Calavar; or, The Knight of The Conquest, A Romance of Mexico

But not by the Christian train:
The cross had vail'd to the crescent,
The Moorish shouts rose high, —
'Lelilee! Lelilee!' – but the Christian knight
Sent up a sadder cry.
"My castle lies on Morena's top,
Jucar is far away: —
My lady will rue for her vows untrue
But God be good for aye! —
Young page! thou followest well;
These dog-howls heed not thou." —
'Lelilee! Lelilee!' —
"Get thee hence to my lady now.
Tell her this blood, that pours a flood,
My heart's true faith doth prove —
My corse to earth, my sighs to thee, —
My heart to my lady love!"

2

The page, he knelt at the Christian's side,
And sorely sobb'd he then:
"The faithless love can truer prove
Than hosts of faithful men.
The cross has vail'd to the crescent,
The Moorish shouts are high," —
'Lelilee! Lelilee!' – "but the love untrue
Hath yet another cry.
Thy castle lies on Morena's top,
Jucar is far away;
But dies the bride at her true lord's side, —
Now God be good for aye!
The page that followeth well,
Repeats the unbroken vow" —
'Lelilee! Lelilee!' —
"Oh, look on thy lady now!
For now this blood, that pours a flood,
Doth show her true love's plight. —
My soul to God, my blood to thine —
My life for my dying knight."

"Is that all?" said the cavalier, when Jacinto had warbled out the last line. "There should have been another stanza, to explain what was the cause of separation, as well as how it happened that the lady came to follow the knight, as a servant; neither of which circumstances is very manifest."

"Señor," said Jacinto, "if all the story had been told, it would have made a book. It is clear, that an evil destiny separated the pair, and that love sent the lady after her lord."

"Be thou a conjuror or not," said Don Amador, musingly, "thou hast the knack ever to hit upon subjects, as well in thy songs as in thy stories, which both provoke my curiosity, and revive my melancholy. My castle, as I may say, doth 'lie on Morena's top,' – that is to say, on the ridge of Cuenza; – and Jucar is, indeed, 'far away;' but heaven hath left me no lady-love, either to die with me among the infidels, by whom I am made to bleed, or to lament me at home. An evil destiny (how evil I know not, and yet do I dread, more dark than that which prevails with a jealous heart,) hath separated me from one whom I loved, – and, doubtless, hath separated me for ever." The cavalier sighed deeply, bent his eyes for a moment on the ground, and then raising them, with a solemn look, to the page, said abruptly, "I have come to be persuaded, altogether beyond the contradiction of my reason, that thou hast, somehow, and, perhaps, by magical arts, obtained a knowledge of the history of my past life. If thou knowest aught of the fate of Leila, the lamented maid of Almeria, I adjure thee to reveal thy knowledge, and without delay! Thou shakest thy head. – Wherefore didst thou refuse to finish the story of her who bore her name, and who dwelt in the same city?"

"My lord will be angry with me," said the page, rising in some perturbation, – "I have deceived him!"

"I am sorry to know thou couldst be, in any way, guilty of deceit, though I do readily forgive thee; charging thee, however, at all times, to remember, that any deceitfulness is but a form of mendacity, and therefore as mean and degrading as it is sinful. – In what hast thou deceived me?"

"When I told my lord the story of Leila, and perceived how it disturbed him," said Jacinto, with a faltering voice, "I repented me, and told him a thing that was not true, to appease him. The Leila of whom I spoke, had dwelt in Almeria within a year past; and, perhaps, she was the maid that my lord remembered."

As the page made this confession, Don Amador sprang eagerly to his feet, and, as he seized the speaker's arm, cried, with much agitation, —

"Dost thou tell me the truth? and does she live? God be praised for ever! doth the maiden live?"

"She lived, when my father brought me from Barbary – "

"Heaven be thanked! I will ransom her from the infidels, though I give myself up to captivity as the price!"

"Señor," said the page, sorrowfully, "you forget that you are now a prisoner in another world."

The cavalier smote his breast, crying, "It is true! and the revealment comes too late! – Silly boy!" he continued, reproachfully, "why didst thou delay telling me this, until this time, when it can only add to my griefs? Why didst thou not speak it, at Tlascala, that I might have departed forthwith from the land, to her rescue?"

