LIBRpJ OF CONGRESS, 
 
 C*IS^ - 
 
 tJNITEB^TATES OF AMEEICA. 
 

EL MUZA 
 
 / 
 
 JOHN UNDERWOOD. 
 
 "b 
 
 nm 3 1883 
 
 CHICAGO: 
 KNIGHT & LEONARD, PRINTERS 
 
 1883. 
 
li ^ 
 
 Copyright, i88-^, 
 By JOHN UNDERWOOD. 
 
The author offers no apology for bringing the 
 following work before the public, and offers no 
 excuse for its imperfections. If it is favorably 
 received he will be flattered. If unfavorably, he 
 will, with a sigh, consign it to its merited ob- 
 livion. J. U. 
 
EL MUZA. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 r 
 Muse of the West, to eastern shores again 
 
 Direct thy flight, and view the distant day, 
 When in the groves or ancient halls of Spain, 
 
 Thy voice was heard with wild or plaintive lay, 
 In warlike strains on old Grenada's towers, 
 
 Or softer notes which floated light and gay. 
 To hail the dawn or cheer the twilight hours. 
 
 Or mountain shepherd's song or convent's ves- 
 per lay. 
 
 'Twas summer, and the sun's fierce rays 
 On old Grenada's turrets blaze, 
 As Don Rinaldo turned his eye 
 Backward its ancient towers to spy. 
 And mark the sun's declining beam 
 Cast lengthening shadows o'er the stream 
 
From some tall monarch of the wood, 
 
 Which proudly on its borders stood ; 
 
 Or see the sparkling Darrow play 
 
 In rippling eddies on its way ; 
 
 Or mark the sun's reflected light 
 
 Blaze from some cottage window bright, 
 
 As slowly passing o'er the plain 
 
 He sought the mountain side to gain, 
 
 And pass its wild and rugged height. 
 
 Ere o'er it closed the shades of night, 
 
 Which now approaching bade him chide 
 
 The tardy movements of his guide. 
 
 " Haste, Pedro, haste, for even now. 
 
 We see the sun declining low 
 
 Behind yon western mountain's brow ; 
 
 Then let us hasten o'er the plain 
 
 Our shelter for the night to gain." 
 
 His guide, a boasting cavalier, 
 
 Who when in safety scoffed at fear. 
 
 Replies, " myself and ancestors 
 
 Have passed through shipwrecks, storms and 
 
 wars. 
 Have climbed Nevada's wildest height. 
 Nor feared the darkest shades of night. 
 
But yonder forest, dense and wide, 
 Which clothes the rugged mountain side, 
 Where lofty cypress boughs entwine 
 Their gloomy foliage with the vine, 
 Where the bright rays of summer sun 
 On the grey rocks has never shone, 
 Amidst the wild, unbroken gloom, 
 A mountain spirit makes his home 
 Within a cavern dark and deep. 
 Reached by a pathway rough and steep; 
 But its dark caves and secret door 
 No brave adventurer dare explore. 
 The mountain shepherd passing near 
 Crosses his brow with reverent fear. 
 Nor dare pursue the straggling fiock 
 Which strays too near the haunted rock; 
 And oft some passing traveler. 
 Borne on the night breeze from afar. 
 Has heard some ancient Moorish song 
 Blend with the harp's strange notes along. 
 Perhaps the ghosts of Jews and Moors, 
 Which Spain subdued in ancient wars, 
 Still hover o'er Nevada's height. 
 And haunt its rocks and caves at night. 
 
Now as these strange and mystic lays 
 
 Forebode some ill in coming days, 
 
 Let us retrace our way again 
 
 To some safe cottage on the plain 
 
 Ere close the gathering shades of night, 
 
 And thus avoid the evil sprite." 
 
 With timid voice thus spoke the guide, 
 
 Then crossed him toward the mountain side. 
 
 But Don Rinaldo sought to cheer 
 
 His timid guide's increasing fear. 
 
 Resolved the forest sprite to brave, 
 
 And boldly seek the haunted cave. 
 
 Perhaps, he thought, some hermit grey 
 
 There pours his melancholy lay. 
 
 Or some lone relict of the Moor 
 
 Still chants his nation's conflicts o'er, 
 
 In sight of old Grenada's towers 
 
 Thus spends the lonely evening hours. 
 
 As sunk the sun low in the West, 
 
 Again the guide Rinaldo pressed 
 
 Near to the cave to lead the way, 
 
 And listen to the hermit's lay. 
 
 Pedro, at first, appeared amazed. 
 
 But as the Don his valor praised. 
 
At length exclaimed, '' a cavalier 
 
 Each mountain danger scorns to fear; 
 
 The Virgin's aid now let us crave, 
 
 And boldly seek the mountain cave." 
 
 A narrow pathway now they take, 
 
 Through forest dense, through vine and brake, 
 
 And soon they leave the level plain 
 
 And pass the bounds where rural swain 
 
 Pauses, then hastens back with fear; 
 
 For here the timid shepherd's ear 
 
 Had caught the strange and mystic sound,* 
 
 And quickly fled the enchanted ground. 
 
 The shades which part the night from day 
 
 Now veiled the earth with curtain grey; 
 
 While every bough, shook by the breeze, 
 
 Cast dancing shadows midst the trees, 
 
 And wildly bursting on the ear 
 
 A harp's weird notes they clearly hear; 
 
 The trembling guide now heard the lay. 
 
 And turned and fled with speed away. 
 
 No threat or call could check his flight, 
 
 He quickly disappeared from sight. 
 
 The night still deepened o'er the wood 
 
 As lost in doubt Rinaldo stood, 
 
10 
 
 Whether to brave the shades of night, 
 
 And seek the famous mountain sprite, 
 
 Or should he leave the mountain side, 
 
 And flee as fled his frightened guide. 
 
 While thus he mused, borne on the breeze 
 
 Which lightly murmured through the trees. 
 
 The harp again with mystic sound 
 
 Awakes the solitude profound. 
 
 And casts a strange and magic spell 
 
 O'er mountain cliff and vine-clad dell. 
 
 Not such a strain as mountain sprite. 
 
 Or robber clan would hail the night ; 
 
 Or fabled fairies in their plays. 
 
 Would choose such melancholy lays. 
 
 He soon dispelled each rising fear. 
 
 And toward the sound approached more near, 
 
 Till, blending with the notes, each word 
 
 And varied tone was clearly heard. 
 
 The voice, though heard in accents low. 
 
 Kept measured time in numbers slow. 
 
 Or blended with a cheerful grace. 
 
