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Harper's New Monthly Magazine, No. XXIII.—April, 1852.—Vol. IV.
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Год написания книги
2017
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Encamped in proud array,
And flushed with many a victory,
The Spanish army lay.
Of all Grenada's fortresses
But one defies their might:
On Alphuara's minarets
The crescent still is bright.
Almanzor! King Almanzor!
All vainly you resist:
Your little band is fading fast
Away like morning mist.
A direr foe than ever yet
They met on battle-plain
Assaults life's inmost citadel,
And heaps the ground with slain.
One onset more of Spanish ranks —
(And soon it will be made!)
And Alphuara's towers must reel,
And in the dust be laid.
"And shall the haughty infidel
Pollute this sacred land?"
Almanzor said, as mournfully
He marked his dwindling band.
"Upon our glorious crescent
Shall the Spaniard set his heel?
And is there not one lingering hope?
Can Heaven no aid reveal?
Ay, by our holy Prophet,
One ally still remains!
And I will bind him close to me, —
For better death than chains!"
The victors at the banquet sat,
And music lent its cheer,
When suddenly a sentry's voice
Announced a stranger near.
From Alphuara had he come.
With fierce, unwonted speed,
And much would it import to Spain
The news he bore to heed.
"Admit him!" cry the revelers;
And in the pilgrim strode,
And throwing off his mantle loose,
A Moorish habit showed!
"Almanzor! King Almanzor!"
They cried with one acclaim:
"Almanzor!" said the Moslem chief —
"Almanzor is my name.
"To serve your prophet and your king,
Oh, Spaniards! I am here;
Believe, reject me, if you will —
This breast has outlived fear!
No longer in his creed or cause
Almanzor can confide;
For all the Powers above, 'tis clear,
Are fighting on your side!"
"Now, welcome, welcome, gallant Moor!"
The Spanish chieftain said;
"Grenada's last intrenchment now
We speedily shall tread.
Approach, embrace; our waning feast
Your coming shall renew;
And in this cup of foaming wine
We'll drink to yours and you."
Right eagerly, to grasp the hands
Outstretched on every side,
Almanzor rushed, and greeted each,
As bridegroom might his bride;
He glued his fevered lips to theirs —
He kissed them on the cheek,
And breathed on each as if his heart
Would all its passion wreak.
But suddenly his limbs relax,
A flush comes o'er his face,
He reels, as with a pressure faint,
He gives a last embrace;
And livid, purple, grows his skin,
And wild his eyeballs roll,
And some great torture seems to heave
The life-roots of his soul.
"Look, Giaours! miscreants in race.
And infidels in creed!
Look on this pale, distorted face,
And tell me what ye read!
These limbs convulsed, these fiery pangs,
These eyeballs hot and blear —
Ha! know ye not what they portend?
The plague – the plague is here!
And it has sealed you for its own!
Ay! every Judas kiss
I gave shall bring to you anon
An agony like this!
All art is vain; your poisoned blood
All leechcraft will defy;
Like me ye shall in anguish writhe —
Like me in torture die!"
And flushed with many a victory,
The Spanish army lay.
Of all Grenada's fortresses
But one defies their might:
On Alphuara's minarets
The crescent still is bright.
Almanzor! King Almanzor!
All vainly you resist:
Your little band is fading fast
Away like morning mist.
A direr foe than ever yet
They met on battle-plain
Assaults life's inmost citadel,
And heaps the ground with slain.
One onset more of Spanish ranks —
(And soon it will be made!)
And Alphuara's towers must reel,
And in the dust be laid.
"And shall the haughty infidel
Pollute this sacred land?"
Almanzor said, as mournfully
He marked his dwindling band.
"Upon our glorious crescent
Shall the Spaniard set his heel?
And is there not one lingering hope?
Can Heaven no aid reveal?
Ay, by our holy Prophet,
One ally still remains!
And I will bind him close to me, —
For better death than chains!"
The victors at the banquet sat,
And music lent its cheer,
When suddenly a sentry's voice
Announced a stranger near.
From Alphuara had he come.
With fierce, unwonted speed,
And much would it import to Spain
The news he bore to heed.
"Admit him!" cry the revelers;
And in the pilgrim strode,
And throwing off his mantle loose,
A Moorish habit showed!
"Almanzor! King Almanzor!"
They cried with one acclaim:
"Almanzor!" said the Moslem chief —
"Almanzor is my name.
"To serve your prophet and your king,
Oh, Spaniards! I am here;
Believe, reject me, if you will —
This breast has outlived fear!
No longer in his creed or cause
Almanzor can confide;
For all the Powers above, 'tis clear,
Are fighting on your side!"
"Now, welcome, welcome, gallant Moor!"
The Spanish chieftain said;
"Grenada's last intrenchment now
We speedily shall tread.
Approach, embrace; our waning feast
Your coming shall renew;
And in this cup of foaming wine
We'll drink to yours and you."
Right eagerly, to grasp the hands
Outstretched on every side,
Almanzor rushed, and greeted each,
As bridegroom might his bride;
He glued his fevered lips to theirs —
He kissed them on the cheek,
And breathed on each as if his heart
Would all its passion wreak.
But suddenly his limbs relax,
A flush comes o'er his face,
He reels, as with a pressure faint,
He gives a last embrace;
And livid, purple, grows his skin,
And wild his eyeballs roll,
And some great torture seems to heave
The life-roots of his soul.
"Look, Giaours! miscreants in race.
And infidels in creed!
Look on this pale, distorted face,
And tell me what ye read!
These limbs convulsed, these fiery pangs,
These eyeballs hot and blear —
Ha! know ye not what they portend?
The plague – the plague is here!
And it has sealed you for its own!
Ay! every Judas kiss
I gave shall bring to you anon
An agony like this!
All art is vain; your poisoned blood
All leechcraft will defy;
Like me ye shall in anguish writhe —
Like me in torture die!"
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Последний отзыв
Так получилось, что книга ко мне попала в тяжелый эмоциональный кризис и многое мне дала. Написано актуально, тут многих полезных вещей, никакого злоу...
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