starting for the joust, Which many a warrior brings To Gelva, there to celebrate The truce between the kings.

A fair Moor maiden he adored, A daughter of the brave, Who struggled at Granada's siege; Granada was their grave.

And eager to accost the maid, He wandered round the square; With piercing eyes he peered upon The walls that held the fair.

And for an hour, which seemed like years, He watched impatient there; But when he saw the lady mount Her balcony, he thought, That the long hour of waiting That vision rendered short.

Dismounting from his patient steed, In presence of his flame, He fell upon his knees and kissed The pavement in her name.

With trembling voice he spoke to her, "I cannot, cannot meet, In any joust where you are near, Disaster and defeat.

Of yore I lived without a heart, Kinsmen, or pedigree; But all of these are mine, if thou Hast any thought of me.

Give me some badge, if not that thou Mayst recognize thy knight, At least to deck him, give him strength, And succor in the fight."

Celinda heard in jealous doubt; For some, with envious art, Had told her that fair Zaida still Ruled o'er the warrior's heart.

She answered him in stormy rage: "If in the joust thou dost engage With such success as I desire, And all thy broken oaths require, Thou wilt not reach Sanlucar's square So proud as when thou last wert there.

But there shalt meet, disconsolate, Eyes bright with love and dark with hate.

G.o.d grant that in the deadly joust The enemies that thou hast roused, May hurl at thee the unparried dart And pierce thee, liar, to the heart.

Thy corpse within thy mantle bound May horses trail along the ground.

Thou comest thy revenge to seek, But small the vengeance thou shalt wreak.

Thy friends shall no a.s.sistance yield; Thy foes shall tread thee in the field; For thou the woman-slayer, then, Shall meet thy final fate from men.

Those damsels whom thou hast deceived Shall feel no pang of grief; Their aid was malediction, Thy death is their relief.

The Moor was true in heart and soul, He thought she spake in jest.

He stood up in his stirrups, Her hand he would have pressed.

"Lady," he said, "remember well That Moor of purpose fierce and fell On whom my vengeance I did wreak Hast felt the curse that now you speak.

And as for Zaida, I repent That love of mine on her was spent.

Disdain of her and love of thee Now rule my soul in company.

The flame in which for her I burned To frost her cruelty has turned.

Three cursed years, to win her smile, In knightly deeds I wrought, And nothing but her treachery My faithful service brought, She flung me off without a qualm, Because my lot was poor, And gave, because the wretch was rich, Her favor to a Moor."

Celinda as these words she heard Impatiently the lattice barred, And to the lover's ardent sight It seemed that heaven was quenched in night.

A page came riding up the street, Bringing the knight his jennets fleet, With plumes and harness all bedight And saddled well with housings bright; The lance which he on entering bore Brandished the knight with spirit sore, And dashed it to the wall, And head and b.u.t.t, at that proud door, In myriad fragments fall.

He bade them change from green to gray; The plumes and harness borne that day By all the coursers of his train.

In rage disconsolate, He rode from Gelva, nor drew rein Up to Sanlucar's gate.

VENGEANCE OF GAZUL

Not Rodamont the African, The ruler of Argel, And King of Zarza's southern coast, Was filled with rage so fell, When for his darling Doralice He fought with Mandricard, As filled the heart of bold Gazul When, past Sidonia's guard, He sallied forth in arms arrayed, With courage high prepared To do a deed that mortal man Never before had dared.

It was for this he bade them bring His barb and coat of mail; A sword and dusky scabbard 'Neath his left shoulder trail; In Fez a Christian captive Had forged it, laboring At arms of subtile temper As bondsman of the King.

More precious 'twas to bold Gazul Than all his realms could bring.

A tawny tinted _alquizel_ Beneath his arms he wore; And, to conceal his thoughts of blood, No towering spear he bore.

He started forth for Jerez, And hastening on his course, Trampled the vega far and wide With hoof-prints of his horse.

And soon he crossed the splas.h.i.+ng ford Of Guadelate's tide, Hard by the ancient haven Upon the valley-side.

They gave the ford a famous name The waters still retain, Santa Maria was it called, Since Christians conquered Spain.