 As flowed the harp's more lively lays; 
 
 Whose plaintive strains or deeper thrill 
 
 Spoke proudly of the minstrel's skill, 
 
11 
 
 Who now, as closed the hours of day, 
 Thus played and sang his evening lay. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 The summer sun sinks in the West; 
 And nature hails the hour of rest; 
 Its golden beams no longer play 
 On proud Nevada's summits grey, 
 And from the cypress broad and tall 
 The twilight shadows cease to fall. 
 While wakens with the evening hour 
 The magic spell of fancy's power, 
 Till airy forms through memory fly, 
 Like shadows of the years gone by. 
 The tread of valiant cavalier, 
 In ancient halls again I hear, 
 And gay pavilions teem once more 
 With social mirth or classic lore; 
 But one sad thought removes the spell, 
 Though fancy yet her tale may tell; 
 Each nodding tower and crumbling wall 
 The once proud city's fame recall; 
 The Moorish exile sighs in vain 
 To tread Grenada's halls again, 
 
12 
 
 And for its ancient groves and vines, 
 In distant countries sadly pines; 
 How like the twilight shadows lone, 
 Which linger till the day is gone, 
 And cast a faint but longer shade. 
 As into night they slowly fade. 
 
 The music ceased, the evening shade 
 Hung darkly over cliff and glade, 
 While brightly gleaming from afar. 
 Appeared full many a distant star; 
 The moon's pale crescent dimly shone 
 Above the western mountains lone, 
 But scarce could penetrate the gloom, 
 Which veiled the unknown minstrel's home, 
 Where the dark foliage of the grove 
 And clustered vines bend from above, 
 And almost hide the rocky dell. 
 Which formed the entrance to the cell. 
 
 Rinaldo now, with cautious feet, 
 Entered the hermit's lone retreat, 
 But often paused, as o'er his head 
 With rustling sound the night winds sped, 
 
13 
 
 Until a taper's glimmering rays 
 
 The grotto's inner walls displays — 
 
 A hall so spacious, broad and high, 
 
 That scarcely could Rinaldo's eye 
 
 Distinctly scan amidst the gloom 
 
 The distant outlines of the room, 
 
 Where rocks projecting half concealed. 
 
 And by the taper half revealed. 
 
 Whose shadows by the flickering light 
 
 Seemed moving phantoms of the night. 
 
 While half resolved the place to fly, 
 
 The minstrel's form attracts his eye. 
 
 Seated beside a table rude, 
 
 On which a glimmering taper stood. 
 
 And silent as the rock; a part 
 
 Of which he seemed, by sculptor's art. 
 
 Fixed like a statue in his seat. 
 
 Sole inmate of his lone retreat. 
 
 His brow, deep-marked with age and care, 
 
 Showed scattered locks of silver hair. 
 
 Which seemed to mark with stronger grace 
 
 The tranquil features of his face. 
 
 His harp, which by the taper's ray 
 
 Was clearly seen, before him lay. 
 
14 
 
 Revealing in each fine-wrought part 
 The touches of uncommon art. 
 Rinaldo stood awhile amazed. 
 And on the scene in silence gazed, 
 While legends old of haunted caves, 
 Of spirits seen midst lonely graves, 
 Or tales of midnight demons dire, 
 Who dance around enchanted fire, 
 Or robber bands who often hide 
 Their booty in the mountain side. 
 Ran through his mind, till once again 
 The minstrel woke another strain. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Wake, friendly harp, thy simple lay 
 
 Recalls departed scenes again. 
 Wakens the scenes long passed away. 
 When in my youth so blithe and gay, 
 
 I lightly roamed o'er hill and plain. 
 I sing again the sparkling rill. 
 
 Its murmurs echo to my song; 
 I sing the mountain rock and hill, 
 And blend m)^ notes with breezes shrill. 
 
 Which waft the strains along. 
 
15 
 
 The lofty peak, the nodding tower, 
 
 The hill, the streamlet, and the grove, 
 The vine that climbs my rocky bower. 
 The gentle breeze, the blushing flower, 
 
 The songster's lay of love — 
 All answer to my humble strain, 
 
 As gaily as in gone-by days; 
 But faithful memory sighs in vain, 
 For friends whose voices ne'er again 
 
 Will echo to my lays. 
 
 The minstrel paused and raised his eye, 
 When Don Rinaldo, drawing nigh. 
 Addressed the bard: ''A stranger's feet 
 Unbidden seek your lone retreat; 
 Your pardon grant, and let me crave 
 A welcome entrance to your cave; 
 By wild adventure led this way, 
 I listened to your evening lay. 
 And over rock and vine-clad dell. 
 The secret entrance to your cell. 
 Now be thy form a mountain sprite, 
 Conjured by spirits of the night 
 
16 
 
 Which hover o'er Grenada's towers, 
 
 Or haunt the crags at midnight hours, 
 
 Or relic of the ancient Moor, 
 
 Who sings his nation's conflicts o'er, 
 
 I cheerfully my errand tell. 
 
 Call memory's power or fancy's spell 
 
 To wake your weird and magic lays. 
 
 And tell some tale of ancient days." 
 
 "A welcome guest," the bard replied, 
 
 " Is he who seeks my mountain side 
 
 And finds my quiet, lone retreat, 
 
 But seldom trod by stranger's feet. 
 
 Though once a hiding place secure 
 
 For banished Jew or conquered Moor, 
 
 Who often spent a quiet hour 
 
 Soothed by some ancient minstrel's power. 
 
 But since that time long years have passed. 
 
 And I, of minstrels, am the last 
 
 To strike the harp which oft before. 
 
 Touched by the charm of ancient lore, 
 
 Has poured its notes, in former days. 
 
 In cheerful, mild, or mournful lays. 
 
 In festive halls or convents lone. 
 
 Touched by a minstrel now unknown, 
 
17 
 
 Whose ashes, and whose unmarked mound, 
 No modern traveler has found. 
 My simple lays shall trace his fame 
 With knights of royal rank and name, 
 Whose deeds have been forgotten long, 
 Save in the minstrel's tale or song." 
 
 3 
 
CANTO I. 
 
 The distant past, a dim and fading scene 
 
 Where twilight lingers and yet half reveals 
 Its shadowy forms, while mists that intervene 
 
 Enlarge the pictures which they half conceal. 
 The hills still stand, the rivers onward flow; 
 
 The lofty mountains, as in days gone by, 
 Are still unchanged. These scenes of long ago 
 
 Recall the past and wake the smile or sigh. 
 To view the rustic shepherd with his flock. 
 
