TALES AND HISTORIC SCENES. THE ABENCERRAGE. [The events with which the following tale is interwoven are related in the Historia de las Guerras Civiles de Granada. They occurred in the reign of Abo Abdeli, or Abdali, the last Moorish king of that city, called by the Spaniards El Rey Chico. The conquest of Granada, by Ferdinand and Isabella, is said by some historians to have been greatly facilitated by the Abencerrages, whose defection was the result of the repeated injuries they had received from the king, at the instigation of the Zegris. One of the most beautiful halls of the Alhambra is pointed out as the scene where so many of the former celebrated tribe were massacred; and it still retains their name, being called the "Sala de los Abencerrages." Many of the most interesting old Spanish ballads relate to the events of this chivalrous and romantic period.] "Le Maure ne se venge pas parce que sa colere dure encore, mais parce que la vengeance seul peut ecarter de sa tete le poids d'infamie dont il est accable.-Il se venge, parce qu'a ses yeux il n'y a qu'une ame basse qui puisse pardonner les affronts; et il nourrit sa rancune, parce que s'il la sentoit s'eteindre, il croiroit avec elle avoir perdu une vertu." SISMONDI. LONELY and still are now thy marble halls, Thou fair Alhambra ! there the feast is o'er; And with the murmur of thy fountain-falls Blend the wild tones of minstrelsy no more. Hush'd are the voices that in years gone by Have mourn'd, exulted, menaced, through thy towers; Within thy pillar'd courts the grass waves high, And all uncultured bloom thy fairy bowers. Unheeded there the flowering myrtle blows, Through tall arcades unmark'd the sunbeam smiles, And many a tint of soften'd brilliance throws And well might Fancy deem thy fabrics lone, For there no footstep treads th' enchanted ground, There not a sound the deep repose pervades, Save winds and founts, diffusing freshness round, Throughthe light domes and graceful colonnades. Far other tones have swell'd those courts along In days romance yet fondly loves to trace The clash of arms, the voice of choral song, The revels, combats of a vanish'd race. And yet awhile, at Fancy's potent call, Shall rise that race, the chivalrous, the bold; Peopling once more each fair forsaken hall With stately forms, the knights and chiefs of old -The sun declines: upon Nevada's height There dwells a mellow flush of rosy light; Each soaring pinnacle of mountain snow Smiles in the richness of that parting glow, And Darro's wave reflects each passing dye That melts and mingles in th' empurpled sky. Fragrance, exhaled from rose and citron bower, Blends with the dewy freshness of the hour; Hush'd are the winds, and nature seems to sleep In light and stillness; wood, and tower, and steep, Are dyed with tints of glory, only given To the rich evening of a southern heavenTints of the sun, whose bright farewell is fraught With all that art hath dreamt, but never caught. -Yes, Nature sleeps; but not with her at rest The fiery passions of the human breast. [sound, Hark! from th' Alhambra's towers what stormy Each moment deepening, wildly swells around? Those are no tumults of a festal throng, Not the light zambra1 nor the choral song: The combat rages-'tis the shout of war, 'Tis the loud clash of shield and scimitar. Within the Hall of Lions,2 where the rays Of eve, yet lingering, on the fountain blaze; There, girt and guarded by his Zegri bands, And stern in wrath, the Moorish monarch stands : There the strife centres-swords around him wave, There bleed the fallen, there contend the brave; While echoing domes return the battle-cry, "Revenge and freedom! let the tyrant die!" And onward rushing, and prevailing still, Court, hall, and tower the fierce avengers fill. But first and bravest of that gallant train, Where foes are mightiest, charging ne'er in vain; 1 Zambra, a Moorish dance. 2 The Hall of Lions was the principal one of the Alhambra, and was so called from twelve sculptured lions which supported an alabaster basin in the centre. They perish'd-not as heroes should have died, On the red field, in victory's hour of pride, In all the glow and sunshine of their fame, And proudly smiling as the death-pang came : Oh! had they thus expired, a warrior's tear Had flow'd, almost in triumph, o'er their bier. For thus alone the brave should weep for those Who brightly pass in glory to repose. -Not such their fate: a tyrant's stern command Doom'd them to fall by some ignoble hand, As, with the flower of all their high-born race, Summon'd Abdallah's royal feast to grace, Fearless in heart, no dream of danger nigh, They sought the banquet's gilded hall—to die. Betray'd, unarm'd, they fell—the fountain wave Flow'd crimson with the life-blood of the brave, Till far the fearful tidings of their fate Through the wide city rang from gate to gate, And of that lineage each surviving son [won. Rush'd to the scene where vengeance might be Till the moon rises with her cloudless ray, Where lurks Abdallah?