The Alhambra and Other Poems By F. B. Money-Coutts [i.e. F. B. T. Coutts-Nevill] |
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The Alhambra |
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 | The Alhambra and Other Poems |  |
1
The Alhambra
I
GRANADA
O land of flowers and sapphire skies,
Where seraphs walk in sweet disguise
Of earthly maidens' vesture!
Meseems you keep within your eyes
The first, vast, virginal surprise
Of God's creative gesture!
Where seraphs walk in sweet disguise
Of earthly maidens' vesture!
Meseems you keep within your eyes
The first, vast, virginal surprise
Of God's creative gesture!
The Angel of Art has sealed on thee
His signet and his sign,—
The Alhambra! Like a phantasie,
Half human, half divine!
His signet and his sign,—
The Alhambra! Like a phantasie,
Half human, half divine!
A marble fountain! Ocean shell!
Or flame, that coils and spires!
A perfect thought! As who should tell,
In one, the World's desires!
Or flame, that coils and spires!
A perfect thought! As who should tell,
In one, the World's desires!
Most gorgeous Word of blazoned Art,
In whose eternal scroll
The student who can read a part
Is Master of the whole!
In whose eternal scroll
The student who can read a part
Is Master of the whole!
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II
LINDARAJA
Within this casket was empearled,
As Heaven's own Designate,
A Queen; whose empire o'er the World
No rival dare debate!
As Heaven's own Designate,
A Queen; whose empire o'er the World
No rival dare debate!
But yet her fee of sovereignty
Was not by armies ruled!
Her beauty's sheen, her sovran mien,—
By these men's hearts were schooled!
Was not by armies ruled!
Her beauty's sheen, her sovran mien,—
By these men's hearts were schooled!
Ah, Lindaraja! Men are blind,
Or else beneath thy grace,
'Twere theirs to find the Eternal Mind,
And guess the Eternal Face!
Or else beneath thy grace,
'Twere theirs to find the Eternal Mind,
And guess the Eternal Face!
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III
GENERALIFE
Here, as if cast by pilfering fays,
Are scattered Nature's gems:
Her olivine, her chrysoprase,
Her crowns and diadems!
Are scattered Nature's gems:
Her olivine, her chrysoprase,
Her crowns and diadems!
Scarce held the Garden God first made
And gave the Man to till,
More flowery lawns, more fragrant shade,
Or birds of sweeter bill!
And gave the Man to till,
More flowery lawns, more fragrant shade,
Or birds of sweeter bill!
Here couches Love 'mid fronded fern;
Here maidens, venturing in,
Achieve their liberty to learn
The sacredness of sin!
Here maidens, venturing in,
Achieve their liberty to learn
The sacredness of sin!
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IV
ZAMBRA
Warriors, from the war returning,
Cast aside the sword and lance!
Zambra's myriad lamps are burning!
Zambra woos with song and dance!
Cast aside the sword and lance!
Zambra's myriad lamps are burning!
Zambra woos with song and dance!
Don the saffron robes of pleasure!
Brood no more on bloody fights!
Houris' arms await the pressure,
Lip to lip, of amorous knights!
Brood no more on bloody fights!
Houris' arms await the pressure,
Lip to lip, of amorous knights!
Lo! along the enchanted alley
Shines the vagueness of the moon!
There the Almées dance and dally,
There the lisping lovers croon!
Shines the vagueness of the moon!
There the Almées dance and dally,
There the lisping lovers croon!
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V
EL CERCO
They come, the Christians abhorred,
Drunk with the blood of their Lord!
Who shall deliver Islâm
From the Cross of the red oriflamme?
They pass; and destruction and dearth
Follow, and crushed to the earth
Lies Art! Thou wert chosen to scourge
The pride of a People, to purge
Their splendour, Castille, and o'erthrow
The genius of Joy with the genius of Woe!
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VI
LA SILLA DEL MORO
“Farewell, farewell! Thy doom endears
Thy beauty! . . . . God is just;
Yet must I weep with woman's tears
Thy glory in the dust!
Thy beauty! . . . . God is just;
Yet must I weep with woman's tears
Thy glory in the dust!
“To lose thee is to die! And yet
I cling to life, for fear
In death's confusion I forget
How fair thou art, how dear!”
I cling to life, for fear
In death's confusion I forget
How fair thou art, how dear!”
So mourned Granada's latest King,
Deeming that Art was dead;
But still the flowers our footsteps ring
And still the stars our head!
Deeming that Art was dead;
But still the flowers our footsteps ring
And still the stars our head!
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