"My lord would not have deserted his kinsman, Don Gabriel?"

"True again!" exclaimed Don Amador, with a pang. "I could not have left my knight, even at the call of Leila. But now will I go to Don Gabriel, and confessing to him my sorrow, will prevail upon him straightway to depart with me; for here, it must be plain to him, as it is to me, that God is not with us.

"Alas! señor," said the page, "it is not possible that you should go to Don Gabriel, nor that you should ever more leave this heathen land."

"Dost thou confess, then," demanded the novice, "that Abdalla has deceived me, and that I am held to perpetual captivity?"

"Señor," said the boy, clasping his hands, and weeping bitterly, "we shall never more see Spain, nor any land but this. The fate of Don Hernan, and of all his men, is written; they are in a net from which they cannot escape; and we, who are spared, obtain our lives only at the price of expatriation. My father remembered his protector, – my lord is saved; but he shares our exile!"

At this confirmation of his worst suspicions, the countenance of Don Amador darkened with despair and horror.

"And Abdalla, thy father, has plotted this foul, traitorous, and most bloody catastrophe? And he thinks, that, for my life's sake, I will divide with him the dishonour and guilt of my preservation?"

"My lord knows not the wrongs of my father," said Jacinto, mournfully, "or he would not speak of him so harshly."

"Thy father is a most traitor-like and backsliding villain," said Don Amador, "and this baseness in him should entirely cancel in thee the bonds of affection and duty; for thou art not of his nature. Hark thee, then, boy: it is my purpose straightway to depart from this house, and this durance. I desire to save thee from the fate of a pagan's slave. Better will it be for thee, if thou shouldst die with me, in the attempt to reach the palace, (and I swear to thee, I will protect thee to the last moment of my life,) than remain in Tenochtitlan, after thy Christian friends have left it, or after they are slain. It is my hope, and, indeed, my belief, that, when the valiant general, Don Hernan, comes to be persuaded of his true condition, he will, immediately, and at any cost, cut his way out of this most accursed city. In this manner will we escape, and thou shall find, in me, a father who will love thee not less truly, and more in fashion of a Christian, than the apostate Zegri."

"If my lord could but protect my father from the anger of Don Hernan, and prevail upon him to return with my lord!" said Jacinto, eagerly.

"I have already proposed this to him, and, in his fury, he denies me."

"Heaven help us then!" cried Jacinto, "for there is no other hope; and we must dwell with the barbarians!"

"Dost thou think, that I will rest here, when they are murdering Don Gabriel? – Hark thee! what knave has stolen away my sword? – Know, that I will straightway make my escape, and carry thee along with me; for God would not forgive me, did I leave thee abandoned to barbarians, to the eternal loss and perdition of thy soul. I say to thee again, thou shalt accompany me."

"I will remain with my father!" said the boy, stepping back, and assuming some of that dignity and decision, which the neophyte had so lately witnessed in Abdalla; "and so will my lord, likewise; for my lord has given him a pledge, which he cannot forfeit."

"Miserable wretch that I am!" said the cavalier; – "in either case, I am overwhelmed with dishonour. My gage was sinful, and the infraction of it will be shame. Bring me hither Abdalla; I will revoke my promise to him in person; and, after that, I can depart, without disgrace."

"Thou canst not escape, without shedding blood, at least," said the boy, with a pale and yet determined countenance, "for, first, thou must slay my father, who saved thee from the death of sacrifice. If thou goest, in his absence, then must my lord strike down the son; – for with what strength I have, I will prevent him!"

The amazement with which the warlike cavalier heard these words, and beheld the stripling throw himself manfully before the door of the apartment, entirely disconcerted him for a moment. Before he could find words to express his anger, or perhaps derision, the page, with a sudden revulsion of feeling, ran from the door, and flinging himself at his patron's feet, embraced his knees, weeping and exclaiming, with much passion,

"O my dear master! be not incensed with me: for I am but weak and silly, and I have no friends but my father and thee! If thou takest me from my father, then shall he be left childless, to live and to die alone; if thou goest without us, we shall be deserted to perish without a friend; for no one has smiled on us but my lord; and if thou goest while my father is absent, he will curse me, and I will curse myself, – for thou must needs die in the streets!"