 Or see the maiden, by the dancing rill 
 Selecting flowers; or on the dizzy rock 
 
 Observe the hunter as he mounts the hill; 
 Or trace, extended o'er the distant plain. 
 
 The tents of war and lines of glittering steel 
 And banners gay, the insignia of Spain, 
 
 Proud Aragon, and pennants of Castile; 
 Or see the crescent banner on the towers 
 
 Of old Grenada floating o'er the walls; 
 To note the haughty Moslem's fading powers 
 
 Which still their nation's pride and power 
 recalls. 
 
19 
 
 And fancy midst the shadows still can trace 
 
 The warlike chief, arrayed in armor bright. 
 And princely form, the foremost of his race, 
 
 The cavalier, the dark and steel-clad knight. 
 These varied scenes invite the humble muse 
 
 To chant her notes in numbers grave or gay,, 
 Or warlike strains, as she her theme pursues 
 
 Of by-gone days or countries far away. 
 
 minstrel's tale THE FLAG OF TRUCE. 
 
 The sun had passed his noonday hour, 
 And from each battlement and tower 
 
 The lengthening shadows fall; 
 And mimic beacons brightly glowed 
 
 On snow-crowned mountains tall; 
 While on its sloping sides are seen 
 Grey rocks, contrasting with the green 
 Of lofty pines, while, grand and bold. 
 Some lofty peak, with crown of gold, 
 
 Seemed monarch over all. 
 
 From western hills a somber shade 
 Lengthens across the vale and glade. 
 Yet, dancing on its way. 
 
20 
 
 The sparkling Genii still reflects 
 
 The sun's departing ray; 
 While from Grenada's walls and towers, 
 The soldiers mark the passing hours 
 By tracing from the tower or wall, 
 Like giant forms, the shadows tall 
 
 Their ghostly forms display. 
 
 But little relish had the Moor 
 For nature's beauties, while before 
 
 Each massive wall and gate 
 The strong invader's army lay 
 
 In warlike pomp and state. 
 The sun which shed its cheerful beams 
 O'er nature, still as brightly gleams 
 On waving banners, tents and spears. 
 Which to Grenada now appears 
 
 The harbingers of fate. 
 
 The watchful sentinel whose form, 
 Alike in sunshine or in storm. 
 
 Is known by friend and foe. 
 Regards alike the chilling storm 
 
 Or sunshine's cheerful glow. 
 
21 
 
 Now traces, from the camp of Spain, 
 A horseman start with fearless rein. 
 Bearing aloft a flag of white. 
 And emblems of a high-born knight, 
 His princely rank to show. 
 
 Now, from Grenada's guarded walls, 
 A peaceful, answering signal falls, 
 
 While, with a practiced eye. 
 The Moorish chief surveys with care 
 
 The knight now coming nigh, 
 Mounted upon a jet black steed. 
 His stalwart form and reckless speed, 
 El Muza oft had seen before 
 As foremost on the field of war, 
 
 A dreaded enemy. 
 
 The Moorish knight now calmly waits 
 To welcome, at the city gates, 
 
 The Spanish messenger, 
 And greets Melendez, haughty lord. 
 
 With words of formal cheer; 
 Who, with a proud, defiant look. 
 Abruptly to El Muza spoke: 
 
22 
 
 " I ask an audience with your king 
 To whom I now a message bring, 
 Which he should quickly hear. 
 
 "My king's command," El Muza said, 
 "Must be most faithfully obeyed, 
 
 The messenger to guide 
 In safety to the royal court ; 
 
 Nor heed the haughty pride, 
 Which justly merits a return; 
 But as a soldier I must learn 
 To kindly treat each messenger 
 Who bears the flag of truce in war; 
 
 No aid shall be denied." 
 
 "I scorn alike your threats or aid," 
 With angry voice Don Lopez said, 
 
 "Now quickly lead the way; 
 My message to your waiting king 
 
 Admits of no delay." 
 The haughty Don and Moorish guide. 
 Now to the court in silence ride; 
 As two fierce lions, each would fain 
 Break from the bondage of his chain, 
 
 And seize upon his prey. 
 
23 
 
 Four Moorish knights now guard the way, 
 And hold the gathering crowd at bay, 
 
 Who rush with hurried feet 
 To view the Spanish messenger, 
 
 And throng each narrow street; 
 While many a knight and cavalier, 
 Anxious the herald's terms to hear. 
 With hasty footsteps now resort. 
 And gather near the royal court, 
 
 And there in silence wait. 
 
 The palace reached, the haughty Don 
 Asks for an audience alone; 
 
 Boabdil waves his hand; 
 While each proud councillor and chief 
 
 Retire at his command. 
 With many a dark and silent frown, 
 And leave the Don and king alone; 
 While lords and knights impatient wait, 
 And gathered near the palace gate. 
 
 In hasty council stand. 
 
 Hamit, an aged councillor, 
 
 Now breaks the silence of the hour. 
 
24: 
 
 Which gathers like a pall 
 O'er courtiers, lords and councillors, 
 
 Who gather near the hall. 
 "Grenada's strength and power," he sighed, 
 "Departed when King Hassen died. 
 O for a monarch, or a knight, 
 Once more to lead the doubtful fight, 
 
 And save Grenada's fall. 
 
 The Spanish herald's haughty mood 
 And secret message bode no good; 
 
 Let strong and dauntless hands 
 And valiant hearts lead forth our troops, 
 
 And check the invading bands." 
 He ceased to speak, and once again 
 Oppressive silence held her reign; 
 Though many a councillor and lord, 
 And many a knight with plume and sword. 
 
 Amidst the council stands. 
 
 At length El Muza calmly said. 
 As on his sword his hand he laid, 
 
 " My silence is not fear. 
 But older lords and councillors 
 
25 
 
 I first would gladly hear. 
 To-morrow morn the foe shall feel 
 Once more the force of Moorish steel. 
 Although I fear our honored king 
 For gold his power is bartering, 
 
 The purchase shall be dear." 
 
 He then commands each waiting knight 
 To make arrangements for the fight, 
 
 While he again must guard 
 The Spanish herald's safe return 
 
 Beyond each watch and ward. 
 The royal courtiers now amazed 
 In silence on the chieftain gazed; 
 While from the knights the warlike shout, 
 Which echoed now so bravely out, 
 
 Was through the palace heard. 
 
