Classic Poem

I.

I N Cordova's great cathedral
There are columns thirteen hundred,
Thirteen hundred giant columns
Bear the dome upon their shoulders.

And on walls and dome and columns,
There extend from top to bottom
Arab texts from the Alcoran,
Deftly turned like twining flowers.

Moorish kings in bygone ages
Built their house to Allah's glory;
But since then all things have altered,
Swept along in Time's dark whirlpool.

From the tower where the Muezzin
Summoned all the town to worship,
Now we hear the mournful droning
Of the bells of pallid Christians.

On the steps where true believers
Sang the message of the Prophet,
Now the shaveling tricksters juggle
With their childish Eucharist.

And there's scraping and there's twisting
Of the many-coloured puppets;
And 'mid smoke and bells and mumming,
All the silly tapers flicker.

There in Cordova's Cathedral
Stands Almansor ben Abdullah,
Gazing silent on the columns,
Murmuring these phrases softly :

“O ye columns strong, gigantic,
Once adorned for Allah's glory,
Ye are forced to servile homage
To the Christian faith detested.

“Yielding to the times ye live in,
Patiently ye bear the burthen,
Ever so we who are weaker
Must more readily submit us.”

And Almansor ben Abdullah
Bows his head with cheerful seeming,
O'er the carven stone of baptism,
In Cordova's great Cathedral.

II.

Swift he strode from the Cathedral,
Galloped on his coal-black charger,
Till the damp curls on his forehead,
And his plume, waved in the breezes.

On the road to Alcolea,
Following the Guadalquiver,
Where the rosy almond blossoms,
And where glows the perfumed orange.

Thither speeds the gallant horseman,
Whistling, singing, laughing gaily,
And the birds around join with him,
And the river's sounding waters.

For in Alcolea's castle
Dwells fair Clara de Alvarez,
In Navarre her sire is warring,
So she joys in larger freedom.

And Almansor hears far distant,
Stirring bray of horns and trumpets,
He beholds the castle cressets
Gleaming through the leafy branches.

In the halls of Alcolea
Twelve bejewelled dames are dancing,
And twelve knights in knightly raiment,
But the stateliest is Almansor.

Borne along by buoyant humour,
Through the hall he flits incessant,
Knowing well how best to whisper
To each dame his gentle flattery.

Quick he kisses Isabella's
Snowy hand and quits her swiftly;
And he seats himself and gazes
Joyously at fair Elvira.

Laughingly he asks Lenora
If he now finds favour with her,
And he shows upon his mantle
Crosses worked in gold embroidery.

And he vows to every lady
In his heart he bears those crosses,
And a score of times protesteth,
Swearing, “As I am a Christian.”

III.

Now in Alcolea's castle
Mirth and music all are silenced,
Knights and ladies all have vanished,
And the tapers are extinguished.

Donna Clara and Almansor—
These alone remain together;
One last lamp is left to light them
With a pale and lonely glimmer.

On a lofty chair sits Clara,
And Almansor on the footstool
Bends his forehead, slumber-weary,
On the knees of his beloved one.

From a golden flask the lady,
Pensive, drops sweet oil of roses
On the brown locks of Almansor,
And a deep sigh heaves his bosom.

Sweetest kiss from lips so tender
The sweet lady presses pensive
On the brown locks of Almansor,
And his lofty brow is clouded.

Pensive tears the lady sheddeth
From her radiant eyes love-lighted
On the brown locks of Almansor,
And his lip with passion trembles.

For he dreams that he is standing
With his head bowed low and dripping,
There in Cordova's Cathedral,
Hearing countless gloomy voices.

All the lofty giant columns
Murmur to his ears indignant,
They will bear the load no longer,
And they quiver and they stagger.

And they crash together wildly
On the livid priests and people,
And the dome itself falls headlong
While the Christian Gods are wailing.