-midst his yielding train They seek the guilty monarch, but in vain. He lies not number'd with the valiant dead, His champions round him have not vainly bled; But when the twilight spread her shadowy veil, And his last warriors found each effort fail, In wild despair he fled-a trusted few, Kindred in crime, are still in danger true; And o'er the scene of many a martial deed, The Vega's green expanse, his flying footsteps lead. He pass'd th' Alhambra's calm and lovely bowers, Where slept the glistening leaves and folded flowers In dew and starlight-there, from grot and cave, Gush'd in wild music many a sparkling wave; There on each breeze the breath of fragrance rose, And all was freshness, beauty, and repose. But thou, dark monarch! in thy bosom reign Storms that, once roused, shall never sleep again. Oh! vainly bright is nature in the course Of him who flies from terror or remorse! A spell is round him which obscures her bloom, And dims her skies with shadows of the tomb; There smiles no Paradise on earth so fair But guilt will raise avenging phantoms there. Abdallah heeds not, though the light gale roves Fraught with rich odour, stolen from orangegroves; [rise, Hears not the sounds from wood and brook that Wild notes of nature's vesper-melodies; Marks not how lovely, on the mountain's head, Moonlight and snow their mingling lustre spread; But urges onward, till his weary band, Worn with their toil, a moment's pause demand. He stops, and turning, on Granada's fanes In silence gazing, fix'd awhile remains In stern, deep silence: o'er his feverish brow, And burning cheek, pure breezes freshly blow, But waft in fitful murmurs, from afar, Sounds indistinctly fearful-as of war. What meteor bursts with sudden blaze on high, O'er the blue clearness of the starry sky? Awful it rises, like some Genie-form, Seen midst the redness of the desert storm, Magnificently dread-above, below, Spreads the wild splendour of its deepening glow. 2 The Vega, the plain surrounding Granada, the scene of frequent actions between the Moors and Christians. 3 An extreme redness in the sky is the presage of the Simoom.-See BRUCE's Travels. Lo! from the Alhambra's towers the vivid glare Oh Heaven! the anguish of Abdallah's soul, The rage, though fruitless, yet beyond control ! Yet must he cease to gaze, and raving fly For life such life as makes it bliss to die! On yon green height, the mosque, but half reveal'd Through cypress-groves, a safe retreat may yield. Thither his steps are bent-yet oft he turns, Watching that fearful beacon as it burns. But paler grow the sinking flames at last, Flickering they fade, their crimson light is past; And spiry vapours, rising o'er the scene, Mark where the terrors of their wrath have been. And now his feet have reach'd that lonely pile, Where grief and terror may repose awhile; Embower'd it stands, midst wood and cliff on high, Through the gray rocks a torrent sparkling nigh: He hails the scene where every care should cease, And all-except the heart he brings-is peace. There is deep stillness in those halls of state Where the loud cries of conflict rang so late; Stillness like that, when fierce the Kamsin's blast Hath o'er the dwellings of the desert pass'd.1 Fearful the calm-nor voice, nor step, nor breath Disturbs that scene of beauty and of death: Those vaulted roofs re-echo not a sound, Save the wild gush of waters-murmuring round 1 of the Kamsin, a hot south wind, common in Egypt, we have the following account in Volney's Travels :-" These winds are known in Egypt by the general name of the winds of fifty days, because they prevail more frequently in the fifty days preceding and following the equinox. They are mentioned by travellers under the name of the poisonous winds or hot winds of the desert: their heat is so excessive, that it is difficult to form any idea of its violence without having experienced it. When they begin to blow, the sky, at other times so clear in this climate, becomes dark and heavy; the sun loses his splendour, and appears of a violet colour; the air is not cloudy, but gray and thick, and is