 The king and Spanish messenger 
 Start at the sound with sudden fear, 
 
 And soon their council close. 
 *'This sudden outcry," says the Don, 
 
 " Treason or danger shows." 
 El Muza now is called to guard 
 
26 
 
 Beyond the gates the Spanish lord, 
 Whose haste to mount his waiting steed 
 And great impatience to proceed 
 His sudden fears disclose. 
 
 "What means this fierce and warlike shout 
 Which lately rang so wildly out? 
 
 And why this motley band 
 Which throngs the streets," Don Lopez said, 
 
 "Without your king's command?" 
 The knight replied, "More would you know, 
 Ask of your friend, but not your foe. 
 But since to ask is not to hear. 
 Your errand and your mission here 
 
 I fain would understand." 
 
 The Don resumed his wonted pride, 
 And with contempt he thus replied: 
 
 " Go ask your vassal lord. 
 For soon the knights and lords of Spain 
 
 Will dine around his board 
 Without his leave or guards, and when 
 I choose to tread your halls again. 
 The Moslem shouts which now I hear 
 
27 
 
 Will change to silence, and to fear 
 Of the avenging sword." 
 
 "Let him that puts the armor on 
 Not boast until the held is won," 
 
 The Moorish chief replied. 
 ''Another battle field may cool 
 
 Your haughty pomp and pride. 
 I little fear the boasting knight, 
 When face to face we meet in fight. 
 I check my boasting till the day. 
 When once again in war's array 
 
 Our valor shall be tried." 
 
 The guards now^ passed the portal's close 
 In angry mood. The rival foes 
 
 No longer hold debate. 
 Don Lopez seeks the Spanish camp. 
 
 The Moor the hall of state. 
 The sun had shed his parting ray. 
 And twilight's shadows sad and gray 
 Soon yield to darker shades of night, 
 Save when some lamp with glimmering light 
 
 Reveals some tower or gate. 
 
28 
 
 The sentinels upon the wall 
 Appear like shadows grim and tall 
 
 Against the western sky; 
 And silence reigns through camp and street, 
 
 Yet broken by the sigh 
 Of winds that murmur through the grove, 
 And echo to the sighs of love, 
 As friends and lovers sadly part, 
 And whisper from each sorrowing heart 
 
 Perchance a last good bye. 
 
 Now in the council hall of state 
 Assembled in a close debate 
 
 Are many a lord and knight ; 
 Some counsel that the Moorish king 
 
 Forbid the morrow's fight. 
 The king would grant the terms of peace. 
 Brought by Don Lopez, and would cease 
 The conflict longer to sustain, 
 And to the threat'ning hosts of Spain 
 
 Would yield his kingly might. 
 
 The warlike knights would never yield, 
 Until again the doubtful field 
 
39 
 
 Was lost or bravely won, 
 And with the king's consent declare 
 
 That at the rising sun 
 A signal flag should be displayed, 
 And every chief for war arrayed 
 His band in readiness should hold 
 To sally forth with courage bold 
 
 As woke the signal gun. 
 
 The council closed, the midnight hour 
 O'er nature holds her wonted power. 
 
 And sweet and soft repose 
 Has spread her calm and magic spell 
 
 Alike o'er friends and foes; 
 The soldier in his peaceful dreams 
 Visits his native fields and streams. 
 And with his family once more 
 Relates his past adventures o'er, 
 
 Forgetting all his woes. 
 
 All else is lost to sense and sight. 
 All save the distant campfire's light. 
 
 And still more distant skies, 
 Whose twinkling orbs look calmly down, 
 
30 
 
 With soft and tranquil eyes; 
 No sound save when the sentinel 
 Repeats the watchword "all is well," 
 And the gay stream that dances by 
 Chimes with the fitful winds that sigh, 
 
 Or night birds' notes that rise. 
 
 Rest, weary soldier, soon the day 
 Will chase thy airy dreams away, 
 
 And battle's wild alarms 
 Arouse thee from thy peaceful dreams. 
 
 And break thy slumber's charms; 
 Rest, friends and lovers, soon once more 
 To waken at the sound of war ; 
 Rest, quiet city, soon to hear 
 The notes of terror and of fear. 
 
 And crash of sounding arms. 
 
CANTO II. 
 
 THE BATTLE. 
 
 Full oft has the voice of the fierce god of war 
 Aroused the dull poet and broken his slumbers, 
 Or when the loud battle cry sounds from afar, 
 It wakens the muse to his wild thrilling numbers. 
 What charm has the demon who revels in blood 
 To change the soft notes of affection and love, 
 As changed is the stream when it meets the wild 
 
 flood ? 
 O oft changing muse, though so fickle you prove, 
 Thy aid I invoke, mystic genius of song, 
 To paint the bold warrior in battle array. 
 To picture the field where the mighty and 
 
 strong 
 Fall like the sere leaf in the chill autumn day, 
 Where proud boasting kings are for glory con- 
 tending, 
 Where fierce rushing squadrons for honor are 
 
 vying, 
 Where cries of distress with war's thunders are 
 blending, 
 
32 
 
 And shouts of the victors with groans of the 
 
 dying. 
 O demon of war, let the angel of pity 
 With balm for the wounded abide in thy train, 
 To drop the sad tear o'er the war-ruined city, 
 And breathe the last sigh o'er the graves of the 
 
 slain. 
 
 Above the mountain summits gray, 
 Brightly arose the orb of day. 
 
 And smiled on grove and streams, 
 While proud Grenada's lofty towers 
 
 Reflect its golden beams. 
 On horsemen clad in armor bright, 
 On cavalier armed for the fight, 
 On lines of soldiers in array, 
 On banners decked with crescent gay, 
 
 The morning sunlight gleams. 
 
 While clearly from the tented plain, 
 Where widely spreads the camp of Spain, 
 
 Is heard the signal gun ; 
 While answering peals and banners gay. 
 
 Greeted the morning sun. 
 
33 
 
 Say, does this proud and grand array, 
 Portend some gay and festal day ; 
 Or will war's dark and fearful cloud, 
 Ere night the scene in darkness shroud, 
 So gaily now begun ? 
 
 El Muza from Alhambra's towers; 
 Had marked the slowly passing hours, 
 
 And with impatient ear, 
 Listened to hear the sentinel 
 
 Proclaim the morning near ; 
 And ere the gently opening dawn, 
 Had yet unveiled the grove and lawn, 
 His voice is heard through tower and hall, 
 While ever ready at his call 
 
 Aroused each cavalier. 
 
