Classic Poem

'T WAS the hour when through the Azure
Shone the star of Venus sparkling,
And the bright day's dusk opponent
Wrapped him in his mantle darkling,
When a Moor, like Rodamonte,
Armed with lance both sharp and weighty,
Rode across the plain of Xerez
By the crystal Guadalete, —
Rode where flows the winding river
(Wild with rage, but not unwary),
Till the Sea of Spain it enters
At the fair Port of Saint Mary.
On he rode in deep distraction,
For, although of birth and breeding,
His ungrateful lady left him,
For the gold that he was needing!
Left him for a richer rival,
And this night, with noise and revel,
Weds a hideous Moor — Alcaide
Of the Alcazâr of Seville.
Tenderly his wrong he waileth,
Tighter now his bridal reining;
While the plain around re-echoes
To the voice of his complaining.
" Heartless Zaida! — ah! more heartless
Than the sea that proud fleets swallows;
Colder, flintier, and harder
Than the mountain's rocky hollows! —
How couldst thou permit it, cruel? —
Oh! distraction! — oh! perdition! —
That a stranger hand should deck him
In my soul's best hope's fruition!
Round a gnarled trunk thou twinest,
Past conceiving! past believing!
Without fruitage, without flowerage,
Thine own tree deserted leaving!
Wilt thou leave Gazul the noble?
He the fondest! — he the truest!
Wilt thou wed with Albenzaide,
Whom till now thou scarcely knewest?
Ah! the poorer one thou takest,
And the truly rich thou losest,
Since the riches of the body
More than of the soul thou choosest;
But may Allah grant, thou traitress!
He may hate, and you adore him;
Jealous when he may be absent,
Restless when thou art before him.
Mayst thou not to sleep at night time,
Or to rest by day, be able;
May he in the bed abhor you,
And detest you at the table.
In the festivals and zambras
May your colours ne'er be blazing;
May you ne'er be let to see them,
Even from the windows gazing.
May disgrace pursue the wearer
(When with canes the shields are cloven)
Of the sleeve that thou hast broidered,
And the veil that thou hast woven.
May the cipher of a mistress
Be his badge, while thine he spurneth;
And be given to her the captives,
When from war he back returneth.
In the battle of the Christians
Be his death for ever dreading;
Would to Allah! that it happened
E'er your hands met at this wedding.
But if he doth thus abhor thee,
May you live long years together;
'Tis the greatest curse that mortals
From the angry Fates can gather! "
By this time he reached to Xerez,
In the night time, nigh belated —
Found the bridegroom's palace crowded,
Halls and walls illuminated, —
Saw the Moorish frontier servants,
Out and in, through doors and porches,
Pass along in rich apparel,
To and fro, with lighted torches!
Rising in his stirrups, quickly
He the bridegroom saw and knew him;
Hurled his long lance through the window,
And the weapon passed right through him
All was tumult, all cried vengeance;
In his blood their lord lay bathed:
But the Moor, his sword unsheathing,
Through them homeward passed unscathed.