 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
178
THE BALLAD OF NARVAEZ.
Narvaez, the magnanimous,
Our bitter foeman he,
And yet our Moorish nobles
Applaud his chivalry;
Our poets all recite his deeds,
Our maidens bless his name,
And through our whole Granada
He hath a happy fame;
Though Christian he, and we are Moors,
Our homage he hath won,
For what he did for Yussef,
Our great Alcade's son.
Our bitter foeman he,
And yet our Moorish nobles
Applaud his chivalry;
Our poets all recite his deeds,
Our maidens bless his name,
And through our whole Granada
He hath a happy fame;
Though Christian he, and we are Moors,
Our homage he hath won,
For what he did for Yussef,
Our great Alcade's son.
The Spaniard planned to strike a blow
As fitted warrior stout,
But first, to scour the country,
Sent fifty lances out—
Sent fifty gallant men-at-arms,
Who lance and falchion bore,
Under the brave Don Ramon,
The knight of Peñaflor;
And these returning from their search,
Fruitless for many a mile,
Meet with a Moorish rider
Within a deep defile.
As fitted warrior stout,
But first, to scour the country,
Sent fifty lances out—
Sent fifty gallant men-at-arms,
Who lance and falchion bore,
Under the brave Don Ramon,
The knight of Peñaflor;
And these returning from their search,
Fruitless for many a mile,
Meet with a Moorish rider
Within a deep defile.
He was a gallant cavalier
With mood and bearing high;
But he was one to fifty—
'Twas only yield or die:
A young and handsome cavalier
Who gallantly was dressed
In velvet, trimmed with silver,
And azure satin vest,
Diamonds and rubies on the hilt
Of the falchion at his side—
He looked the gay young bridegroom
Gone forth to meet his bride.
With mood and bearing high;
But he was one to fifty—
'Twas only yield or die:
179
Who gallantly was dressed
In velvet, trimmed with silver,
And azure satin vest,
Diamonds and rubies on the hilt
Of the falchion at his side—
He looked the gay young bridegroom
Gone forth to meet his bride.
They brought him to Narvaez then,
Who asked him his degree.
“My father rules in Ronda,
Alcalde there,” said he;
And then he burst in bitter tears.
Said the Spaniard, “By my beard,
A stranger sight before me
Hath never yet appeared!
Thy father is a warrior stout,
Of fearless port and brow;
His son in tears, and bearded!
What kind of man art thou?”
Who asked him his degree.
“My father rules in Ronda,
Alcalde there,” said he;
And then he burst in bitter tears.
Said the Spaniard, “By my beard,
A stranger sight before me
Hath never yet appeared!
Thy father is a warrior stout,
Of fearless port and brow;
His son in tears, and bearded!
What kind of man art thou?”
“'Tis not,” replied the cavalier,
“That in these bonds I be;
Nor fetters, nor the torture
Could wring these tears from me;
But when your force o'erwhelmed me, I
Was making eager way
To meet my dear Zorayda,
To fix our wedding-day.
She never failed her promise yet,
And now I be not there,
The maid may hold me faithless—
So judge of my despair.”
“That in these bonds I be;
Nor fetters, nor the torture
Could wring these tears from me;
But when your force o'erwhelmed me, I
Was making eager way
To meet my dear Zorayda,
To fix our wedding-day.
She never failed her promise yet,
And now I be not there,
The maid may hold me faithless—
So judge of my despair.”
180
“Nay,” cried Narvaez, “it were shame
A noble cavalier,
Whose word is pledged to woman,
Should meet with hindrance here.
A grace of four-and-twenty hours
I freely give to thee;
Go thou and meet the damsel,
And then return to me.”
And Yussef promised gratefully
Before them every one,
To render him a captive,
Ere sank the morrow's sun.
A noble cavalier,
Whose word is pledged to woman,
Should meet with hindrance here.
A grace of four-and-twenty hours
I freely give to thee;
Go thou and meet the damsel,
And then return to me.”
And Yussef promised gratefully
Before them every one,
To render him a captive,
Ere sank the morrow's sun.
Then Yussef to the trysting-place,
His jaded courser spurred,
And there he told Zorayda
How he had given his word
To thrall to speedily return,
And how he might remain
Through many a weary twelvemonth
To drag a captive's chain;
And from her promise, lest it cloud
Her life, he set her free;
To which replied Zorayda,
“That, Yussef, may not be.
His jaded courser spurred,
And there he told Zorayda
How he had given his word
To thrall to speedily return,
And how he might remain
Through many a weary twelvemonth
To drag a captive's chain;
And from her promise, lest it cloud
Her life, he set her free;
To which replied Zorayda,
“That, Yussef, may not be.
“It is not that thou lovest me less,
My love thou wouldst refuse;
Thou fearest if I follow,
My freedom I shall lose.
Think'st thou I am less generous?
Beside thee let me be;
Where love is, there is freedom;
Where thou art, I am free.
Behold this casket filled with gems;
With these a sum we gain
Enough to pay thy ransom,
Or both as slaves maintain.”
My love thou wouldst refuse;
Thou fearest if I follow,
My freedom I shall lose.
Think'st thou I am less generous?
Beside thee let me be;
Where love is, there is freedom;
Where thou art, I am free.
181
With these a sum we gain
Enough to pay thy ransom,
Or both as slaves maintain.”
Narvaez learned Zorayda's words:—
“Certes it seems,” said he,
“Devoted is this maiden,
This youth all chivalry.
Let me within the casket place
More jewels rich and rare,
To add unto the ornaments
Beseeming one so fair;
Then mount the pair on milk-white steeds
Caparisoned in state,
And, with a noble escort,
Send them to Ronda straight.”
“Certes it seems,” said he,
“Devoted is this maiden,
This youth all chivalry.
Let me within the casket place
More jewels rich and rare,
To add unto the ornaments
Beseeming one so fair;
Then mount the pair on milk-white steeds
Caparisoned in state,
And, with a noble escort,
Send them to Ronda straight.”
Narvaez, the magnanimous,
Our bitter foe is he,
And yet our Moorish nobles
Applaud his courtesy;
Our minstrels sing his nobleness,
Our maidens bless his name,
And rings through wide Granada
His honor and his fame.
Praise to the champion of Castile,
Our homage he hath won,
By what he did for Yussef,
Our great Alcalde's son.
Our bitter foe is he,
And yet our Moorish nobles
Applaud his courtesy;
Our minstrels sing his nobleness,
Our maidens bless his name,
And rings through wide Granada
His honor and his fame.
Praise to the champion of Castile,
Our homage he hath won,
By what he did for Yussef,
Our great Alcalde's son.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |