 | Ximena ; or the battle of the Sierra Morena, and other poems |  |
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XIMENA;
OR, THE BATTLE OF THE SIERRA MORENA.
Dark glooms the cloud o'er Spain's devoted land,
Gone is the glory that of old she wore;
The stern Hidalgo's halls no longer stand,
The minstrel's harp is vocal now no more,
And e'en an humble bard from that far shore
The weary Genoese toiled so long to gain,
Must sing, with stranger-tongue, her wondrous lore—
Must wake her slumbering lyre, perchance in vain,
Ere breaks the wave of Time, and Darkness rules again!
Gone is the glory that of old she wore;
The stern Hidalgo's halls no longer stand,
The minstrel's harp is vocal now no more,
And e'en an humble bard from that far shore
The weary Genoese toiled so long to gain,
Must sing, with stranger-tongue, her wondrous lore—
Must wake her slumbering lyre, perchance in vain,
Ere breaks the wave of Time, and Darkness rules again!
So much yet lingers still, her name around
Of wild romance, that Poesy loves to hear—
That stirs the soul, as doth the trumpet's sound,
'Till the dark Past seems living, breathing near;
He fain would weave one lay, tho' dry and sere
The laurel leaves he twines. Oh! for the fire
Of those old bards, who woke the smile or tear
By turns within their breasts who heard the lyre!
Alas! that such renown could with their names expire.
Of wild romance, that Poesy loves to hear—
That stirs the soul, as doth the trumpet's sound,
'Till the dark Past seems living, breathing near;
He fain would weave one lay, tho' dry and sere
The laurel leaves he twines. Oh! for the fire
Of those old bards, who woke the smile or tear
By turns within their breasts who heard the lyre!
Alas! that such renown could with their names expire.
1. PART I.
THE MEETING.
Sunset upon Morena's hills?—
Day hath died in the vale below,
And the last faint beams on the leaping rills
And the forest pine-trees, softly glow!
The airy sweep of the white cascade,
That leaped, like a startled wood-nymph, down
From the beetling cliff to the sombre glade,
Where the iris fades in the shadows brown:
The feathery foliage, upward tost,
With mingling light and shadow crost—
The castled crags, that proudly rear
Their shattered turrets, wild and drear—
Glow in the last slow-fading ray—
The bright, the dying smile of day!
As soft and shadowy as the shore
Of that enchanted southern isle,
Which from his track the wanderer bore
And vanished, as a mist, the while.
Day hath died in the vale below,
And the last faint beams on the leaping rills
And the forest pine-trees, softly glow!
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That leaped, like a startled wood-nymph, down
From the beetling cliff to the sombre glade,
Where the iris fades in the shadows brown:
The feathery foliage, upward tost,
With mingling light and shadow crost—
The castled crags, that proudly rear
Their shattered turrets, wild and drear—
Glow in the last slow-fading ray—
The bright, the dying smile of day!
As soft and shadowy as the shore
Of that enchanted southern isle,
Which from his track the wanderer bore
And vanished, as a mist, the while.
Slow sank the sun—a darker shade
Fell on the mountain top, while strayed
Through the dim grove, the evening breeze,
And woke its low-breathed melodies.
On through the branches, twining high,
A thrilling sound floats gently by;
And one might deem the spirit forms
That strike the anthem of the storms,
With milder mood and softer tone
Descended in the twilight dim,
And 'round Earth's mountain-altar lone,
Had joined in Nature's vesper-hymn!
Fell on the mountain top, while strayed
Through the dim grove, the evening breeze,
And woke its low-breathed melodies.
On through the branches, twining high,
A thrilling sound floats gently by;
And one might deem the spirit forms
That strike the anthem of the storms,
With milder mood and softer tone
Descended in the twilight dim,
And 'round Earth's mountain-altar lone,
Had joined in Nature's vesper-hymn!
The sombre twilight's mantle brown
Upon the peak came slowly down;
A lingering ray of rosy light
Played for a while around its head,
Then slowly faded into night,
As if the mountain genii shed
A halo 'round their monarch's face
Ere darkness gave his first embrace!
Then with mild lustre, one by one,
Each star-king on his silver throne
Unveil'd again his watching light
Within the azure halls of Night.
The rising moon, with lustre meek
Looked o'er the farthest mountains peak,
When through the thick gloom came a maid,
Stealing along, as if afraid
E'en of the sound her light steps made!
Upon the peak came slowly down;
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Played for a while around its head,
Then slowly faded into night,
As if the mountain genii shed
A halo 'round their monarch's face
Ere darkness gave his first embrace!
Then with mild lustre, one by one,
Each star-king on his silver throne
Unveil'd again his watching light
Within the azure halls of Night.
The rising moon, with lustre meek
Looked o'er the farthest mountains peak,
When through the thick gloom came a maid,
Stealing along, as if afraid
E'en of the sound her light steps made!
Yet when she came from the grove's thick night
Out in the soft and starry light,
And backward threw her snowy veil,
And shone on her brow the moonbeam pale,
She seemed to be one of that fairy band
Whose chosen home is the soft cloud-land;
Who sport in the amber light of morn,
On its glowing wings through ether borne—
And make their home in the sunset's glow,
When fades the light from the earth below!
And 'mid the white folds of her veil
That to her beating breast she presses,
And floating 'round her forehead pale,
All darkly shine her raven tresses!
She glided on with a hurried tread,
And oft in fear she turned her head,
But heard no sound save the evening breeze
As it murmured through the arching trees,
Or the ceaseless chime of the dashing spray,
Where a stream, thro' the rude rocks, made its way.
A giant fir, whose rugged form
Had braved the lightning and the storm—
For many a day the mountain's pride—
Stood close the narrow path beside.
Within the gloom by its branches cast,
With a light and eager step she passed.
Out in the soft and starry light,
And backward threw her snowy veil,
And shone on her brow the moonbeam pale,
She seemed to be one of that fairy band
Whose chosen home is the soft cloud-land;
Who sport in the amber light of morn,
On its glowing wings through ether borne—
And make their home in the sunset's glow,
When fades the light from the earth below!
And 'mid the white folds of her veil
That to her beating breast she presses,
And floating 'round her forehead pale,
All darkly shine her raven tresses!
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And oft in fear she turned her head,
But heard no sound save the evening breeze
As it murmured through the arching trees,
Or the ceaseless chime of the dashing spray,
Where a stream, thro' the rude rocks, made its way.
A giant fir, whose rugged form
Had braved the lightning and the storm—
For many a day the mountain's pride—
Stood close the narrow path beside.
Within the gloom by its branches cast,
With a light and eager step she passed.
Down leaped, o'er crag and wild cascade,
O'er cliff and chasm and deep ravine,
A youth, in hunter's garb arrayed,
But yet of proud and lofty mien.
Not mountain chamois, winged with fear
And fleeing from the hunter's spear,
Sprung up Nevada's snowy side
With form more fleet and full of pride.
At last, beside the giant tree,
“Ximena!” softly whispered he.
She started up at that low sound,
Then saw the glitter of his crest
Through the twined boughs—a joyous bound—
And he had clasped her to his breast.
O'er cliff and chasm and deep ravine,
A youth, in hunter's garb arrayed,
But yet of proud and lofty mien.
Not mountain chamois, winged with fear
And fleeing from the hunter's spear,
Sprung up Nevada's snowy side
With form more fleet and full of pride.
At last, beside the giant tree,
“Ximena!” softly whispered he.
She started up at that low sound,
Then saw the glitter of his crest
Through the twined boughs—a joyous bound—
And he had clasped her to his breast.
Earth's cares were then remembered not—
All worldly joy their hearts above;
The present's boding clouds forgot
Beneath the hallowed light of Love.
Oh! there are hours whose bliss outlives
The brightest smiles that Memory gives—
When the wild dreams that fill the breast,
Hopes, not unmixed with fear's alloy,
And calm, serene delights, seem prest
Into one bounding throb of joy!
All worldly joy their hearts above;
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Beneath the hallowed light of Love.
Oh! there are hours whose bliss outlives
The brightest smiles that Memory gives—
When the wild dreams that fill the breast,
Hopes, not unmixed with fear's alloy,
And calm, serene delights, seem prest
Into one bounding throb of joy!
And Nature's solemn hush around—
The drooping bough, the pale, dim ray,
While met their ears no earthly sound
Save the light streamlet's falling spray,
So mingled with the spirit's tone,
Its blissful visions hallowing,
That Love and Joy, 'twould seem, had flown
Their heavenly home on quivering wing,
To wake with high, yet calm control,
The music of the lyre of soul!
The drooping bough, the pale, dim ray,
While met their ears no earthly sound
Save the light streamlet's falling spray,
So mingled with the spirit's tone,
Its blissful visions hallowing,
That Love and Joy, 'twould seem, had flown
Their heavenly home on quivering wing,
To wake with high, yet calm control,
The music of the lyre of soul!