filled with a subthe dust, which penetrates every where: respiration becomes short and difficult, the skin parched and dry, the lungs are contracted and painful, and the body consumed with internal heat. In vain is coolness sought for; marble, iron, water, though the sun no longer appears, are hot: the streets are deserted, and a dead silence pervades every where. The natives of towns and villages shut themselves up in their houses, and those of the desert in tents, or holes dug in the earth, where they wait the termination of this heat, which generally lasts three days. Woe to the traveller whom it surprises remote from shelter: he must suffer all its dreadful effects, which are sometimes mortal." In ceaseless melodies of plaintive tone, But slowly fade the stars-the night is o'erMorn beams on those who hail her light no more; Slumberers who ne'er shall wake on earth again, Mourners, who call the loved, the lost, in vain. Yet smiles the day-oh! not for mortal tear Doth nature deviate from her calm career : Nor is the earth less laughing or less fair, Though breaking hearts her gladness may not share. O'er the cold urn the beam of summer glows, O'er fields of blood the zephyr freshly blows; Bright shines the sun, though all be dark below, And skies arch cloudless o'er a world of woe; And flowers renew'd in spring's green pathway bloom, Alike to grace the banquet and the tomb. Within Granada's walls the funeral rite Attends that day of loveliness and light; And many a chief, with dirges and with tears, Is gather'd to the brave of other years: And Hamet, as beneath the cypress shade His martyr'd brother and his sire are laid, Feels every deep resolve and burning thought Of ampler vengeance e'en to passion wrought; Yet is the hour afar-and he must brood O'er those dark dreams awhile in solitude. Tumult and rage are hush'd-another day In still solemnity hath pass'd away, In that deep slumber of exhausted wrath, The calm that follows in the tempest's path. And now Abdallah leaves yon peaceful fane, His ravaged city traversing again. No sound of gladness his approach precedes, No splendid pageant the procession leads; Where'er he moves the silent streets along, Broods a stern quiet o'er the sullen throng. No voice is heard; but in each alter'd eye, No more the clarion from Granada's walls, Wildly their chargers range the pastures o'er- Soft, fresh, and silent is the midnight hour, And the young Zayda seeks her lonely bower; That Zegri maid, within whose gentle mind One name is deeply, secretly enshrined. That name in vain stern reason would efface: Hamet! 'tis thine, thou foe to all her race! And yet not hers in bitterness to prove The sleepless pangs of unrequited love Pangs which the rose of wasted youth consume, A step treads lightly through the citron-shade, Lightly, but by the rustling leaves betray'dDoth her young hero seek that well-known spot, Scene of past hours that ne'er may be forgot? "Tis he-but changed that eye, whose glance of fire Could like a sunbeam hope and joy inspire, As, luminous with youth, with ardour fraught, It spoke of glory to the inmost thought: Thence the bright spirit's eloquence hath fled, And in its wild expression may be read Stern thoughts and fierce resolves-now veil'd in And now in characters of fire portray'd. Changed e'en his voice-as thus its mournful tone Wakes in her heart each feeling of his own. [shade, "Zayda! my doom is fix'd-another day In me the glories of my race must end— "Ask not if such my love! Oh! trust the mind When doom'd to weep in loneliness, 'twill be "But thou, my Hamet! thou canst yet bestow All that of joy my blighted lot can know. Oh! be thou still the high-soul'd and the brave, To whom my first and fondest vows I gave ; In thy proud fame's untarnish'd beauty still The lofty visions of my youth fulfil. So shall it soothe me, midst my heart's despair, To hold undimm'd one glorious image there!" "Zayda, my best-beloved! my words too well, Too soon, thy bright illusions must dispel; Yet must my soul to thee unveil'd be shown, And all its dreams and all its passions known. Thou shalt not be deceived-for pure as heaven Is thy young love, in faith and fervour given. I said my heart was changed-and would thy thought Explore the ruin by thy kindred wrought, In fancy trace the land whose towers and fanes, Crush'd by the earthquake, strew its ravaged plains; And such that heart where desolation's hand The smiling stillness of life's morning hour, In the rich foliage of the South array'd, As, in his native vale, some shepherd's tomb. |