Some Poems

It seemed as if Don Roderick knew the call,
For the bold blood was blanching in his cheek. -
Then answered kettle-drum and attabal,
Gong-peal and cymbal-clank the ear appal,
The Tecbir war-cry, and the Lelie’s yell,
Ring wildly dissonant along the hall.
Needs not to Roderick their dread import tell -
“The Moor!” he cried, “the Moor! – ring out the Tocsin bell!

XX

“They come! they come!  I see the groaning lands
White with the turbans of each Arab horde;
Swart Zaarah joins her misbelieving bands,
Alla and Mahomet their battle-word,
The choice they yield, the Koran or the Sword -
See how the Christians rush to arms amain! -
In yonder shout the voice of conflict roared,
The shadowy hosts are closing on the plain -
Now, God and Saint Iago strike, for the good cause of Spain!

XXI

“By Heaven, the Moors prevail! the Christians yield!
Their coward leader gives for flight the sign!
The sceptred craven mounts to quit the field -
Is not yon steed Orelio? – Yes, ’tis mine!
But never was she turned from battle-line:
Lo! where the recreant spurs o’er stock and stone! -
Curses pursue the slave, and wrath divine!
Rivers ingulph him!” – ”Hush,” in shuddering tone,
The Prelate said; “rash Prince, yon visioned form’s thine own.”

XXII

Just then, a torrent crossed the flier’s course;
The dangerous ford the Kingly Likeness tried;
But the deep eddies whelmed both man and horse,
Swept like benighted peasant down the tide;
And the proud Moslemah spread far and wide,
As numerous as their native locust band;
Berber and Ismael’s sons the spoils divide,
With naked scimitars mete out the land,
And for the bondsmen base the free-born natives brand.

XXIII

Then rose the grated Harem, to enclose
The loveliest maidens of the Christian line;
Then, menials, to their misbelieving foes,
Castile’s young nobles held forbidden wine;
Then, too, the holy Cross, salvation’s sign,
By impious hands was from the altar thrown,
And the deep aisles of the polluted shrine
Echoed, for holy hymn and organ-tone,
The Santon’s frantic dance, the Fakir’s gibbering moan.

XXIV

How fares Don Roderick? – E’en as one who spies
Flames dart their glare o’er midnight’s sable woof,
And hears around his children’s piercing cries,
And sees the pale assistants stand aloof;
While cruel Conscience brings him bitter proof,
His folly, or his crime, have caused his grief;
And while above him nods the crumbling roof,
He curses earth and Heaven – himself in chief -
Desperate of earthly aid, despairing Heaven’s relief!

XXV

That scythe-armed Giant turned his fatal glass
And twilight on the landscape closed her wings;
Far to Asturian hills the war-sounds pass,
And in their stead rebeck or timbrel rings;
And to the sound the bell-decked dancer springs,
Bazars resound as when their marts are met,
In tourney light the Moor his jerrid flings,
And on the land as evening seemed to set,
The Imaum’s chant was heard from mosque or minaret.

XXVI

So passed that pageant.  Ere another came,
The visionary scene was wrapped in smoke
Whose sulph’rous wreaths were crossed by sheets of flame;
With every flash a bolt explosive broke,
Till Roderick deemed the fiends had burst their yoke,
And waved ’gainst heaven the infernal gonfalone!
For War a new and dreadful language spoke,
Never by ancient warrior heard or known;
Lightning and smoke her breath, and thunder was her tone.

XXVII

From the dim landscape rolled the clouds away -
The Christians have regained their heritage;
Before the Cross has waned the Crescent’s ray,
And many a monastery decks the stage,
And lofty church, and low-browed hermitage.