At length she raised her joy-dimmed eyes,
Which, from the stars whose splendours beam
Still brighter in the mountain skies,
Had caught their pure celestial gleam—
And first awaking silence there,
Her silver voice rose on the air.
“Gonsalvo, in my father's hall
The revel keeps till noon of night;
Till on yon crag the moonbeams fall,
He will not mark his daughter's flight.
Which, from the stars whose splendours beam
Still brighter in the mountain skies,
Had caught their pure celestial gleam—
And first awaking silence there,
Her silver voice rose on the air.
“Gonsalvo, in my father's hall
The revel keeps till noon of night;
Till on yon crag the moonbeams fall,
He will not mark his daughter's flight.
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And while brief space to us is given
I claim thy vow, made yester-even,
That I the fated deed should hear,
That made thy life so wild and drear!
And why this fastness thou didst seek,
And tread the wild Sierra's peak?
Then haste! the pale moon rises fast,
Haste! ere the midnight hour be past.”
I claim thy vow, made yester-even,
That I the fated deed should hear,
That made thy life so wild and drear!
And why this fastness thou didst seek,
And tread the wild Sierra's peak?
Then haste! the pale moon rises fast,
Haste! ere the midnight hour be past.”
“'Tis a wild tale: But yet 'tis well,
To thee, my stormy deeds to tell.
Two circling seasons scarce have past,
Since I from rank and wealth was cast,
And doomed to wander far from men
Nor seek my father's halls again.
My youth was passed in tumult wild,
I was a proud and wayward child;
My mind felt Passion's sway alone,
Where Reason should have reared her throne,
And when aroused, my vengeful ire
Was like the lava's scorching fire,
Withering all high and generous thought
Beneath the ruin it had wrought.
To thee, my stormy deeds to tell.
Two circling seasons scarce have past,
Since I from rank and wealth was cast,
And doomed to wander far from men
Nor seek my father's halls again.
My youth was passed in tumult wild,
I was a proud and wayward child;
My mind felt Passion's sway alone,
Where Reason should have reared her throne,
And when aroused, my vengeful ire
Was like the lava's scorching fire,
Withering all high and generous thought
Beneath the ruin it had wrought.
“One night around the festive board
The red wine was profusely poured,
And merry song and jest went 'round
That bade the lofty hall resound.
On helm and lance the torches shone,
The minstrel struck his blithest tone,
And it would seem that nought could break
The joyous mirth which brave hearts make,
When lance and helmet thrown aside,
They seek the halls of festive pride.
The red wine was profusely poured,
And merry song and jest went 'round
That bade the lofty hall resound.
On helm and lance the torches shone,
The minstrel struck his blithest tone,
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The joyous mirth which brave hearts make,
When lance and helmet thrown aside,
They seek the halls of festive pride.
“Yet while all hearts with joy beat high
Unseen, a storm was lurking nigh,
Some hasty word aroused my ire,
I spoke in rude uncourteous tone
Which kindled up the contest higher,
Till Reason from my brain had flown,
And ere I scarce could think or feel,
His life-blood dimmed my flashing steel.
Need I tell more? I fled the hall,
But still remembrance, like a pall,
Hung darkly o'er my troubled soul
Through which no ray of sunshine stole.
Amid these wilds I refuge sought,
And here my soul a ray has caught
Of purer, higher, holier thought.
The hunter's rude and daring lot
Has tamed my spirit's haughty fire;
My lineage high is e'en forgot
And toil has calmed my flashing ire,
But in my breast there burns a flame,
Nor ill, nor sharpest wo, can tame.
Unseen, a storm was lurking nigh,
Some hasty word aroused my ire,
I spoke in rude uncourteous tone
Which kindled up the contest higher,
Till Reason from my brain had flown,
And ere I scarce could think or feel,
His life-blood dimmed my flashing steel.
Need I tell more? I fled the hall,
But still remembrance, like a pall,
Hung darkly o'er my troubled soul
Through which no ray of sunshine stole.
Amid these wilds I refuge sought,
And here my soul a ray has caught
Of purer, higher, holier thought.
The hunter's rude and daring lot
Has tamed my spirit's haughty fire;
My lineage high is e'en forgot
And toil has calmed my flashing ire,
But in my breast there burns a flame,
Nor ill, nor sharpest wo, can tame.
“Full many a form of faultless grace,
A dark eye's glance, a soul-lit face
Have met my gaze in hall or bower;
Yet never, till that joyous hour,
When stricken by my hunter spear,
The wild wolf in his death-pang lay,
And thou, all trembling, pale with fear,
Could'st only clasp thy hands and pray,—
Did I Love's magic influence own,
Or breathed my soul's harp one sweet tone.
A dark eye's glance, a soul-lit face
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Yet never, till that joyous hour,
When stricken by my hunter spear,
The wild wolf in his death-pang lay,
And thou, all trembling, pale with fear,
Could'st only clasp thy hands and pray,—
Did I Love's magic influence own,
Or breathed my soul's harp one sweet tone.
“As clouds that round the morning sky
Hang their dark drapery on high,
Gloomy and bleak and cheerless all—
Yet when the early sunbeams fall,
Their flaming banners are unrolled
From purple halls and towers of gold,
And seas of liquid amber glow
Where late the storm-cloud glided slow—
So fell the light of Love's soft power
Upon my soul in that sweet hour;
The strife that raged within my breast
Sank like the wave when twilight's star
Calms its wild heavings into rest,
With gentle influence from afar.
And changeless as yon planet's light,
Which beams, though clouds obscure the night
Is the deep love that fills my heart
Which time and change can never part.
Yet sometimes will that hour arise
In dark array, before my eyes,
And then the memory of my foe,
The young De Novo—”
Hang their dark drapery on high,
Gloomy and bleak and cheerless all—
Yet when the early sunbeams fall,
Their flaming banners are unrolled
From purple halls and towers of gold,
And seas of liquid amber glow
Where late the storm-cloud glided slow—
So fell the light of Love's soft power
Upon my soul in that sweet hour;
The strife that raged within my breast
Sank like the wave when twilight's star
Calms its wild heavings into rest,
With gentle influence from afar.
And changeless as yon planet's light,
Which beams, though clouds obscure the night
Is the deep love that fills my heart
Which time and change can never part.
Yet sometimes will that hour arise
In dark array, before my eyes,
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The young De Novo—”
“He? oh! no,”—
She almost shrieked; for while he spoke
No sound had from her pale lips broke,
But in her face and flashing eye
Was seen a deep anxiety.
But now a thought glanced o'er her brain,
And pale with doubt, she spoke again:
She almost shrieked; for while he spoke
No sound had from her pale lips broke,
But in her face and flashing eye
Was seen a deep anxiety.
But now a thought glanced o'er her brain,
And pale with doubt, she spoke again:
“De Novo! he for whom my sire
Had marked me as a fitting bride!
How canst thou hope to quell his ire,
Though loved by me o'er all beside?
For trust me, 'gainst his wish I strove,
But tears and prayers alike were vain,—
Nought could his rigid mandates move,
At length they told me he was slain!
Then fear my sire, whose vengeance proud,
Has long upon thy head been vowed,
Oh! like yon stream, whose genial wave
Bids leaning flowers its bosom lave,
Yet bears them from their stems away
When fierce and high its waters play—
My heart too fondly clings to bliss,
Too fondly dreams of love like this,
Till on the tide its hopes are borne,
Forever from the bosom torn!”
Had marked me as a fitting bride!
How canst thou hope to quell his ire,
Though loved by me o'er all beside?
For trust me, 'gainst his wish I strove,
But tears and prayers alike were vain,—
Nought could his rigid mandates move,
At length they told me he was slain!
Then fear my sire, whose vengeance proud,
Has long upon thy head been vowed,
Oh! like yon stream, whose genial wave
Bids leaning flowers its bosom lave,
Yet bears them from their stems away
When fierce and high its waters play—
My heart too fondly clings to bliss,
Too fondly dreams of love like this,
Till on the tide its hopes are borne,
Forever from the bosom torn!”
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“But hear me still. Thou know'st me not;
For mine was once a splendid lot,
Nor fairer halls, nor loftier towers
Are found within this land of ours,
Than those o'er which my sire holds sway,
And whence, afar, unknown, I stray.
Nor am I yet unknown to Fame,
Though known to thee by humble name.
Hath thy sire told of a gallant knight,
Found with the brave, in hall or fight—
That few have battled for the free
Like Alvar Nunez? I am he!”
For mine was once a splendid lot,
Nor fairer halls, nor loftier towers
Are found within this land of ours,
Than those o'er which my sire holds sway,
And whence, afar, unknown, I stray.
Nor am I yet unknown to Fame,
Though known to thee by humble name.
Hath thy sire told of a gallant knight,
Found with the brave, in hall or fight—
That few have battled for the free
Like Alvar Nunez? I am he!”
“Well do I know thee now!—thy name—
Though long hath it been yoked with shame:
But sure my sire with joy will greet
The knight who lays before his feet
The proudest name in Spain's broad land,
But to receive a maiden's hand.”