 A gallant troop of horsemen bold 
 Their trusty steeds in waiting hold, 
 
 Who many a field had won, 
 And ready at their chief's command 
 
 Each danger scorned to shun ; 
 And lines of foot with measured tread. 
 Who oft on well fought fields had bled, 
 5 
 
34 
 
 And turbaned knights, whose cimeters 
 Had gained renown in other wars, 
 Now hailed the morning sun. 
 
 El Muza foremost in command 
 Arranged with care each gathering band, 
 
 And often to the plain 
 Would turn his dark and fearless eye 
 
 To view the hosts of Spain; 
 His stately form and manly height 
 Bespoke at once a gallant knight, 
 And well a stranger's eye might trace 
 That dauntless courage in his face 
 
 No danger could restrain. 
 
 From childhood bred a cavalier. 
 No foe to shun, no danger fear, 
 
 By wild adventure led, 
 Ere war had called him to the field, 
 
 He oft alone had strayed 
 O'er proud Nevada's dizzy heights. 
 But seldom trod by bravest knights; 
 Or, in some distant country lone, 
 Disguised as Spanish knight or don, 
 
 His part he well had played. 
 
35 
 
 But now inured to scenes of war, 
 With restless eye he views afar 
 
 The warlike hosts of Spain, 
 Who, with DeLeon at their head, 
 Had sad dismay and terror spread 
 O'er many a city now enslaved; 
 And wheresoe'er his banner waved 
 
 Resistance seemed in vain. 
 
 He sees o'er lines of glittering steel 
 The banners of the proud Castile, 
 
 And haughty Aragon, 
 Whose polished armor as they moved 
 
 Gleamed in the morning sun. 
 Grenada's walls had long withstood 
 The closest siege, while scenes of blood 
 Had deeply marked each passing day; 
 And still the threatening array 
 
 In bold defiance shone. 
 
 The Moorish troops the onset wait 
 Impatient, near the castle gate. 
 
 Beyond the promised hour. 
 And yet no signal gun is heard 
 
36 
 
 Or banner from the tower; 
 Now murmurs half-suppressed arose, 
 " Boabdil fears his country's foes, 
 Our vacillating king's delay 
 Will place the fortunes of the day 
 
 Within DeLeon's power." 
 
 El Muza with impatience now 
 Turns from the warlike scene below 
 
 Toward the castle gate. 
 " Alas! " he sighs, " this long delay 
 
 Forbodes my country's fate; 
 Cordova, drenched with Moslem blood, 
 The fatal siege had well withstood; 
 But indecision and delay 
 In war ne'er win the doubtful day, 
 
 A lesson learned too late. 
 
 Proud Ferdinand shall feel once more 
 The strength and valor of the Moor, 
 
 Warder, unclose the gate. 
 The signal from our timid king 
 
 We will no longer wait." 
 Each cavalier now mounts his steed 
 
37 
 
 And scarce restrains his onward speed; 
 The gates unclose, whose heavy jar 
 Echoes the boding tramp of war, 
 The mystic voice of fate. 
 
 The morn was past, the noonday sun 
 On castle, tower and landscape shone, 
 
 While gaily in its beams. 
 Full many a banner in the breeze 
 
 With proud defiance streams; 
 While from each wall and palace high, 
 The citizens, with anxious eye, 
 Look down upon the plain below. 
 Where martial ranks to meet the foe 
 
 A gay procession seems. 
 
 The doting father seeks to trace 
 Among the troops his brave son's place. 
 
 By his proud steed of gray; 
 The trembling mother views the scene 
 
 With terror and dismay; 
 The timid maiden, from the height 
 Traces her lover's badge of white, 
 Which hastily upon his arm 
 
38 
 
 She placed at parting, as a charm 
 To guard him in the fray. 
 
 But son and lover soon are lost 
 To view, amidst the charging host 
 
 And clouds of dust that rise, 
 As pressing on to meet the foe 
 
 Each gallant horseman flies; 
 Now loud and high the Moslem shout 
 Rings from the charging squadrons out, 
 While from the Spanish ranks afar 
 The answering signal shout of war 
 
 And cannon's peal replies. 
 
 Now bold DeLeon o'er the plain 
 Leads forth the cavaliers of Spain, 
 But the fierce onset of the Moors 
 
 His troops could scarce withstand; 
 The Spanish troops borne backward now, 
 Like flocks beneath the mountain's brow, 
 When from Nevada's summit brown, 
 The avalanche comes thundering down 
 
 In terror o'er the land. 
 
39 
 
 Now from Grenada's walls arose 
 A shout of triumph, as their foes 
 
 Before the onset yield; 
 And many a Spanish cavalier 
 
 Lies bleeding on the field. 
 The brave DeLeon strives in vain 
 The fearful onset to sustain, 
 'Till, marching to his aid appears 
 A troop of chosen grenadiers. 
 
 Like lines of glittering steel. 
 
 As sweeps the tempest o'er the land 
 And pours its rage on every hand, 
 
 While in its onward course 
 The lofty cypress and the pine 
 
 Bend low beneath its force. 
 Till the strong mountain's rugged form, 
 Checks the fierce onset of the storm, 
 So stood the stubborn grenadiers. 
 Against the Moorish cavaliers. 
 
 And checked their outward course. 
 
 Borne backward now, then firm again, 
 Stand the unyielding troops of Spain 
 
40 
 
 Against the charging host, 
 While many a valiant grenadier 
 
 Falls bravely at his post; 
 Loud clanged the cimeter and spear, 
 While every charging cavalier 
 Urges the wild and fearful fray, 
 Until the fortunes of the day 
 
 To Spain are well nigh lost. 
 
 But now the Spanish troops appear 
 In solid columns in the rear. 
 
 And with a thundering sound. 
 The crash of dread artillery 
 
 Scatters destruction round; 
 The Moorish ranks are rent and riven. 
 Like reeds before the blasts of heaven. 
 "Forward," El Muza vainly cries. 
 The crescent banner falters, flies. 
 
 While carnage strews the ground. 
 
 El Muza still most bravely fights. 
 Supported by a band of knights. 
 
 Who scorn to yield or fly. 
 Until his snow-white plume and steed 
 
4:1 
 
 Attract Don Lopez' eye, 
 Whose chosen troop of cavaliers, 
 With powerful steeds and heavy spears, 
 Charge fiercely on the gallant band, 
 Who meet the onset hand to hand, 
 
 And wild, defiant cry. 
 
 With crash of steel the foes engage. 
 While mingled sounds of pain and rage 
 
 Rise from the fearful fray; 
 But short the conflict, ere the din 
 
 Of battle passed away. 
 As when the hurricane's wild force 
 Is spent, the ruin in its course 
 Reveals its track; so now appear 
 The slaughtered knights and broken spears. 
 
