The Poetical Works of Thomas Aird Fifth Edition: With a Memoir by the Rev. Jardine Wallace |
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 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Aird |  |
What though the failing arm of Abusade
No longer wields his battle-leading blade;
Yet still he glories in his wars, that still
To flashing victory turn his kingly will.
On Afric's north sea-border, and the coast
Of fronting Europe, gleams his dusky host,
Led by Zemberbo who still quells the bands
Of Portugal, and menaces her lands.
Thus in his palace of illumined halls
The Monarch sits, and for Zenone calls,
To see her flush beside her harp, and hear
Her intermingled song, so soft and clear,
To win his soul throughout the pleasing coil
Of varied thought without the mental toil;
For this the double joy that music gives,
To soothe the soul whilst it intensely lives.
She comes, but sits remote: See the young witch
Lean to her harp! O creature rare and rich!
Dark as the Night, but beautiful as Day,
Beautiful, lustrous dark! Wrath and Dismay
Stormed in the chords, and wailed: to fury rose
The tragic vengeance, thick with stabbing blows.
The King looked up; severe, concentrated,
Seemed coming near the creature's angry head.
Surprised he rose. But from Zemberbo came
A slave, prompt audience for that Chief to claim.
No longer wields his battle-leading blade;
Yet still he glories in his wars, that still
To flashing victory turn his kingly will.
On Afric's north sea-border, and the coast
Of fronting Europe, gleams his dusky host,
Led by Zemberbo who still quells the bands
Of Portugal, and menaces her lands.
Thus in his palace of illumined halls
The Monarch sits, and for Zenone calls,
To see her flush beside her harp, and hear
Her intermingled song, so soft and clear,
To win his soul throughout the pleasing coil
Of varied thought without the mental toil;
For this the double joy that music gives,
To soothe the soul whilst it intensely lives.
She comes, but sits remote: See the young witch
Lean to her harp! O creature rare and rich!
Dark as the Night, but beautiful as Day,
Beautiful, lustrous dark! Wrath and Dismay
Stormed in the chords, and wailed: to fury rose
The tragic vengeance, thick with stabbing blows.
The King looked up; severe, concentrated,
Seemed coming near the creature's angry head.
Surprised he rose. But from Zemberbo came
A slave, prompt audience for that Chief to claim.
Zenone heard, and from the chamber went;
For well she guessed Zemberbo's discontent,
And would not bar it in its wrathful vent.
'Twas she who brought him thus. For when she knew
That Geraldine was striving to undo
Her Captive's fetters, and to this had pressed
The Monarch, not unmoved by the request,
Alarmed she started: what must she do now?
The King may Julian's freedom thus allow;
May still within his Palace let him live;
Nay, Geraldine to be his wife may give,
From Portugal by friendship to regain
What arms and threats of death have sought in vain:
For still the King, so well Zenone still
The matter managed with deceptive skill,
Thought Julian's sire was tried, but would not yield
Shore-ruling Ceuta up, his son from death to shield:
And thus Zenone by her arts had gained,
That still the Captive in her power remained.
But what must she do now? In secret sent,
Her hasty message to Zemberbo went
Of Julian's thrall: and much the King it blamed,
That doubly daring he Zemberbo shamed;
First, that from dungeon chains he did not spare
That Captive, heedless of Zemberbo's prayer
To treat him kindly; next that private terms
He tried for Ceuta, and Zemberbo's arms
Doubting insulted thus. Zenone well
Knew the fierce heart on which her message fell:
He'll come, he'll brave his King, away he'll go
At once a rebel, and at once a foe;
The Captive with him. Geraldine shall ne'er
Where she has failed, the wedding garment wear;
No more shall see her Knight. Zenone's hour
Of vengeance comes, as comes Zemberbo's power,
Rebellious, stern, triumphant. Well shall she
Second his arms: Eased shall her bosom be,
Eased of that King; and all his house she'll whelm,
And all his black and unbaptisèd realm.
For well she guessed Zemberbo's discontent,
And would not bar it in its wrathful vent.
163
That Geraldine was striving to undo
Her Captive's fetters, and to this had pressed
The Monarch, not unmoved by the request,
Alarmed she started: what must she do now?
The King may Julian's freedom thus allow;
May still within his Palace let him live;
Nay, Geraldine to be his wife may give,
From Portugal by friendship to regain
What arms and threats of death have sought in vain:
For still the King, so well Zenone still
The matter managed with deceptive skill,
Thought Julian's sire was tried, but would not yield
Shore-ruling Ceuta up, his son from death to shield:
And thus Zenone by her arts had gained,
That still the Captive in her power remained.
But what must she do now? In secret sent,
Her hasty message to Zemberbo went
Of Julian's thrall: and much the King it blamed,
That doubly daring he Zemberbo shamed;
First, that from dungeon chains he did not spare
That Captive, heedless of Zemberbo's prayer
To treat him kindly; next that private terms
He tried for Ceuta, and Zemberbo's arms
Doubting insulted thus. Zenone well
Knew the fierce heart on which her message fell:
He'll come, he'll brave his King, away he'll go
At once a rebel, and at once a foe;
The Captive with him. Geraldine shall ne'er
Where she has failed, the wedding garment wear;
No more shall see her Knight. Zenone's hour
Of vengeance comes, as comes Zemberbo's power,
Rebellious, stern, triumphant. Well shall she
Second his arms: Eased shall her bosom be,
164
And all his black and unbaptisèd realm.
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Aird | |