Though long hath it been yoked with shame:
But sure my sire with joy will greet
The knight who lays before his feet
The proudest name in Spain's broad land,
But to receive a maiden's hand.”
“Nay, love, thou dost forget; my name
Is sullied with a dark, deep crime;
I must retrieve my fallen fame,
And kindle glory's torch sublime;
By daring valour I must win
A title to efface the stain—
To wash away all trace of sin
My tried blade must unsheath again;
And Heaven be praised! the day is nigh,
When I the boon may win—or die!”
Is sullied with a dark, deep crime;
I must retrieve my fallen fame,
And kindle glory's torch sublime;
By daring valour I must win
A title to efface the stain—
To wash away all trace of sin
My tried blade must unsheath again;
And Heaven be praised! the day is nigh,
When I the boon may win—or die!”
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“From Mauritania's sultry coast
Approach the unbelieving host;
Cordova's walls their hordes receive
Thick as the marsh's gnats at eve,
And by the crystal Guadalquiver
At morn ascends the Moslem's prayer—
Beside the Darro's rushing river
His battle-shout peals on the air,
And lance and pennon brightly beam,
Reflected on the sparkling stream—
Beneath the cloudless sky of Spain,
From many a mosque and pagan fane
The Crescent banners proudly wave
Defiance to the Christian brave.
The Moor has come—from Spanish hills—
By wild Nevada's mountain rills—
From stranger-lands beyond the sea—
The burning plains of Araby,
And where the red-cross standards shine
Beneath the skies of Palestine!—
Mournenin is their chieftain old,
A pagan bigot, stern and cold,
Who like the tempest's bursting wrath,
With havoc marks his onward path.
Approach the unbelieving host;
Cordova's walls their hordes receive
Thick as the marsh's gnats at eve,
And by the crystal Guadalquiver
At morn ascends the Moslem's prayer—
Beside the Darro's rushing river
His battle-shout peals on the air,
And lance and pennon brightly beam,
Reflected on the sparkling stream—
Beneath the cloudless sky of Spain,
From many a mosque and pagan fane
The Crescent banners proudly wave
Defiance to the Christian brave.
The Moor has come—from Spanish hills—
By wild Nevada's mountain rills—
From stranger-lands beyond the sea—
The burning plains of Araby,
And where the red-cross standards shine
Beneath the skies of Palestine!—
Mournenin is their chieftain old,
A pagan bigot, stern and cold,
Who like the tempest's bursting wrath,
With havoc marks his onward path.
“Nor doth our monarch toil in vain;
Castile sends up from every plain
Her hardy warriors, stout and bold,
And every shadowy Lusian wold
That bends o'er Ebro's winding wave,
Echoes the war-cry of the brave,
And where the stormy Pyrenees
Lift high to heaven their glittering spears,
The wolf hears, borne upon the breeze,
The sound of gathering mountaineers,
And seeks the forest's dark profound,
Scared by the wild, unwelcome sound.
On yonder dark Sierra's side,
The final conflict will be tried,
And all my heart and arm can do,
I'll dare, to win my name and thee;
To thy pure love forever true,
From crime and shame forever free!”
Castile sends up from every plain
Her hardy warriors, stout and bold,
And every shadowy Lusian wold
That bends o'er Ebro's winding wave,
Echoes the war-cry of the brave,
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Lift high to heaven their glittering spears,
The wolf hears, borne upon the breeze,
The sound of gathering mountaineers,
And seeks the forest's dark profound,
Scared by the wild, unwelcome sound.
On yonder dark Sierra's side,
The final conflict will be tried,
And all my heart and arm can do,
I'll dare, to win my name and thee;
To thy pure love forever true,
From crime and shame forever free!”
Yet while he spoke, unconsciously,
The rising moon wheeled up the sky,
And streaming down the dusky dell,
Upon the signal-crag it fell.
A chance ray glimmering through the bough,
Fell softly on her lifted brow,
As with a full, foreboding heart,
She turned in sadness to depart,
Yet Alvar saw within her eye,
A deep, abiding constancy—
A high resolve, no fear could cover,
But firm as were the rocks above her.
“Time with his moonbeam pencil, tells
The midnight hour at last has come,
And festive music faintly swells,
Where shines afar, my sire's proud home;
But think, where swells the battle-shout,
And trumpets peal in glory out,
One heart is thine, forever true,
And strike to win it. Now adieu!”
The rising moon wheeled up the sky,
And streaming down the dusky dell,
Upon the signal-crag it fell.
A chance ray glimmering through the bough,
Fell softly on her lifted brow,
As with a full, foreboding heart,
She turned in sadness to depart,
Yet Alvar saw within her eye,
A deep, abiding constancy—
A high resolve, no fear could cover,
But firm as were the rocks above her.
“Time with his moonbeam pencil, tells
The midnight hour at last has come,
And festive music faintly swells,
Where shines afar, my sire's proud home;
But think, where swells the battle-shout,
And trumpets peal in glory out,
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And strike to win it. Now adieu!”
She paused. One clasp of hands were given—
One burning kiss upon her brow;
One farewell word—oh! she had striven
Against her fears most nobly; now
The soul resumed its former tone,
And tears burst forth—she was alone!
And who might tell, within her breast,
What doubts, what hopes and fears, had rest?
What mingled feelings wildly stole
Like tempests through her troubled soul?
How strong her trust, how deep her prayer,
Or what her constant love might dare?
One burning kiss upon her brow;
One farewell word—oh! she had striven
Against her fears most nobly; now
The soul resumed its former tone,
And tears burst forth—she was alone!
And who might tell, within her breast,
What doubts, what hopes and fears, had rest?
What mingled feelings wildly stole
Like tempests through her troubled soul?
How strong her trust, how deep her prayer,
Or what her constant love might dare?
He bounded up the mountain side;
But still she looked with eager eyes,
And when the last faint echo died
And nought was seen but hills and skies,
Cold and unconscious down she sank
Upon the dewy streamlet bank.
But still she looked with eager eyes,
And when the last faint echo died
And nought was seen but hills and skies,
Cold and unconscious down she sank
Upon the dewy streamlet bank.
Oh! a sunny gleam upon youth's bright page,
That glows through the deepening gloom of age,
Is the bliss of a pure and holy love,
A fadeless light from the flame above.
And ever the soul, from sorrow's track,
Will fondly turn to the loved one back,
And oft, as it wearies of life's dull play,
And holier feelings around it stray,—
Will he seek through the silent lapse of Time
The wild romance of his youthful prime,
And gather the beams that around it glow
To nerve his way through this vale of wo!
That glows through the deepening gloom of age,
Is the bliss of a pure and holy love,
A fadeless light from the flame above.
And ever the soul, from sorrow's track,
Will fondly turn to the loved one back,
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And holier feelings around it stray,—
Will he seek through the silent lapse of Time
The wild romance of his youthful prime,
And gather the beams that around it glow
To nerve his way through this vale of wo!
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2. PART II.
THE BATTLE.
“Shout for the spears of Spain!
The Moor o'er the deep hath come,
And the wild breeze bears again
The sound of his battle-drum.
Pour through our sunny land
The charging trumpet's peal;
Shout for the Christian band
And the spears of old Castile!
The Moor o'er the deep hath come,
And the wild breeze bears again
The sound of his battle-drum.
Pour through our sunny land
The charging trumpet's peal;
Shout for the Christian band
And the spears of old Castile!
“Ye that have proved of yore
The might of your dauntless souls—
Ye who the lance ne'er bore
Where the tide of conflict rolls—
Strike, 'till the streams be dyed
With the battle's crimson rain:
With an arm of steel and a heart of pride,
For God and the hills of Spain!
The might of your dauntless souls—
Ye who the lance ne'er bore
Where the tide of conflict rolls—
Strike, 'till the streams be dyed
With the battle's crimson rain:
With an arm of steel and a heart of pride,
For God and the hills of Spain!
“Shall your vales and proud hills be
By the Moslem's foot profaned?
Has the soul of your father's free,
In their children's bosoms waned!
With the hearts of your glorious sires,
Thunder the stirring peal;
Shout for your homes and altar-fires,
And the spears of old Castile!”
By the Moslem's foot profaned?
Has the soul of your father's free,
In their children's bosoms waned!
With the hearts of your glorious sires,
Thunder the stirring peal;
Shout for your homes and altar-fires,
And the spears of old Castile!”
Such was the warrior-song that rose
Through the still air, at evening's close,
And blended with the trumpet's clang
Amid the rugged cliffs it rang,
'Till rocks and woods, in twilight dim,
Resounded with the battle-hymn.
As swelled the wild and stirring peal,
How drew each knight his flashing steel!
How beamed and burned each kindling eye—
How throbbed each bold heart free and high!
And dimly glowed amid the gloom,
Lit by the torch's lurid glare,
The burnished shield, and lance and plume,
Worn by the stalwart warriors there.
Through the still air, at evening's close,
And blended with the trumpet's clang
Amid the rugged cliffs it rang,
'Till rocks and woods, in twilight dim,
Resounded with the battle-hymn.