 As relics of the day. 
 
 The blood of many a soldier brave 
 Has stained the river's peaceful wave; 
 
 The battle's fearful roar 
 Is hushed. The vanquished Moorish troops 
 
 Have gained the walls once more; 
 The thinned and wearied ranks of Spain 
 Move slowly to their camp again, 
 
42 
 
 While on the field, in death's repose, 
 Lay mingled forms of friends and foes, 
 Whom morn shall wake no more. 
 
 But where the gallant chief, whose form 
 Was foremost in the battle storm, 
 
 Who led the Moorish band? 
 No more his gallant cavaliers 
 
 Shall follow his command; 
 As closed the fierce and bloody fray. 
 With broken cimeter he lay. 
 Midst mingled forms of friend and foe, 
 Unconscious by a fearful blow. 
 
 Dealt by a foeman's hand. 
 
 Behind the western mountain's brow, 
 Again the sun descending low 
 
 Forsakes the grove and streams; 
 While highest peak and loftiest tower 
 
 Reflect the parting beams; 
 But golden sunset wakes no more 
 The fading glory of the Moor, 
 But sadly in the castle halls 
 The banner droops against the walls, 
 
 Where blood-stained armor gleams. 
 
CANTO III. 
 
 Hail I holy hour of silence and of rest, 
 
 Which soothes the world to silence and repose! 
 The sun's last ray forsakes the distant West, 
 
 And calm and sweet the evening zephyr blows; 
 
 Each gem of heaven with sparkling radiance 
 glows, 
 A new creation opens to my sight. 
 
 The shadowy hours mysterious scenes disclose, 
 And contemplation takes her airy flight. 
 Amidst the mystic shadows of the silent night. 
 
 What secret charm, by magic nature wrought. 
 Has hushed to rest the busy scenes of day? 
 
 Earth's tide of labor, sea of anxious thought. 
 Are now forgotten or in silence lay. 
 While strange illusions with the sleepers play; 
 
 The aged sports in childhood's scenes once more, 
 Or fancy, with a footstep light and gay. 
 
 Leads the charmed dreamer to some distant 
 shore, 
 
44 
 
 Where memory spreads again her richly-treas- 
 ured store. 
 
 Amidst the shadows let me silent glide, 
 
 With thoughtful mind, with quiet step and 
 slow, 
 My form amidst surrounding shades to hide. 
 And listen to the music as I go 
 Of breeze and streamlet murmuring soft and 
 low 
 Borne on the evening breeze which hurries by, 
 
 Methinks I hear the mingled notes of woe. 
 While the bright orbs which gem the distant sky 
 Look on the field of war with mild and pitying 
 eye. 
 
 Rest, dreamless sleepers, morn shall wake no 
 more 
 To scenes of strife or thoughts of friends or 
 home. 
 But spirits now on some untrodden shore, 
 No longer enemies perhaps ye roam, 
 Or over city, field, or palace dome. 
 The spirit soars, while mingled with the slain 
 
45 
 
 The body waits the soldier's unknown tomb — 
 Such are the varied scenes which mark the 
 midnight gloom. 
 
 THE FLIGHT. 
 
 Although the fearful din of war 
 Sounds from the battle field no more, 
 
 Yet twilight's curtain gray 
 But half conceals the field of strife, 
 
 Where gloomy shadows stray, 
 Like lingering ghosts amidst the slain, 
 While pious Moors and priests of Spain 
 Look toward the field amidst the gloom. 
 Then to the cross or prophet's tomb. 
 
 And for the fallen pray. 
 
 The evening breeze, with balmy breath. 
 Breathes softly o'er the field of death, 
 
 And the refreshing dew 
 Restores full many a wounded knight, 
 
 Who starts to life anew; 
 El Muza, fallen in the flight, 
 Awakes to sense, awakes to sight. 
 But where the gallant band he led ? 
 
46 
 
 Only the dying and the dead 
 Now meet his wondering sight. 
 
 " Is it some feverish dream ?" he sighs, 
 
 '' That dulls my sense and dims my eyes," 
 
 As rising from the ground, 
 With brain confused and chilled and faint, 
 
 He views the scene around; 
 His hand still grasped his broken blade, 
 A broken helmet shields his head, 
 A ghostly form alone he stood. 
 And sadly views with silent mood 
 
 The solitude profound. 
 
 The evening dews and breeze at length 
 Restore the w^ounded chieftain's strength^ 
 
 When toward the city walls 
 With hasty step he takes his way. 
 
 And at the gateway calls; 
 The massive gates again unbar. 
 When, from the bloody field of war. 
 El Muza, stained with dust and blood. 
 Again amidst his people stood 
 
 Within the palace halls. 
 
47 
 
 Where gathered in a hall of state 
 A council sat in close debate, 
 
 And different schemes propose; 
 Shall proud Grenada yield her power, 
 
 Or still resist her foes ? 
 The Moorish king his power would yield, 
 Nor risk again the fatal field. 
 ^'My bravest knights," he says, ''are slain; 
 Resistance longer is in vain, 
 
 Against our powerful foes. 
 
 To-morrow, at the early dawn, 
 
 Our vanquished troops shall be withdrawn 
 
 From citadel and tower; 
 Yet I, in other lands may hold 
 
 An empty name and power. 
 Let this, my mandate, be obeyed," 
 He, turning to El Muza, said, 
 ^' Disband the troops, and let them stray 
 To distant countries far away, 
 
 Or yield to Spanish power." 
 
 El Muza, who had silent stood. 
 And listened long in sullen mood. 
 
48 
 
 Till thus Boabdil spoke, 
 Now with a stern indignant voice, 
 
 He thus the silence broke: 
 " Let craven cowards basely bow, 
 And yield to the invading foe^ 
 My form was never made to wear 
 The tryant's chain, nor yet to bear. 
 
 The Spaniard's servile yoke. 
 
 While yonder mountains proud and high 
 Point their tall summits to the sky, 
 
 Free as the stream that flows 
 Beneath their base, I still shall bid 
 
 Defiance to my foes. 
 And though my country's power shall lay 
 Low in the dust, I still shall stray, 
 Unconquered on some mountain height, 
 And in some grotto pass the night. 
 
 In undisturbed repose." 
 
 Now as the council sat amazed. 
 And on the chief in silence gazed. 
 
