Lyrics of the heart With other poems. By Alaric A. Watts. With forty-one engravings on steel |
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THE LAMENT OF BOABDIL EL CHICO;
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 | Lyrics of the heart |  |
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THE LAMENT OF BOABDIL EL CHICO;
ON HIS DEPARTURE FROM THE ALHAMBRA, AFTER THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA BY FERDINAND AND ISABELLA.
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Adieu, proud palace of my sires!
Home of my luckless youth, adieu!
Still lingers on thy glittering spires
The light their earlier grandeur knew;—
The beams of evening gild them yet;
Boabdil's brightest sun has set!
Home of my luckless youth, adieu!
Still lingers on thy glittering spires
The light their earlier grandeur knew;—
The beams of evening gild them yet;
Boabdil's brightest sun has set!
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A death-like silence fills thy halls;
Hushed is the voice of revelry;—
And though on thy emblazoned walls
Some stirring records still I see,—
Their splendour serves but to declare
How bootless those brief triumphs were.
Hushed is the voice of revelry;—
And though on thy emblazoned walls
Some stirring records still I see,—
Their splendour serves but to declare
How bootless those brief triumphs were.
Still winds the silver bright Xenil
Granada's gorgeous bowers among,—
And wander “at their own sweet will”
The Darro's shining waves along;—
Smiling in light as once they smiled
Ere blood their crystal depths defiled.
Granada's gorgeous bowers among,—
And wander “at their own sweet will”
The Darro's shining waves along;—
Smiling in light as once they smiled
Ere blood their crystal depths defiled.
The Court of Lions still is there,
But Musa's step is there no more;
Its fount still gushes on; but where,
Where are the lion hearts of yore?
Broken or scattered, like the spray
Borne from its marble mouths away.
But Musa's step is there no more;
Its fount still gushes on; but where,
Where are the lion hearts of yore?
Broken or scattered, like the spray
Borne from its marble mouths away.
And where are now the youthful train
Here schooled in Honour's knightly deeds!
Who met on yon enamelled plain
To try the festive tilt of reeds?—
Swept from the flowery paths of life,
In wilder war—in sterner strife!
Here schooled in Honour's knightly deeds!
Who met on yon enamelled plain
To try the festive tilt of reeds?—
Swept from the flowery paths of life,
In wilder war—in sterner strife!
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Why did I brave the dream of blood
That prophesied my hapless fate,
Without the courage to be good,
Without ambition to be great;—
And wherefore like a woman weep
O'er what I wanted strength to keep!
That prophesied my hapless fate,
Without the courage to be good,
Without ambition to be great;—
And wherefore like a woman weep
O'er what I wanted strength to keep!
Woe, woe to thee, Granada proud,
Thy star hath sunk to rise no more;
And shouts of triumph long and loud
Proclaim thy day of glory o'er;
Upon La Vela's sun-touched brow
The sign of conquest glitters now!
Thy star hath sunk to rise no more;
And shouts of triumph long and loud
Proclaim thy day of glory o'er;
Upon La Vela's sun-touched brow
The sign of conquest glitters now!
It is the Cross that Christians call
The emblem mild of faith and love;—
Of peace, and pure goodwill to all;—
Of truth, all human truth above;—
Yet hath it ever proved to me
The sign of hate and treachery!
The emblem mild of faith and love;—
Of peace, and pure goodwill to all;—
Of truth, all human truth above;—
Yet hath it ever proved to me
The sign of hate and treachery!
Before our wasted Vegas knew
That symbol red of strife and toil,
Ere nursed by traitor arts it grew
The scourge of our devoted soil;
To me its saving grace did seem
A glorious creed—a godlike dream!
That symbol red of strife and toil,
Ere nursed by traitor arts it grew
The scourge of our devoted soil;
To me its saving grace did seem
A glorious creed—a godlike dream!
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But I have probed the gilded cheat
Of all who 'neath that banner fight,
The crafty friendship, cold deceit,
With which they trusting hearts requite:
We fall;—'tis theirs to strike the blow,
By one dark rebel's sin laid low!
Of all who 'neath that banner fight,
The crafty friendship, cold deceit,
With which they trusting hearts requite:
We fall;—'tis theirs to strike the blow,
By one dark rebel's sin laid low!