24
How drew each knight his flashing steel!
How beamed and burned each kindling eye—
How throbbed each bold heart free and high!
And dimly glowed amid the gloom,
Lit by the torch's lurid glare,
The burnished shield, and lance and plume,
Worn by the stalwart warriors there.
The hours flew by—the song was hushed,
Which but so late had wildly gushed;
The clash of steel was heard no more,
But stretched upon the rocky floor,
Toil-worn and faint, in dreams of bliss,
They wander far from scenes like this,
Throw by the buckler, and the brand,
And fondly clasp the loved one's hand.
The drooping banners to and fro
Swing with a strange and noiseless flow,
Like pale ghosts of the unburied slain
Who nightly walk the battle-plain,
And count the living who must die
Ere eve again steals o'er the sky!
Which but so late had wildly gushed;
The clash of steel was heard no more,
But stretched upon the rocky floor,
Toil-worn and faint, in dreams of bliss,
They wander far from scenes like this,
Throw by the buckler, and the brand,
And fondly clasp the loved one's hand.
The drooping banners to and fro
Swing with a strange and noiseless flow,
Like pale ghosts of the unburied slain
Who nightly walk the battle-plain,
And count the living who must die
Ere eve again steals o'er the sky!
[OMITTED]
Long had the sleeping warriors lain,
And the pennon waved in the chilly air,
But now the stars are on the wane
And the trumpet calls to matin-prayer.
Slowly the freshening breeze unrolls
The red-cross banner's drooping folds,
As proudly flung to the wind on high
They glow like flames in the morning sky.
The tents are raised and the trumpets blown—
The proud steeds neigh at the thrilling tone.
The lances gleam and the snow plumes wave
O'er the brows of the fearless and the brave;
Each breast is filled with a knightly fire
And throbs with a wild and strong desire;
Each brow is lit with a restless flame—
With the high resolve to win a name
That shall glow for aye, with a fadeless light—
A meteor on the brow of night!
And the pennon waved in the chilly air,
But now the stars are on the wane
And the trumpet calls to matin-prayer.
Slowly the freshening breeze unrolls
The red-cross banner's drooping folds,
25
They glow like flames in the morning sky.
The tents are raised and the trumpets blown—
The proud steeds neigh at the thrilling tone.
The lances gleam and the snow plumes wave
O'er the brows of the fearless and the brave;
Each breast is filled with a knightly fire
And throbs with a wild and strong desire;
Each brow is lit with a restless flame—
With the high resolve to win a name
That shall glow for aye, with a fadeless light—
A meteor on the brow of night!
The mist, that hung on the mountain side
Is scattered by the sunbeam's glance,
As a trembling host, by the gory tide
Of some fame-wedded warrior's lance;
Slow up the towering crags it rolled,
And, balanced on its wings of gold,
It seemed a fitting canopy
For that vast temple of the free,
Whose pillars are the untrod hills,
Whose organ-chime, the leaping rills,
And soaring peaks, by thunder riven,
The lofty spires that point to Heaven!
Is scattered by the sunbeam's glance,
As a trembling host, by the gory tide
Of some fame-wedded warrior's lance;
Slow up the towering crags it rolled,
And, balanced on its wings of gold,
It seemed a fitting canopy
For that vast temple of the free,
Whose pillars are the untrod hills,
Whose organ-chime, the leaping rills,
And soaring peaks, by thunder riven,
The lofty spires that point to Heaven!
Then winding through the narrow way,
They saw the Moorish hordes appear;
Their sabres gleaming to the day,
As the loud war-cry echoed near.
Sounded the clarion's thrilling blast
As king Alfonso toward them passed;
Toledo's bishop, by his side
Rode with a grave and stately pride,
Lifting high in the calm sunshine,
The glowing cross of Constantine!
They saw the Moorish hordes appear;
Their sabres gleaming to the day,
As the loud war-cry echoed near.
26
As king Alfonso toward them passed;
Toledo's bishop, by his side
Rode with a grave and stately pride,
Lifting high in the calm sunshine,
The glowing cross of Constantine!
Amid the knights that 'round them throng,
Who for the fight have waited long,
Was one in sable armor drest,
With crimson plumes upon his crest,
While now and then they could descry
Through the barr'd vizor his dark eye,
Ah! little thought they, that stern form
Had braved with them the battle storm,
Had drained with them the red wine oft,
When festive bowls were held aloft,
And trod, in pride, the knightly ground,
The victor of the tourney crowned!
Who for the fight have waited long,
Was one in sable armor drest,
With crimson plumes upon his crest,
While now and then they could descry
Through the barr'd vizor his dark eye,
Ah! little thought they, that stern form
Had braved with them the battle storm,
Had drained with them the red wine oft,
When festive bowls were held aloft,
And trod, in pride, the knightly ground,
The victor of the tourney crowned!
But louder rolls the battle-drum,
And nearer through the pass they come,
And wilder swells the tecbir-shout,
Ringing upon the free air out.
In the midst, upon his charger, came
Alnazir, of the dreaded name;
Bright gems upon his mantle glow,
And his steed's rich trappings hanging low.
The prophet's sacred book he bore,
And the brand, oft dimmed with Christian gore;
This was the creed of the Moslem horde—
Offering the Koran or the sword!
And nearer through the pass they come,
And wilder swells the tecbir-shout,
Ringing upon the free air out.
In the midst, upon his charger, came
Alnazir, of the dreaded name;
Bright gems upon his mantle glow,
And his steed's rich trappings hanging low.
The prophet's sacred book he bore,
And the brand, oft dimmed with Christian gore;
27
Offering the Koran or the sword!
A thunder-crash when the storm is high
And the big clouds meet in air;
That shakes the halls of the upper sky,
So deep are its echoes there—
The sound of the avalanche, dull and dread,
As it sweeps to the vale below;
A herald of death, by the ice-bolt sped
From the realm of eternal snow—
Such was the sound of the meeting foes,
That the far-off echoes stirred;
Such were the charging shouts that rose,
Through the din of conflict heard.
And the big clouds meet in air;
That shakes the halls of the upper sky,
So deep are its echoes there—
The sound of the avalanche, dull and dread,
As it sweeps to the vale below;
A herald of death, by the ice-bolt sped
From the realm of eternal snow—
Such was the sound of the meeting foes,
That the far-off echoes stirred;
Such were the charging shouts that rose,
Through the din of conflict heard.
'Twas a narrow and a dark defile,
As if by some convulsion riven,
Where down through the giant mountain pile
The thunderbolt had once been driven;
Rocks, jutting crags, that seemed bestrown
By some demoniac power alone,
Amid whose chasms, dark and deep,
The flashing rills in sunshine leap,
And down to the sunny valleys go,
Fresh from their founts in the trackless snow!
And well it was, that the final strife
For spotless Freedom and for life,
Should be tried amidst the dark defiles
Of old Morena's rugged wilds:
The soaring peaks, that lift sublime
Their snowy summits, mocking Time,
Are the shrines of Freedom; for she dwells
Not in the dark, monastic cells,
Not in the pomp of courts and kings,
Where the soul is wedded to meaner things—
But 'mid the proud and ancient hills
And the rifted chasms, high and far—
By the snow-fed source of the mountain rills,
Her holiest altars are!
And the warrior's heart as he looks around,
And treads upon the enchanted ground,
Will gain yet a deeper, higher glow
To strike for the dear loved land below,
As if the goddess, lingering there,
Had breathed her soul in the mountain air!
As if by some convulsion riven,
Where down through the giant mountain pile
The thunderbolt had once been driven;
Rocks, jutting crags, that seemed bestrown
By some demoniac power alone,
Amid whose chasms, dark and deep,
The flashing rills in sunshine leap,
And down to the sunny valleys go,
Fresh from their founts in the trackless snow!
And well it was, that the final strife
For spotless Freedom and for life,
Should be tried amidst the dark defiles
Of old Morena's rugged wilds:
28
Their snowy summits, mocking Time,
Are the shrines of Freedom; for she dwells
Not in the dark, monastic cells,
Not in the pomp of courts and kings,
Where the soul is wedded to meaner things—
But 'mid the proud and ancient hills
And the rifted chasms, high and far—
By the snow-fed source of the mountain rills,
Her holiest altars are!
And the warrior's heart as he looks around,
And treads upon the enchanted ground,
Will gain yet a deeper, higher glow
To strike for the dear loved land below,
As if the goddess, lingering there,
Had breathed her soul in the mountain air!
Like lightning-gleams through summer's cloud,
That shoot to earth, with death endowed,
The Moorish sabres flash and fall
Amid the cloud that covers all.
The lines of spear-heads gleam on high
Like stars upon a midnight sky,
And like the crests of Ocean's wave
When winter tempests wildly rave,
The white plumes of the Christian band
Break on the battle's bloody strand.
The turbaned and the helmed head
Together in the combat fell;
Together from their gory bed
Their charging shouts, expiring, swell!