 He calmly laid aside 
 The well earned emblems of his power, 
 
49 
 
 Each badge of rank and pride; 
 While heaved his proud unyielding breast, 
 He speaks in language half suppressed — 
 " Vain relics of the fallen Moor, 
 I need your empty praise no more, 
 
 My nation's shame to hide." 
 
 El Muza turned, as thus he said, 
 With lowering brow and hasty tread, 
 
 And quickly left the hall. 
 Mounted his steed and disappeared 
 
 Beyond the city wall; 
 The heavy gates are closed once more, 
 And all is silent save the roar 
 Of moaning winds which seemed to swell 
 In solemn cadence the last knell 
 
 Of proud Grenada's fall. 
 
 The midnight shades rest darkly now 
 On mountain and on plain below; 
 
 The weary troops of Spain, 
 Guarded by watchful sentinels, 
 
 Have sunk to rest again; 
 Now, while all nature seemed at rest, 
 7 
 
50 
 
 Swift through the guards a horseman pressed, 
 Resistless as the wintry blast 
 Which wildly howls and rushes past 
 O'er mountain, field and plain. 
 
 The darkness and the guard's surprise 
 Protect him from each ball that flies 
 
 With ill-directed force, 
 Till far beyond the outmost guard 
 
 He still pursues his course ; 
 Unmindful of fatigue and pain. 
 He holds his course with careless rein. 
 The plain is crossed, and just before. 
 Through forests dense the night winds roar 
 
 Their welcome loud and hoarse. 
 
 Now darkly in the western skies 
 Above the hills dense clouds arise, 
 
 And wild the night wind blows. 
 While distant thunders muttering low 
 
 New dangers still disclose ; 
 But, heedless of the gathering storm. 
 Still onward pressed the rider's form, 
 With neither light, nor path, nor guide. 
 
51 
 
 Along the rugged mountain's side, 
 Where thickets dense oppose. 
 
 Now wilder than the battle's roar. 
 When fiercely breaks the din of war, 
 
 Howls the approaching storm ; 
 While each dark cliff with lurid light 
 
 Reflects its ghostly form. 
 His gallant steed which oft before 
 Had bravely faced the scenes of war, 
 Now ceased to urge his onward flight, 
 Then stops as by some sudden fright. 
 
 Then starts with wild alarm. 
 
 El Muza seized the slackened rein, 
 To check his flight, but all in vain, 
 
 As with a sudden bound 
 Through tangled boughs he quickly brought 
 
 His rider to the ground ; 
 Then backward took his unchecked flight, 
 And quickly disappeared from sight ; 
 While stunned and bruised the rider lay, 
 Unsheltered, till the dawn of day 
 
 Revealed the scene around. 
 
52 
 
 Nevada's lofty heights arose, 
 His farther progress to oppose, 
 
 While, dense on every side, 
 A vine-clad forest proudly waved 
 
 In nature's queenly pride ; 
 A rugged, steep and untrod way 
 Led to the valley far away, 
 And o'er the forest, dense and tall. 
 Is dimly seen Grenada's wall 
 
 And Darrow's winding tide. 
 
 Awhile El Muza sadly sate. 
 
 And mused upon his country's fate. 
 
 His seat a rocky mound ; 
 Faint witli fatigue and want of food, 
 
 And many a bruise and wound, 
 No friendly hand to soothe his pain, 
 Or cool the fever of his brain. 
 Midst fruitless vines and rugged wood, 
 Where was his now much needed food 
 
 And shelter to be found. 
 
 " O what is life ?" he sadly sighed, 
 ^' How vain is honor, rank and pride, 
 
53 
 
 When fate its mandate brings 
 To lay life's pride and grandeur low, 
 
 And crush the power of kings ; 
 On yester morn I proudly led 
 My legions to my country's aid; 
 An outcast poor I roam to-day, 
 My rank and power are borne away 
 
 On fortune's cruel wings." 
 
 The storm has ceased, the morning sun 
 With cheering beams now gaily shone 
 
 On grove and mountain height ; 
 While dripping boughs reflect its rays, 
 
 Like diamonds clear and bright ; 
 And lightly through the forest floats 
 The early songbird's gayest notes ; 
 But still more grateful to his ears, 
 A distant harp's soft notes he hears, 
 
 With music gay and light. 
 
 El Muza raised his downcast eyes 
 And listened with a strange surprise, 
 
 "What kind and magic spell" 
 He says, " thus paints the landscape wide. 
 
54 
 
 While soft o'er hill and dell 
 The cheering notes of peace and love, 
 My better feelings seem to move? 
 The tragic scenes of strife and war 
 Shall wake ambition's power no more ; 
 
 soldier's life, farewell. 
 
 My wanderings on this mountain side 
 Ere war had roused my martial pride, 
 
 1 now again recall, 
 
 My last farewell to Madelon 
 'Neath proud Melendez' wall. 
 
 Our plighted vows, her father's hate; 
 
 I seem an object cursed by fate. 
 
 I'll to the minstrel's cave once more 
 
 And talk our varied fortunes o'er, 
 Whatever may befall. 
 
 Now louder sound the harp's clear lays, 
 In strains which oft in former days 
 
 Had brought delight and cheer 
 To gay Grenada's festive halls. 
 
 Are now more welcome here. 
 I'll haste to seek his friendly aid, 
 
00 
 
 Who long a wanderer has strayed. 
 No other harp to outcast lone 
 Could strike such soft and welcome tone, 
 It tells me aid is near." 
 
 SONG. 
 
 As o'er the wild mountains all lonely I stray, 
 I gladly again hail the dawning of day, 
 My harp which full often in gardens and bowers 
 Has poured its soft lays to the fountains and 
 
 flowers, 
 Again in the forest so peaceful and lone 
 Shall welcome the dawn of the bright morning 
 
 sun, 
 Which lightly disperses the shadows of even, 
 And pictures the earth with the glories of heaven; 
 Which gilds the wild landscape with bright 
 
 cheerful rays, 
 As gaily o'er mountain and valley it plays. 
 Hail ! glorious nature, whose blessings alone 
 Are freely bestowed on the poor and unknown; 
 O may the great Giver of blessings still pour 
 Rich sunshine and health on the needy and poor, 
 And cheer the lone exiles who sorrowing roam 
 
56 
 
 With nature's bright smiles which once greeted 
 
 their home, 
 And scorn the vain power of the tyrant's decree 
 With blessings alike for the bond and the free. 
 
 El Muza checked the minstrel's lay 
 Ere the last strain had died away, 
 
 ''Ho ! Marcus, ho !" he cries ; 
 '' Your friend, El Muza, to your cave 
 
 A helpless outcast flies ; 
 My halls are given to the foe, 
 My nation's pride and power laid low ; 
 I sadly leave my native halls 
 To seek strong nature's safer walls. 
 