My crime it was invoked the wrath
That on my doomèd race descends;
A curse must ever dog my path;
With me the Moor's broad empire ends;
I would my heart's last life-drop drain
To win that birthright back again.
That on my doomèd race descends;
A curse must ever dog my path;
With me the Moor's broad empire ends;
I would my heart's last life-drop drain
To win that birthright back again.
I go to hide my humbled head
In some sequestered haunt of shame;
Some far and foreign land to tread,
That hath not heard Boabdil's name:
Perchance, should Fate such peace deny,
A dark, inglorious death to die!
In some sequestered haunt of shame;
Some far and foreign land to tread,
That hath not heard Boabdil's name:
Perchance, should Fate such peace deny,
A dark, inglorious death to die!
Yet, even to earn a fate like this,
A weightier penance still remains;
The blood-stained, treacherous hand to kiss
That fixed my fate and forged my chains;—
And, howsoe'er my soul rebel,
My conqueror's bloated pomp to swell!
A weightier penance still remains;
The blood-stained, treacherous hand to kiss
That fixed my fate and forged my chains;—
And, howsoe'er my soul rebel,
My conqueror's bloated pomp to swell!
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To bend before his saddle-bow
His kingly clemency to crave;
The scoff, the scorn, the jest, the show
Of every idle, gaping slave;—
And thank his mercy for a son,
Whose throne, realm, birthright,—all are gone!
His kingly clemency to crave;
The scoff, the scorn, the jest, the show
Of every idle, gaping slave;—
And thank his mercy for a son,
Whose throne, realm, birthright,—all are gone!
For what is left? A blunted spear;
A broken sword and dinted shield;
A crown he is not doomed to wear;
A sceptre he may never wield;
A blighted and dishonoured name;
A monarch's pride—a vassal's shame!
A broken sword and dinted shield;
A crown he is not doomed to wear;
A sceptre he may never wield;
A blighted and dishonoured name;
A monarch's pride—a vassal's shame!
Oh, not for this his youth was trained
To sports that best beseem a king;
The foremost still where Beauty reigned
To tilt the reed, or ride the ring;—
And when the mimic strife was o'er,
To nerve his soul for nobler lore!
To sports that best beseem a king;
The foremost still where Beauty reigned
To tilt the reed, or ride the ring;—
And when the mimic strife was o'er,
To nerve his soul for nobler lore!
But what avail the lessons now
His soaring soul so quickly caught;
That swelling heart and haughty brow
Must soon a harder task be taught;—
To bleed in silence, and to hide
Grief's canker-worm 'neath looks of pride.
His soaring soul so quickly caught;
That swelling heart and haughty brow
Must soon a harder task be taught;—
To bleed in silence, and to hide
Grief's canker-worm 'neath looks of pride.
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A smile hath lit Zorayma's eye,
She sees her long-lost son draw near,
And tearless, half forgets to sigh
O'er the dark chance that brings him here;—
She knows, she feels, that come what will,
She is a queen—a mother still!
She sees her long-lost son draw near,
And tearless, half forgets to sigh
O'er the dark chance that brings him here;—
She knows, she feels, that come what will,
She is a queen—a mother still!
Whilst I who have so often burned
To clasp my gallant boy again;
Each gentler thought to anguish turned,
Now meet his dauntless glance with pain:
And filled with dreams of other years,
Can only welcome him with tears!
To clasp my gallant boy again;
Each gentler thought to anguish turned,
Now meet his dauntless glance with pain:
And filled with dreams of other years,
Can only welcome him with tears!
Away, away, wild drops, away!
I must a sterner aspect wear;
I would not to yon slaves betray
The secret of my soul's despair;—
No; let their shouts of triumph ring,
I'll meet them like Granada's King!
I must a sterner aspect wear;
I would not to yon slaves betray
The secret of my soul's despair;—
No; let their shouts of triumph ring,
I'll meet them like Granada's King!
Throw wide the gates, the hundred gates,
That ne'er received a foe before;
For, lo! the conqueror's pageant waits
To tread the halls we tread no more;
Lead on; at length I've burst the spell;
And now, majestic pile, farewell!
That ne'er received a foe before;
For, lo! the conqueror's pageant waits
To tread the halls we tread no more;
Lead on; at length I've burst the spell;
And now, majestic pile, farewell!
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