'Till fiery noon glowed in the sky,
Still raged the tide of conflict high;
At last, within her balanced scale
Fate saw the Moslem host prevail.
Back through the pass the Christians go,
O'erwhelmed by myriads of the foe.
A deep fear seized Alfonso then—
But the sable knight rode forth alone,
And, shouting to the Christian men,
Against the opposing horde is gone!
Straight through the flying host he passed,
And blew a thrilling clarion-blast;
The red-cross banner, pressed by foes,
Like a wave-tossed feather, sunk and rose,
But as the lightning bolt which cleaves
The oak's green wealth of summer leaves,
And scatters 'round on every side
The lofty boughs which waved in pride,—
So 'neath the stroke of his ringing blade,
The frighted Moslems low were laid.
Back rolled the tide of fight once more
As the wave rebounds from a rocky shore;
Again the brave and fearless band
Thronged 'round the banner of their land,
While rose, amid the clash of steel—
“God and our swords for Old Custile!”
That shoot to earth, with death endowed,
The Moorish sabres flash and fall
Amid the cloud that covers all.
The lines of spear-heads gleam on high
Like stars upon a midnight sky,
And like the crests of Ocean's wave
When winter tempests wildly rave,
The white plumes of the Christian band
Break on the battle's bloody strand.
The turbaned and the helmed head
Together in the combat fell;
Together from their gory bed
Their charging shouts, expiring, swell!
29
Still raged the tide of conflict high;
At last, within her balanced scale
Fate saw the Moslem host prevail.
Back through the pass the Christians go,
O'erwhelmed by myriads of the foe.
A deep fear seized Alfonso then—
But the sable knight rode forth alone,
And, shouting to the Christian men,
Against the opposing horde is gone!
Straight through the flying host he passed,
And blew a thrilling clarion-blast;
The red-cross banner, pressed by foes,
Like a wave-tossed feather, sunk and rose,
But as the lightning bolt which cleaves
The oak's green wealth of summer leaves,
And scatters 'round on every side
The lofty boughs which waved in pride,—
So 'neath the stroke of his ringing blade,
The frighted Moslems low were laid.
Back rolled the tide of fight once more
As the wave rebounds from a rocky shore;
Again the brave and fearless band
Thronged 'round the banner of their land,
While rose, amid the clash of steel—
“God and our swords for Old Custile!”
Then on his steed Alnazir came
And cried aloud—“Shame, ever shame
Shall rest on the head of the craven low
Who turns his back to a Christian foe!
Back! cowards, back! Who flies shall be
Branded with endless infamy!”
He said, and met the sable knight;
Their falchions flashed so broad and bright,
That one might deem a starry world,
Had from its course on high been hurled.
Hard was the strife; the wily foe
Upon his buckler caught the blow,
And when its sudden force had broke,
Gave the black knight a stunning stroke.
And cried aloud—“Shame, ever shame
Shall rest on the head of the craven low
Who turns his back to a Christian foe!
30
Branded with endless infamy!”
He said, and met the sable knight;
Their falchions flashed so broad and bright,
That one might deem a starry world,
Had from its course on high been hurled.
Hard was the strife; the wily foe
Upon his buckler caught the blow,
And when its sudden force had broke,
Gave the black knight a stunning stroke.
Yet ere he could renew the blow
Or snatch the sword from the fallen foe,
Down through the dark and rugged way
They saw a stranger knight appear;
A sudden calm stole o'er the fray
And rose a half-checked cry of fear.
Like a feathery shaft from an Arab bow
O'er cliff and yawning gulf he sped,
Where mortal foot had not dared to go,—
Chasms beneath and rocks o'erhead!
White as Morena's trackless snows,
A waving robe around him flows—
A white plume floats o'er his gleaming crest—
A silver cross is on his breast;
And by that sign the Christian saw
With deep and still and solemn awe,
That he whom foe could never quell
Had left, once more, his holy grave—
A sudden fear on the Moslem's fell,
While quailed the bravest of the brave,
Or trembling whispered each to each,
With lips that scarce could master speech,
“The Cid! the Cid! the Campeador!”
And well the warriors knew of yore
That knight; oft had they felt his power
'Mid clashing blades, in battle-hour,
When their frail strength was swept away
Beneath his arm, in mortal fray.
And well they knew the legend old,
By many a Moorish mother told—
When from his tomb the Campeador
Should ride on his good steed once more,
The cross should win the bloody field
And the pale vanquished crescent yield!
Or snatch the sword from the fallen foe,
Down through the dark and rugged way
They saw a stranger knight appear;
A sudden calm stole o'er the fray
And rose a half-checked cry of fear.
Like a feathery shaft from an Arab bow
O'er cliff and yawning gulf he sped,
Where mortal foot had not dared to go,—
Chasms beneath and rocks o'erhead!
White as Morena's trackless snows,
A waving robe around him flows—
A white plume floats o'er his gleaming crest—
A silver cross is on his breast;
And by that sign the Christian saw
With deep and still and solemn awe,
That he whom foe could never quell
Had left, once more, his holy grave—
A sudden fear on the Moslem's fell,
While quailed the bravest of the brave,
31
With lips that scarce could master speech,
“The Cid! the Cid! the Campeador!”
And well the warriors knew of yore
That knight; oft had they felt his power
'Mid clashing blades, in battle-hour,
When their frail strength was swept away
Beneath his arm, in mortal fray.
And well they knew the legend old,
By many a Moorish mother told—
When from his tomb the Campeador
Should ride on his good steed once more,
The cross should win the bloody field
And the pale vanquished crescent yield!
Wildly they gazed, in awe and fear,
As that pale horseman came more near,—
And when he slowly raised his lance
Awaking from their sudden trance
In wild dismay they turned and fled—
Followed their flying host the Dead!
A mingled shout pealed on the air,
A shout of joy and of despair,
As, like the Simoom's withering blast,
The charging Christians onward passed.
Adown the crags the foemen go,
Scarce heeding the dread death below
So wild they fled, when through the fight
They saw the white cross of the knight.
As that pale horseman came more near,—
And when he slowly raised his lance
Awaking from their sudden trance
In wild dismay they turned and fled—
Followed their flying host the Dead!
A mingled shout pealed on the air,
A shout of joy and of despair,
As, like the Simoom's withering blast,
The charging Christians onward passed.
Adown the crags the foemen go,
Scarce heeding the dread death below
So wild they fled, when through the fight
They saw the white cross of the knight.
32
A few, faint struggling blows they gave
Like one when sinking 'neath the wave;
Behind them still the Christian host
Followed their ancient leader's ghost,
And few shall tell, by Darro's wave,
How fought and tell the Moslem brave;
And few, amid Grenada's walls
Where music ever softly falls
From crystal founts, whose airy play
Is tinged with gold by sunset's ray—
Relate, with troubled brow, the story
Of Moslem shame and Christian glory!
Like one when sinking 'neath the wave;
Behind them still the Christian host
Followed their ancient leader's ghost,
And few shall tell, by Darro's wave,
How fought and tell the Moslem brave;
And few, amid Grenada's walls
Where music ever softly falls
From crystal founts, whose airy play
Is tinged with gold by sunset's ray—
Relate, with troubled brow, the story
Of Moslem shame and Christian glory!
Yet whether, 'mid the gory fray,
He passed on Battle's wing away
Or whether up the crags he rode,
Where eagles make their lone abode,
No mortal knows; but minstrel's lay
Oft woke the glories of that day,
When he, with more than mortal might
Turned back the sanguine tide of fight;
And o'er his tomb the censer's flame
Breathes forth the odor meet for Fame!
He passed on Battle's wing away
Or whether up the crags he rode,
Where eagles make their lone abode,
No mortal knows; but minstrel's lay
Oft woke the glories of that day,
When he, with more than mortal might
Turned back the sanguine tide of fight;
And o'er his tomb the censer's flame
Breathes forth the odor meet for Fame!
The day was o'er; and when the sun
Sank slowly to the western wave,
Heaped with the slain lay many a one
Whose heart at morn beat high and brave.
The Christian there, lay cold and pale,
And by his side the lifeless foe—
Ah! many a mother long shall wail
For him whose proud form now lies low,
And bride, at eve, from bastion'd tower
Watch for his plumy crest afar,
Who now hath slumbered many an hour,
All coldly 'neath the evening star!
The moon again rose up the sky;
But ever closed was many an eye
That last night beamed so free and bright,
It seemed to be a quenchless light.
Last eve she shone on burnished crest
And sparkled back from mailed breast,
But now that crest in dust was laid
And dim with gore the shield and blade.
How wan and ghostlike seemed each face
Amid the pale and sickly beam!
A lurid glow, as if the trace
Of wizard-fires, by marshy stream
Seemed playing on each stony brow
Like sea-fires round some vessel's prow!
Sank slowly to the western wave,
Heaped with the slain lay many a one
Whose heart at morn beat high and brave.
