 | Ximena ; or the battle of the Sierra Morena, and other poems |  |
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.
14
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,
15
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!
| Ximena ; or the battle of the Sierra Morena, and other poems | |