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370
THE HONOR OF GUZMAN EL BUENO.
Don Guzman in Tarifa, heard Moorish cymbals sound;
He saw the host advancing fast that compassed him around;
The swarthy lips that cursed him, the red eyes fired with hate,
The voices hoarse that cried on him to open wide the gate.
He saw the host advancing fast that compassed him around;
The swarthy lips that cursed him, the red eyes fired with hate,
The voices hoarse that cried on him to open wide the gate.
He saw the turbaned army with banners floating far,
The green flag of Mahomet, the flag of ruthless war,
He saw the crescent glittering high, the tossing crowds below,
And smote upon his mighty breast, like one in mortal woe.
The green flag of Mahomet, the flag of ruthless war,
He saw the crescent glittering high, the tossing crowds below,
And smote upon his mighty breast, like one in mortal woe.
“Come down, thou boasting Spaniard! come down and meet the Moor!
Yield up Tarifa's fortress, unbar that frowning door!
Look! countless as the sea-sand our angry millions wait,
To raze thy lofty castle, and slay thee at the gate.”
Yield up Tarifa's fortress, unbar that frowning door!
Look! countless as the sea-sand our angry millions wait,
To raze thy lofty castle, and slay thee at the gate.”
371
“I will not yield Tarifa!” His voice rung like a horn,
That challenges the breezes through wild sierras borne.
Above the battlements he rose and showed his stately height,
Tall as a pine-tree on the plain that mocks the tempest's might.
That challenges the breezes through wild sierras borne.
Above the battlements he rose and showed his stately height,
Tall as a pine-tree on the plain that mocks the tempest's might.
“I will not yield Tarifa though all the Moors in Spain
Set on me with their scimitars, as reapers cut the grain:
No Moslem hound shall enter here; no crescent, soon or late,
Float over old Tarifa. I will not yield the gate!”
Set on me with their scimitars, as reapers cut the grain:
No Moslem hound shall enter here; no crescent, soon or late,
Float over old Tarifa. I will not yield the gate!”
“Ha! ha! thou valiant Spaniard; thou'rt scant of courtesy;
Look outward from thy turret, behold yon furious sea!
Its waves are like our mighty host; thy fortress like the sand,
By Allah! we will sweep it clean from off the Spanish land!
Look outward from thy turret, behold yon furious sea!
Its waves are like our mighty host; thy fortress like the sand,
By Allah! we will sweep it clean from off the Spanish land!
Duke Guzman of Medina whom all men called “the Good,”
Looked down upon the dazzling plain, the surging Moorish brood,
“See yonder!” then he called aloud, “old Calpe's awful rock,
Lo! ever since God made the world it bides the ocean's shock.
Looked down upon the dazzling plain, the surging Moorish brood,
“See yonder!” then he called aloud, “old Calpe's awful rock,
Lo! ever since God made the world it bides the ocean's shock.
372
“So standeth here Tarifa in might and majesty:
It laughs to scorn your puny crowds, as Calpe scorns the sea,
God for Castile and Leon! Fling out the cross on high!
I'll hold my tower for all your power; ye hosts of heathenry!”
It laughs to scorn your puny crowds, as Calpe scorns the sea,
God for Castile and Leon! Fling out the cross on high!
I'll hold my tower for all your power; ye hosts of heathenry!”
“Ha!” sneered the Moorish monarch: “we hold him in our grip.
Here, bowmen of the guard, lead out your captive from the ship.
Don Guzman, if the tower withstand, your heart's best blood shall flow.
Look on this fettered stripling! Is that a face you know?”
Here, bowmen of the guard, lead out your captive from the ship.
Don Guzman, if the tower withstand, your heart's best blood shall flow.
Look on this fettered stripling! Is that a face you know?”
As lightning sears the lofty oak so horror seared his brain,
A cloud be-dimmed his vision; Don Guzman looked again;
There stood his son, his fair young son, a hostage to the foe,
Was ever man in such a strait since first the world did grow?
A cloud be-dimmed his vision; Don Guzman looked again;
There stood his son, his fair young son, a hostage to the foe,
Was ever man in such a strait since first the world did grow?
Again fierce Yussuf taunted him. “Come down, or else he dies,
This darling of his mother, this light of Guzman's eyes!
One prick of Moslem dagger, one twang of Moslem bow,
Will mar the beauteous visage and lay those ringlets low!”
This darling of his mother, this light of Guzman's eyes!
One prick of Moslem dagger, one twang of Moslem bow,
Will mar the beauteous visage and lay those ringlets low!”
373
Even as a knight his courser reins, when maddened by the fray
With pawing hoofs, and snortings proud, he fain would tear away;
So Guzman set his sturdy will against his rebel heart.
“And dost thou think that Guzman could play a traitor's part?
With pawing hoofs, and snortings proud, he fain would tear away;
So Guzman set his sturdy will against his rebel heart.
“And dost thou think that Guzman could play a traitor's part?
“I fling thee down my dagger, its blade is bright and keen,
Slay thou my boy before my face, but look the thrust is clean!
I will not yield Tarifa!—not though mine eyes behold
The red blood of mine only son spurt on thy mantle's fold!
Slay thou my boy before my face, but look the thrust is clean!
I will not yield Tarifa!—not though mine eyes behold
The red blood of mine only son spurt on thy mantle's fold!
“Thou heathen king! thou paynim Moor! how can thy false heart know
The honor of Medina is more than joy or woe?
The loyalty of Guzman is mightier than his love,
Farewell my boy! Oh! ease the stroke, ye martyr-saints above!”
The honor of Medina is more than joy or woe?
The loyalty of Guzman is mightier than his love,
Farewell my boy! Oh! ease the stroke, ye martyr-saints above!”
Hark! tis the shout of old Castile. “For God and for Saint James!”
The gonfalon of Leon above the Moslem flames,
Alfonso to the rescue! the battle hath begun!
And all the sand runs red with blood before the day is done.
The gonfalon of Leon above the Moslem flames,
Alfonso to the rescue! the battle hath begun!
And all the sand runs red with blood before the day is done.
374
Two hundred thousand Moslems strew Tarifa's ruddy plain,
But many a goodly Christian lies cold amid the slain;
And Guzman el Bueno hath lost his fair young son,
But the honor of Medina at a priceless ransom won!
But many a goodly Christian lies cold amid the slain;
And Guzman el Bueno hath lost his fair young son,
But the honor of Medina at a priceless ransom won!
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