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Lays of Leisure Hours

By The Lady E. Stuart Wortley

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PROUD GRENADA'S CHIEFTAIN LORDS.

Chieftains! Ye Sons of Fame and Glory!
Sons of mighty Fame,
Moorish Chieftains!—speaks your story,
When men speak your name,
'Tis a dark pathetic tale!
There seems something of stern mystery
In the mournful fate ye found,
'Twas the Poetry of History,
How—how were ye uncrowned—
Forth scattered in confusion pale
Fled the Lords of bright Grenada,
Proud Grenada's Chieftain Lords!

523

They forgot—without regretting—
Their dark Sires' old place,
Their Fathers' Fatherland forgetting—
A transplanted Race—
But 'twas not to be forgot;
From their happy seats and glorious
They were forced to fly,
Banished by a Foe victorious,
With a bosom-bursting sigh
They forsook the enchanted spot,
Crowned by Towers of the Old Alhambra,
By the Alhambra's royal Towers!
Back, back to the Ancestorial Regions
Ye were hurried then,
Who seemed a race (ere quailed your Legions)
Of Monarchic Men!—
So you nobly played your parts
While all things under you still flourished—
Art and Science grew—

524

Emulation's strength was nourished,
Moorish Chiefs, by you!—
But how bowed the mighty hearts
Of the Monarchs of Grenada,
Of Grenada's Masters proud!
Loudly rose the voice of wailing,
Many a cry of grief—
Banners low in dust were trailing,
Fallen like Autumn's leaf!
All was horror and dismay;
Faint the tecbir-shouts were swelling
Ever and anon
In vain—while Life-blood streams were welling,
And all hope was gone—
While fled their vanquished Lords that day
From the fair Towers of the Alhambra,
From the Alhambra's glorious Towers!

525

Oh! the gloom—the desolation—
The anguish and the woe—
'Twas the death-stroke of a Nation—
Fell and fiery blow!
Allah!—'twas a fearful day.—
Weep o'er the Empire's dark declining—
(Weep—weep burning tears—)
O'er whose throne the Sun rose shining
Full Seven hundred years.—
Then wrenched was the Old—the Imperial sway
From the Sovereigns of Grenada—
Proud Grenada's Sovereign Lords!
Their great pomp—their palaced splendour—
Earth's most dazzling boast—
They were destined to surrender—
All was left—and lost!—
Came the conquering thousands on
Through paths and places of their glory,
Darkened and disgraced,

526

Breathless, dust-defiled, and gory,
Through the streets they paced,
To where the Palace crescents shone
O'er the emblazed Domes of the Alhambra,
O'er the Alhambra's sumptuous Domes!
What brave heart but then was breaking
In that day of doom—
Fair Grenada's streets forsaking—
Shadowed o'er with gloom!
Those were desperate, desperate hours!
Afric then, once more possessing,
Her proud children, mourned—
To her dusky bosom pressing
Those who scourged—returned—
Royal Chivalry's bruised Flowers
Once Liege Lords of strong Grenada,
Proud Grenada's Warrior Lords!

527

Their state, their pride, their strength departed—
Crossed they then the Sea,
Sighed in vain the valourous hearted—
Such was Heaven's decree—
Such Heaven's dread and strong command,
But while rolls in might victorious
The great stream of Time—
Stand their monuments—all glorious
Monuments sublime—
On the Spaniard's soil they stand,
The old Towers Imperial of the Alhambra,
The Alhambra's many-clustering Towers!
Since that, stern European Morning,
Which crushed Afric's race—
They have towered on high adorning
Their proud ancient place
Fair—and glorious still to see—
And in dazzling pomp unfaded
Still may they outshine—

528

Though the crowned heads they o'ershaded
Low in dust recline—
Though deserted must they be—
The Chiefless Castles of Grenada!
Proud Grenada's Kingless Courts!
The old crowned Liege Lords, whose dread Dominion
Stretched forth, far and wide—
These soared upon the Eagle's pinion
But to vail their pride!
How froze Life's currents in their veins!—
How while still on Earth remaining
Must they have deplored
Their palmy state—triumphant reigning
'Mongst those Bowers adored—
Scattered o'er the Elysian Plains,
O'erhung by Towers the Old Alhambra—
By the Alhambra's Heaven-kissed Towers!