The Christian there, lay cold and pale,
And by his side the lifeless foe—
33
For him whose proud form now lies low,
And bride, at eve, from bastion'd tower
Watch for his plumy crest afar,
Who now hath slumbered many an hour,
All coldly 'neath the evening star!
The moon again rose up the sky;
But ever closed was many an eye
That last night beamed so free and bright,
It seemed to be a quenchless light.
Last eve she shone on burnished crest
And sparkled back from mailed breast,
But now that crest in dust was laid
And dim with gore the shield and blade.
How wan and ghostlike seemed each face
Amid the pale and sickly beam!
A lurid glow, as if the trace
Of wizard-fires, by marshy stream
Seemed playing on each stony brow
Like sea-fires round some vessel's prow!
Yet, kneeling on the battle plain
At that still hour amid the slain,
The victors swelled the grateful hymn,
And solemn chant and fervent prayer
Ascended in the twilight dim,
Borne heavenward by the mountain air.
At that still hour amid the slain,
The victors swelled the grateful hymn,
And solemn chant and fervent prayer
Ascended in the twilight dim,
Borne heavenward by the mountain air.
35
3. PART III.
THE RETURN.
Amid the wan moon's ghastly light
They sought the battle-plain that night,
And bore the wounded knights away,
Who in the bloody carnage lay.
Where strongest poured the battle's tide
And man and steed together died,
Stretched on a heap of lifeless foes
They found the knight, whose crimson plume
Through the dim war-cloud fell and rose,
And guided in the thickest gloom,
Like the old conqueror's cross of flame,
Their swords to victory and to Fame!
They sought the battle-plain that night,
And bore the wounded knights away,
Who in the bloody carnage lay.
Where strongest poured the battle's tide
And man and steed together died,
Stretched on a heap of lifeless foes
They found the knight, whose crimson plume
Through the dim war-cloud fell and rose,
And guided in the thickest gloom,
Like the old conqueror's cross of flame,
Their swords to victory and to Fame!
They raised him from among amongst the slain,
(Life had not yet given o'er her reign)
Dashed on his brow the streamlet's spray
And strove to bear his arms away.
But vainly tried they to unclasp
His cold hand's fixed and giant grasp,
Which held as firm the battle-blade
As when War's lightnings round him played!
(Life had not yet given o'er her reign)
Dashed on his brow the streamlet's spray
And strove to bear his arms away.
But vainly tried they to unclasp
His cold hand's fixed and giant grasp,
Which held as firm the battle-blade
As when War's lightnings round him played!
Alfonso watched with anxious heart,
The magic of the leech's art,
Who sought by all his power and skill
To heal the brave one's grievous ill.
At last, with look of deep delight,
He said “God spares the noble knight!
His helm received the Emir's blade,
Which hath this death-like stupor made;
A few short hours of slumber o'er,
And he can lift the lance once more!
The magic of the leech's art,
Who sought by all his power and skill
To heal the brave one's grievous ill.
36
He said “God spares the noble knight!
His helm received the Emir's blade,
Which hath this death-like stupor made;
A few short hours of slumber o'er,
And he can lift the lance once more!
Another day! how glorious fell
The morning rays o'er stream and dell!
The red light on the hills of snow,
Shone like the festal torches' glow,
And with a brighter, deeper dye
Lit up the broad dome of the sky,
As if the slain had lent their hue
To crimson morning's heaven of blue!
The pure, fresh air brought healing power
Unto the warriors, at that hour,
As, rising heavily and slow,
They hied unto the streamlet's flow,
From battered arms, to wash away
The bloody stains of yesterday.
The morning rays o'er stream and dell!
The red light on the hills of snow,
Shone like the festal torches' glow,
And with a brighter, deeper dye
Lit up the broad dome of the sky,
As if the slain had lent their hue
To crimson morning's heaven of blue!
The pure, fresh air brought healing power
Unto the warriors, at that hour,
As, rising heavily and slow,
They hied unto the streamlet's flow,
From battered arms, to wash away
The bloody stains of yesterday.
A trumpet note rang wild and shrill
And woke the echoes of the hill,
As King Alfonso rose again
Monarch of free, victorious Spain!
The peal broke Alvar's death-like rest,
Brought life and strength into his breast
And summoned back to heart and brain,
Their fiery vigor once again,
He seized in haste his trusty steel
And shouted loud “For old Castile!”
Leaped in the mailed warrior's ring
And stood before the astonished king.
And woke the echoes of the hill,
As King Alfonso rose again
Monarch of free, victorious Spain!
The peal broke Alvar's death-like rest,
Brought life and strength into his breast
And summoned back to heart and brain,
Their fiery vigor once again,
37
And shouted loud “For old Castile!”
Leaped in the mailed warrior's ring
And stood before the astonished king.
The cool fresh air—the morning ray—
Chased from his mind the mist away,
Yet still bewildered and amazed,
Upon the knights around he gazed,
At last, a fond, familiar face—
“Father!”—then clasped in mute embrace
The sire and son: whose joyous tears
Repaid old Nunez' darkest fears.
How sad had seemed each pageant bright,
When Nunez' name would set in night;
When, placed no more 'mid Castile's brave,
His son should find a songless grave!
Chased from his mind the mist away,
Yet still bewildered and amazed,
Upon the knights around he gazed,
At last, a fond, familiar face—
“Father!”—then clasped in mute embrace
The sire and son: whose joyous tears
Repaid old Nunez' darkest fears.
How sad had seemed each pageant bright,
When Nunez' name would set in night;
When, placed no more 'mid Castile's brave,
His son should find a songless grave!
Around the startled warriors came
And echoed Alvar's well known name.
The king drew near:—“And is't thy brow
Young Nunez, wears the laurel now?
By Santiago! 'tis a crown
Not e'en a monarch might cast down!
And well its glory from thy name
Has reft its shadowing cloud of shame.
Yes, well thy hot youth's hasty sin
By yesterday atoned hath been;
No more may aught obscure thy name,
But Virtue proudly dwell with Fame!”
A thrill shot through his bounding breast—
At last he stood before them free!
He wore again his spotless crest,
That led, of old, to victory!
How changed seemed all since yestermorn!
A nameless shield he then had worn;
No herald then, with loud acclaim,
Could echo Nunez' once-proud name,
When dark eyes shine, and white hands wave
Beauty's loved plaudits to the brave!
All passed so sudden, it would seem
To be some strange, bewildering dream
That weighs upon the sleeper's breast,
Till, starting from his couch of rest,
His cry of fear its fetters breaks,
And with a thrill of joy he wakes.
And echoed Alvar's well known name.
The king drew near:—“And is't thy brow
Young Nunez, wears the laurel now?
By Santiago! 'tis a crown
Not e'en a monarch might cast down!
And well its glory from thy name
Has reft its shadowing cloud of shame.
Yes, well thy hot youth's hasty sin
By yesterday atoned hath been;
No more may aught obscure thy name,
But Virtue proudly dwell with Fame!”
38
At last he stood before them free!
He wore again his spotless crest,
That led, of old, to victory!
How changed seemed all since yestermorn!
A nameless shield he then had worn;
No herald then, with loud acclaim,
Could echo Nunez' once-proud name,
When dark eyes shine, and white hands wave
Beauty's loved plaudits to the brave!
All passed so sudden, it would seem
To be some strange, bewildering dream
That weighs upon the sleeper's breast,
Till, starting from his couch of rest,
His cry of fear its fetters breaks,
And with a thrill of joy he wakes.
“Thanks, thanks, my liege; I fain would ask,
(Since I must now my tale unmask)
If, in the thronged knights by your side,
Your trusted stay and Castile's pride,
Be one, who boasts a daughter fair,
Of stately step, yet winning air,
Who doth the name Ximena bear?”
Instant, stepped forth an aged knight
Who bore the bloody marks of fight—
“And what but Valdi's house of power
Its storied halls, its pomp and pride,
Can boast the loveliest, fairest flower
That decks the rude Sierra's side?”
(Since I must now my tale unmask)
If, in the thronged knights by your side,
Your trusted stay and Castile's pride,
Be one, who boasts a daughter fair,
Of stately step, yet winning air,
Who doth the name Ximena bear?”
Instant, stepped forth an aged knight
Who bore the bloody marks of fight—
“And what but Valdi's house of power
Its storied halls, its pomp and pride,
Can boast the loveliest, fairest flower
That decks the rude Sierra's side?”
39
“Then hear my tale: Three moons ago
I dwelt amid yon hills of snow.
I sought afar in hatred then,
A refuge from the gaze of men,
I could not calmly, tamely brook,
All eyes upon my shame should look;
So, from the heartless world removed,
My rugged cavern-home I loved.
One day, far down the craggy steep,
I saw a grim and gaunt wolf leap,
When from below there came a cry
Of wild despairing agony;
I hastened down the lonely glade
And saw a young and lovely maid,
While, full before, the crouched wolf lay;
My swift spear quivered through the air,
And joyous saw she, in the way,
The fearful monster bleeding there.
I dwelt amid yon hills of snow.
