Moorish Literature Part 32

His uncle having threatened him with death, he answered:

Keep far away from him who has not come To thee in his misfortune. Leave him free.

My uncle writes to me this very day That if he held in his own hands the leaf Of my life's destiny he'd blot it out.

If he had in his hands this leaf, O say to him:

Let him efface it openly, nor hide You'll not be able, save with G.o.d's own help To bear the separation. As for those Who are so evil, we will spare them now.

The barrel of this gun is rusted red.

The lock is forceless, 'twill no longer act.

Misfortune overtake the man who leaves His child to peris.h.!.+ For the least of things He says to me, "Come, give me up this gun."

I go to seek the desert. I will go Among the tribe they call Oulad Azyz, And live by force. But, pray you say to her, The fair one with the deftly braided hair, I leave the tribe, but shall return for her.

I disappear, but shall come back for her.

And while I live, I never shall forget.

I swear it by the head of that sweet one Who for the sake of Ali was accused.

The cup of pa.s.sion which I offered her O'ercame her lovely spirit's tenderness.

The cup of love intoxicated her.

O G.o.d, Creator of us all, give her The strength to bear my absence! Sad for me The hour I dream of her I love so well.

Her love is in my heart and burns it up.

My heart is sad. 'Tis love that crushes it.

It leaves my heart reduced to naught but dust.

So that I am consumed by vigils long, And never taste refres.h.i.+ng sleep at all.

So that I'm like a bird with broken wings,

Just like a bird who tries to lift its wings!

And so my spirit is not healed. There comes To me no comfort nor relief. The eyes Of my beloved are as bright as day.

One word from her would send the friends to death.

IN HONOR OF LALLA AYCHA-EL-MANNOUBYYA

A fire burns at the bottom of my heart, For love has conquered me, and I am now His hostage and his prisoner. My soul Is torn out from my body, and sweet sleep Keeps far aloof from my tired eyelids' need.

'Tis Aycha causes this, the pretty one.

With blackest eyes, Aycha the pure, from whom I'm parted now, whose name is finest gold.

Why? why? Oh, tell me, El Mannoubyya.

Why all this coldness, O my best beloved?

For thy dear love I have drunk deep of scorn.

For thy love, maiden with the darksome looks, I wither while thou bear'st a port of oak.

The fire that burns me eats my very soul.

My spirit is distracted by these proofs.

O thou, rebellious to my warm desires, My black-eyed beauty, if thou'rt vexed with me I'll make apology before the world, I'll bring an offering to thee at once, The symbol of my homage. May it please!

Instruct me, sympathetic with my pain Have you not said: "I'll bring thee soon good news"?

O come! That in my sleep my eyes may see Thee coming toward me, my black-pupilled one!

Awaiting thy fair image I'm consumed, I am exhausted. Why, El Mannoubyya?

I long have hoped to see thee, O my sweet.

And ever farther off appears the end Of my awaiting. All my nights are pa.s.sed In cries for thee, as some poor mariner Cries to the angry floods that dash aloft.

For thee I'm mad with love, my pretty one, Struck with thy mien so full of n.o.bleness.

And I alone must wither, 'mongst my friends.

O unpersuadable, with teasing eyes, I am in a most pitiable state.

Since thou repell'st me and declin'st to keep Thy promise to me, I'll not hesitate To call thee before G.o.d.

Unless thou deign'st To cast thy looks on me the coming day, I shall, all clad in vestments rich, make plaint Unto the envoy of our G.o.d, the last Of all the prophets. For thou said'st to me, "I'll draw thee from the sea of thy despair."

I wors.h.i.+p at thy sanctuary, sweet, My beauty, with large eyes of darkest night.

Why? why? El Mannoubyya, tell me why.

Let thyself bend and call thy servitor, Inhabitant of Tunis--city green.

I will apologize and come to thee, O cruel one, with heavy frontlets dark.

We've heard the story of thy deeds so fine.

From common bra.s.s whene'er thou walk'st abroad, Thou drawest silver pure, queen of thy time, 'Mongst men illumined by thy piety.

The wretch, led on by love, accosted thee.

Receiving grace, despite his base design He was, nathless, forgiven and saved from sin; So was it from eternity decreed.

They all consulted thee, queen of thy day, And thou didst answer: "This man truly loved.

Pour him a cup of wine." By thee he came Unto perfection's acme, step by step.

Our Lord, all-powerful, gave to thee this power.

These are thy merits, fairest citizen!

To whom G.o.d gave strength irresistible.

O beauty with enchanting eyes, Aycha, Our queen.

Si Alimed Khoudja, greatest bard Of all that time, has said: "I wrote these words The year one thousand one hundred just, But thou who read'st these lines, where'er it be, Add to these numbers, after ninety-eight."

Now I salute all those united here And him who hates me here I steep in scorn.

Why? why? El Mannoubyya! Why?

SAYD AND HYZYYA

Give me your consolation, n.o.ble friends; The queen of beauties sleeps within the tomb.

A burning fire consumes my aching breast; I am undone. Alas! O cruel fate!

My heart's with slim Hyzyya in the grave.

Alas! we were so happy a short while Ago, just like the prairie flow'rs in spring; How sweet to us was life in those dear days!

Now like a phantom's shadow she has gone, That young gazelle, of utter loveliness.

Removed by stern, inevitable fate.

When she walked forth, not looking right or left, My beauteous loved one rendered fools the wise.

Impressed thus was the great bey of the camp.

A gleaming poniard rested in his belt.

He went hemmed in by soldiers and a horde Of hors.e.m.e.n, glad to follow where he led.

All haste to bring him costly gifts. He bore A sabre of the Ind, and with one stroke He cleaved a bar of iron, split a rock.

How many rebels fell beneath his blow!

Haughty and proud, he challenged all who came.

Enough now we have glorified the bey.