I sought afar in hatred then,
A refuge from the gaze of men,
I could not calmly, tamely brook,
All eyes upon my shame should look;
So, from the heartless world removed,
My rugged cavern-home I loved.
One day, far down the craggy steep,
I saw a grim and gaunt wolf leap,
When from below there came a cry
Of wild despairing agony;
I hastened down the lonely glade
And saw a young and lovely maid,
While, full before, the crouched wolf lay;
My swift spear quivered through the air,
And joyous saw she, in the way,
The fearful monster bleeding there.
“I scarce need tell thee that my heart
Soon learned the mystic lore of love,
And that with life my breast would part
Ere aught its constancy could move.
From her I learned—what thou hast known;—
But yesterday I trust, hath shown
That aught which veiled my name before,
Shall ne'er its glory tarnish more!”
Soon learned the mystic lore of love,
And that with life my breast would part
Ere aught its constancy could move.
From her I learned—what thou hast known;—
But yesterday I trust, hath shown
That aught which veiled my name before,
Shall ne'er its glory tarnish more!”
De Valdi mused a little space,
Then turning back to Alvar, said;
“I vowed revenge against thy race
But vengeance from my heart has fled,
Since in the field I saw thy form
Glance like the lightning through the storm,
And, with God's aid, redeem again
The glorious hills and streams of Spain!
Ill boots it now to cherish hate,
For vengeance cannot conquer fate;
And in the battle, well I see
The mighty hand of Destiny!
Take her thou lov'st! I know thy heart
From Glory's path will ne'er depart,
Nor foul Dishonour soil again
The sword so nobly drawn for Spain!”
Then turning back to Alvar, said;
40
But vengeance from my heart has fled,
Since in the field I saw thy form
Glance like the lightning through the storm,
And, with God's aid, redeem again
The glorious hills and streams of Spain!
Ill boots it now to cherish hate,
For vengeance cannot conquer fate;
And in the battle, well I see
The mighty hand of Destiny!
Take her thou lov'st! I know thy heart
From Glory's path will ne'er depart,
Nor foul Dishonour soil again
The sword so nobly drawn for Spain!”
[OMITTED]
Once more with song and trumpet's sound,
Along the mountain's side they wound;
Not with the anxious hearts they bore
Up the rude steep, three morns before,
But through each pass, and darkning dell,
Their joyous songs of triumph swell.
Yet louder strike the sounding strain,
Till the wild echoes reach yon plain,
Where far below 'neath sunnier skies
De Valdi's castle walls arise,
Strike, till the glad notes reach her ear,
Who waits with mingled hope and fear—
For he, her hero-love hath come
With sword unstained and lofty name;
Whose virtue, on the shrine of Home,
Shall feed the altar-fire of Fame!
Along the mountain's side they wound;
Not with the anxious hearts they bore
Up the rude steep, three morns before,
But through each pass, and darkning dell,
Their joyous songs of triumph swell.
Yet louder strike the sounding strain,
Till the wild echoes reach yon plain,
Where far below 'neath sunnier skies
De Valdi's castle walls arise,
Strike, till the glad notes reach her ear,
Who waits with mingled hope and fear—
For he, her hero-love hath come
With sword unstained and lofty name;
Whose virtue, on the shrine of Home,
Shall feed the altar-fire of Fame!
41
Back rolled the ponderous gateway door—
Across the creaking bridge they pour,
With banners, steeds and war-drum's peal,
And rattling arms, and glittering steel.
Joy for De Valdi's halls to-night,
For Castile's monarch, from the light,
Hath come to view the beauteous bride,
Who soon shall stand by Alvar's side.
But where is she they thus would greet?
Why comes she not her sire to meet?
Why rings not, through the arching dome,
Her joyous cry of welcome home?
They seek in vain the hall and tower,
The olive grove—the orange bower—
The turret high—the shrine of prayer—
All her loved haunts—she is not there!
A sudden fear crossed Alvar's breast,
Vague, boding doubts his mind opprest.
Yet as they sought, and found her not,
Unconsciously, toward the spot,
Where, on the lonely mountain side,
With all a lover's joy and pride
He heard her vows, his footsteps strayed;
The clustering firs a deep gloom made,
And crags uppiled, on either side,
Aspired the glowing heaven to hide.
Even the old and sombre trees
Scarce whispered in the evening breeze,
As if they feared its breath would tall
Some secret of the lonely dell.
The shadows constant slept, unstirred
By springing wolf or flitting bird—
Where Silence at her altar knelt
And with her sister Sadness dwelt.
Across the creaking bridge they pour,
With banners, steeds and war-drum's peal,
And rattling arms, and glittering steel.
Joy for De Valdi's halls to-night,
For Castile's monarch, from the light,
Hath come to view the beauteous bride,
Who soon shall stand by Alvar's side.
But where is she they thus would greet?
Why comes she not her sire to meet?
Why rings not, through the arching dome,
Her joyous cry of welcome home?
They seek in vain the hall and tower,
The olive grove—the orange bower—
The turret high—the shrine of prayer—
All her loved haunts—she is not there!
A sudden fear crossed Alvar's breast,
Vague, boding doubts his mind opprest.
Yet as they sought, and found her not,
Unconsciously, toward the spot,
Where, on the lonely mountain side,
With all a lover's joy and pride
He heard her vows, his footsteps strayed;
The clustering firs a deep gloom made,
And crags uppiled, on either side,
Aspired the glowing heaven to hide.
Even the old and sombre trees
Scarce whispered in the evening breeze,
As if they feared its breath would tall
Some secret of the lonely dell.
42
By springing wolf or flitting bird—
Where Silence at her altar knelt
And with her sister Sadness dwelt.
As through the gloomy grove he passed,
A sound came by upon the blast.
He heard a war-steed's heavy tread
Sounding amid the rocks o'erhead,
And saw, the mingled boughs among,
A showy courser, stout and strong,
Slow down the dark and winding way,
It came, amid the glimmering ray,
'Till as it nearer, nearer drew,
A silver cross gleamed on his view!
He knew that helm, whose plume of yore
Had waved above the Campeador,
And with a thrill of deep-felt awe,
That white and spectral war-steed saw,
Scarce had the vision met his gaze,
When “Alvar!” rung upon the air;
The spear is dropped—the helmet raised—
What phantom stood before him there!
O'er steel-clad breast dark ringlets flow,
'Neath crested helm the soft eyes glow,
And rosy lip and cheek takes place
Of manhood's bronzed and bearded face!
A sound came by upon the blast.
He heard a war-steed's heavy tread
Sounding amid the rocks o'erhead,
And saw, the mingled boughs among,
A showy courser, stout and strong,
Slow down the dark and winding way,
It came, amid the glimmering ray,
'Till as it nearer, nearer drew,
A silver cross gleamed on his view!
He knew that helm, whose plume of yore
Had waved above the Campeador,
And with a thrill of deep-felt awe,
That white and spectral war-steed saw,
Scarce had the vision met his gaze,
When “Alvar!” rung upon the air;
The spear is dropped—the helmet raised—
What phantom stood before him there!
O'er steel-clad breast dark ringlets flow,
'Neath crested helm the soft eyes glow,
And rosy lip and cheek takes place
Of manhood's bronzed and bearded face!
Dumb with amazement stood he now,
His clasped hands pressed upon his brow—
When, as she dropped the slackened rein
And feebly grasped the steed's loose mane,
He sprung, and caught her fainting form
That drooped, like flowers before the storm,
He bore her where the white cascade
Dashed down the dark and lonely glade
And shook the cool drops o'er her face,
Till life resumed its wonted place.
The light again beamed from her eye
Like the first star of evening's sky
And glowed o'er lip and cheek, the hue
Of spring's first rose, when gemm'd with dew.
Thank Heaven thou liv'st! Now gently rest
Thy weary head upon my breast
And tell me wherefore thou art here?
Why in this guise thou dost appear?
'Tis like a dream—it cannot be
I see the Campeador in thee!”
His clasped hands pressed upon his brow—
43
And feebly grasped the steed's loose mane,
He sprung, and caught her fainting form
That drooped, like flowers before the storm,
He bore her where the white cascade
Dashed down the dark and lonely glade
And shook the cool drops o'er her face,
Till life resumed its wonted place.
The light again beamed from her eye
Like the first star of evening's sky
And glowed o'er lip and cheek, the hue
Of spring's first rose, when gemm'd with dew.
Thank Heaven thou liv'st! Now gently rest
Thy weary head upon my breast
And tell me wherefore thou art here?
Why in this guise thou dost appear?
'Tis like a dream—it cannot be
I see the Campeador in thee!”
She feebly raised at length her head
And in a faint, low whisper said—
“My reeling sense and wilder'd brain
Scarce gives me power to think again.
The more than woman's strength I felt
Like winter's snowy wreaths doth melt—
The power that nerved my shrinking soul
No more may bear its wild control.
But wherefore here? I saw thee fall
Where death and darkness circled all!
How cam'st thou from the mingled slain
That strewed the gory battle-plain?”
“The Moslem's blow of force intense,
But stunned awhile my soul and sense;
The trumpet called, from sleep like death,
To life and love, my spirit's breath.
Haste! haste! thy tale!”
And in a faint, low whisper said—
“My reeling sense and wilder'd brain
Scarce gives me power to think again.
The more than woman's strength I felt
Like winter's snowy wreaths doth melt—
The power that nerved my shrinking soul
No more may bear its wild control.
But wherefore here? I saw thee fall
Where death and darkness circled all!
How cam'st thou from the mingled slain
That strewed the gory battle-plain?”
44
But stunned awhile my soul and sense;
The trumpet called, from sleep like death,
To life and love, my spirit's breath.
Haste! haste! thy tale!”
“When from my sight
Thou hadst departed, that blest night,
A something whispered to my brain,
Even I might save the hills of Spain!
So when my sire had left his halls
And took the banners from the walls—
When shouts along the far hill rose,
The gathering cry of Castile's foes—
I sought the chapel, where of old
Was placed, in massive urn of gold,
The armor of the Campeador,
Whose breast might never wear it more!
I took his lance and cross of pride,
And on this snowy war-steed hied
O'er crags where nought but deer had stood,
Toward the scene of strife and blood.
Thou hadst departed, that blest night,
A something whispered to my brain,
Even I might save the hills of Spain!
So when my sire had left his halls
And took the banners from the walls—
When shouts along the far hill rose,
The gathering cry of Castile's foes—
I sought the chapel, where of old
Was placed, in massive urn of gold,
The armor of the Campeador,
Whose breast might never wear it more!
I took his lance and cross of pride,
And on this snowy war-steed hied
O'er crags where nought but deer had stood,
Toward the scene of strife and blood.
“I felt not fear—a mystic power
Gave more than earthly strength my soul;
I thought upon that parting hour,
And spurred my wild barb to the goal.
'Twas as if he whose arms I bore
Still blessed the hills he loved of yore,
And transfused through my woman frame
His proud soul's high, unconquered flame!
Down through the pass—I recked not how,
I hurried from the mountain's brow.
I saw the rush of the hosts below—
And heard the cry of the rushing foe;
And with vizor closed and lance in rest
And the Cid's white cross upon my breast,
Through the flying Christian band I passed
And saved the shrines of Spain at last!
But the lofty strength of my soul gave way
'Neath the bloody terrors of the fray;
The path of my steed was through streams of gore—
On the breasts of the ghastly dead he bore,
And the heavy sound of his iron hoof
Was like a voice of stern reproof.
Then I saw the fear of the coward foe
And turned from the fight—but none may know
That the phantom Cid and his spectral steed
Was a weak, yet loving woman's deed—
That the spirit which every fear could move,
Was strengthened and steeled by the might of Love!”
Gave more than earthly strength my soul;
I thought upon that parting hour,
And spurred my wild barb to the goal.
'Twas as if he whose arms I bore
Still blessed the hills he loved of yore,
And transfused through my woman frame
His proud soul's high, unconquered flame!
45
I hurried from the mountain's brow.
I saw the rush of the hosts below—
And heard the cry of the rushing foe;
And with vizor closed and lance in rest
And the Cid's white cross upon my breast,
Through the flying Christian band I passed
And saved the shrines of Spain at last!
But the lofty strength of my soul gave way
'Neath the bloody terrors of the fray;
The path of my steed was through streams of gore—
On the breasts of the ghastly dead he bore,
And the heavy sound of his iron hoof
Was like a voice of stern reproof.
Then I saw the fear of the coward foe
And turned from the fight—but none may know
That the phantom Cid and his spectral steed
Was a weak, yet loving woman's deed—
That the spirit which every fear could move,
Was strengthened and steeled by the might of Love!”
“Oh! worthy to be a warrior's bride!
Thou now art doubly dear to me,
And thy cheek shall glow with a brighter pride,
At the joyous tale I bear to thee!
But let us hence! thy sire doth miss
Thy sunny smile and welcome kiss;
The guests within the festive hall,
Wait till in dance thy footsteps fall,
And Castile's monarch, throned in pride,
Hath come to bless thy Alvar's bride!”
Thou now art doubly dear to me,
And thy cheek shall glow with a brighter pride,
At the joyous tale I bear to thee!
But let us hence! thy sire doth miss
Thy sunny smile and welcome kiss;
The guests within the festive hall,
Wait till in dance thy footsteps fall,
46
Hath come to bless thy Alvar's bride!”
Amid De Valdi's glittering throng
The hours went by on wings of song;
Hands that had borne War's crimson stain,
Now pour the gleaming wine again,
And myrtles crown the brow, instead
Of the battered helm, with its blood-rust red.
The crested banners rose and fell
With the wild war-music's glorious swell,
And gems that flash on Beauty's brow
Are brighter far than the torches now!
Then the king called forth his minstrel boy—
“Come, sing me a song of love and joy!”
De Valdi stood by the monarch's side
And gazed with joy on the blushing bride,
While Alvar's bliss was raised yet higher
As the minstrel woke his sounding lyre:
The hours went by on wings of song;
Hands that had borne War's crimson stain,
Now pour the gleaming wine again,
And myrtles crown the brow, instead
Of the battered helm, with its blood-rust red.
The crested banners rose and fell
With the wild war-music's glorious swell,
And gems that flash on Beauty's brow
Are brighter far than the torches now!
Then the king called forth his minstrel boy—
“Come, sing me a song of love and joy!”
De Valdi stood by the monarch's side
And gazed with joy on the blushing bride,
While Alvar's bliss was raised yet higher
As the minstrel woke his sounding lyre:
“Joy for the fair young bride!
The battle's rage is o'er,
And the Hero of the rescued land
Shall leave her side no more!
He comes, with glory crowned,
From the red fight afar;
Like the conqueror of olden time
In his triumphal car.
The battle's rage is o'er,
And the Hero of the rescued land
Shall leave her side no more!
He comes, with glory crowned,
From the red fight afar;
Like the conqueror of olden time
In his triumphal car.
47
“Heaven bless their bridal day!
The brightest stars shall shine;
Love, Valour, Beauty, deathless Fame,
A glorious wreath shall twine!
The eagle of the hills
And the gentle dove shall mate,
For the strong right arm and caring heart
Have conquered Pride and Fate!
The brightest stars shall shine;
Love, Valour, Beauty, deathless Fame,
A glorious wreath shall twine!
The eagle of the hills
And the gentle dove shall mate,
For the strong right arm and caring heart
Have conquered Pride and Fate!
“Yet louder swell the lay!
Join in the joyous peal,
Till the arching aisles give back the sound
Of the warrior's ringing steel.
Let every chord we strike
Give out a happy tone!
Grief should not mar the warrior's mirth—
Wail for the dead alone!
Join in the joyous peal,
Till the arching aisles give back the sound
Of the warrior's ringing steel.
Let every chord we strike
Give out a happy tone!
Grief should not mar the warrior's mirth—
Wail for the dead alone!
“Fill up the festal cup!
And drink to the dauntless knight
Whose bright sword gleamed, like a brand of fire,
Through the darkness of the fight!
Fill to the maiden fair,
By her hero-lover's side;
Beauty with Valour should e'er be wed—
Joy for the fair young bride!”
And drink to the dauntless knight
Whose bright sword gleamed, like a brand of fire,
Through the darkness of the fight!
Fill to the maiden fair,
By her hero-lover's side;
Beauty with Valour should e'er be wed—
Joy for the fair young bride!”
48
The lay is o'er. The spirit of the past
That bade me wake the strains of other days,
Has died upon the lyre—it is the last!
Its fitful breath bid for a moment raise
Long-buried forms—themes of romantic lays,
Whose Memory lingers still around that shore,
Like some dim light that on a ruin plays
And calls to mind the splendor that is o'er—
The only relic left of long-forgotten lore.
That bade me wake the strains of other days,
Has died upon the lyre—it is the last!
Its fitful breath bid for a moment raise
Long-buried forms—themes of romantic lays,
Whose Memory lingers still around that shore,
Like some dim light that on a ruin plays
And calls to mind the splendor that is o'er—
The only relic left of long-forgotten lore.
If from the wreck and ruin of that age
Some noble deed the bard may haply find,
To glow a moment on his humble page
And bid the world-benumbed and weary mind
Awhile forget the cares its path that bind,
Not vainly has he written. He doth dwell
'Mid scenes so long to silent gloom consigned,
To breathe a fleeting strain—to wake the knell
Of former fame. Lone, shattered, tuneless lyre, Farewell!
Some noble deed the bard may haply find,
To glow a moment on his humble page
And bid the world-benumbed and weary mind
Awhile forget the cares its path that bind,
Not vainly has he written. He doth dwell
'Mid scenes so long to silent gloom consigned,
To breathe a fleeting strain—to wake the knell
Of former fame. Lone, shattered, tuneless lyre, Farewell!
| Ximena ; or the battle of the Sierra Morena, and other poems | |