 Which every foe defies." 
 
 The well known voice the minstrel knew. 
 And quickly to the chieftain flew, 
 
 " Nevada's rocks," he cried, 
 "Are unsubdued; my secret home 
 
 Has every foe defied." 
 As thus he spoke, the way he led 
 Where tangled vines and thickets spread, 
 With cypress boughs which darkly wave 
 
57 
 
 Their spreading branches o'er the cave, 
 And thus its entrance hide. 
 
 They reach a broad and spacious room 
 Where still beyond amidst the gloom 
 
 Appears a rocky wall ; 
 Beyond this seeming barrier 
 
 They reach an inner hall, 
 Where by the dim reflected rays 
 A mystic twilight softly strays, 
 And half reveals amidst the gloom 
 The rocky outlines of the room, 
 
 On which its shadows fall. 
 
 The minstrel's calm and quiet face. 
 Slightly revealed the Jewish race, 
 
 But this was seldom known; 
 Yet to the knight his name and race, 
 
 He secretly had shown. 
 A rabbi skilled in Jewish lore. 
 Deep-drawn from learning's ample store 
 He long had held an honored place, 
 And with the foremost of his race, 
 
 His virtues brightly shone. 
 8 
 
58 
 
 But when the edict stern was given, 
 And every luckless Jew was driven 
 
 Beyond the bounds of Spain; 
 Then sorrow, wretchedness and grief 
 
 Held a relentless reign; 
 Some took their sad and hasty flight 
 To forest wilds or mountain's height, 
 While others joined in sorrowing bands. 
 To seek a home in foreign lands, 
 
 Ne'er to return again. 
 
 The rabbi used his ample store 
 To aid the weak and flying poor, 
 
 Till by the stern command 
 He too must leave his native home, 
 
 And seek a foreign land. 
 In minstrel's humble garb arrayed, 
 Full well disguised, alone he strayed, 
 And oft to cheer his weary way 
 Would strike some sad or cheerful lay 
 
 With skillful voice and hand. 
 
 At length his sweet and cheerful strain 
 Was welcomed in the courts of Spain, 
 
59 
 
 While oft Grenada's towers 
 Echoed the minstrel's richest notes 
 
 And owned his magic powers; 
 But from those scenes so light and gay, 
 He oft would take his lonely way, 
 And seek the mountain's wooded side, 
 And in his lonely cave abide 
 
 For many a peaceful hour. 
 
 His minstrel garb no longer now 
 His nation, or his name could show; 
 
 While in complete disguise, 
 He aids his banished countrymen 
 
 With succor and advice; 
 And often to his mountain home. 
 Some weary fugitive would come. 
 And find protection, rest and food ; 
 And other aid, though scant and rude, 
 
 The minstrel's hand supplies. 
 
CANTO IV. 
 
 The early sunlight penciling the sky 
 
 With varied hues of beauty and of grace, 
 The lofty mountain towering to the sky, 
 
 An ancient monarch, proud of name or race. 
 The fountain rushing from the mountain side, 
 
 The restless winds which mock the ocean's 
 roar. 
 The varied landscape stretching far and wide. 
 
 Each speak the presence of an unseen power 
 Who pictures thus in nature's varied phases 
 
 The changing scenes which mark life's onward 
 way, 
 A glowing sunshine, bright with smiles and 
 graces, 
 
 Or gushing pleasure's sparkling display. 
 Each picture colored with more varied dyes. 
 
 Than artist's skill in blending shade and light, 
 Themes of the poet as his fancy flies. 
 
 Born of the day or shadowed by the night. 
 
 To wake in substance with the morning light. 
 
61 
 
 Now safe within their lone retreat, 
 Again the friendly exiles greet, 
 
 While looks of strange surprise 
 Shadow the minstrel's cheerful face, 
 
 And varied thoughts arise. 
 Why should the princely Moorish knight 
 Appear in such a woful plight? 
 His bloodstained garments rent and torn. 
 His look dejected and forlorn, 
 
 Now meet his anxious eyes. 
 
 Now through El Muza's troubled breast 
 A thousand thoughts like shadows passed. 
 
 Though scarce a word he spoke ; 
 And memories which had slumbered long 
 
 Again to life awoke; 
 Aw^hile in silent thought he sate, 
 And mused on the strange course of fate, 
 Recalling scenes of days gone by, 
 Then half suppressed the rising sigh, 
 
 And thus the silence broke. 
 
 ''The tragic scenes of war are o'er, 
 My country needs my aid no more ; 
 
62 
 
 When last I heard your lay, 
 As driven from Melendez' walls, 
 
 I homeward took my way, 
 We promised when the scenes of war 
 Should call me to the field no more, 
 To meet again and then relate 
 The varied fortunes each had met 
 
 Since that eventful day. 
 
 "And since the proud Castilian's hate 
 Expelled me from the castle gate, 
 
 Say, has the haughty Don 
 Still reigned as tyrant of his halls, 
 
 Save when to battle gone ? 
 And does the lady fair still move 
 A fairy nymph through hall and grove? 
 Or does some gloomy convent hide 
 Within its walls my promised bride, 
 
 His daughter, Madelon ?" 
 
 " My pledge," the minstrel calmly said, 
 " Has been most faithfully obeyed, 
 
 My well tuned harp has powder 
 To force the strongest castle walls, 
 
63 
 
 Or scale the highest tower ; 
 But weary with the scenes of blood, 
 Refresh yourself with rest and food, 
 Then 'neath a tree whose branches wave 
 As sentinels above my cave, 
 
 We'll spend a quiet hour." 
 
 The minstrel spread his frugal board, 
 With forest fruits and food well stored, 
 
 Before his waiting guest; 
 And when the welcome feast was o'er, 
 
 His wounds with skill he dressed ; 
 Then to his couch the knight he led, 
 And spread with care his rustic bed 
 Of branches from the mountain pine ; 
 Embraced by tendrils of the vine. 
 
 He sinks to quiet rest. 
 
 At length refreshed, the chief arose. 
 Strengthened by quiet and repose, 
 
 And joined his faithful guide. 
 And soon beneath an ancient tree 
 
 Were seated side by side, 
 A lofty cypress huge and old. 
 
64 
 
 Like forest monarch, stern and bold, 
 Whose form amid surrounding wood 
 Mocked the surrounding solitude. 
 In nature's kingly pride. 
 
 "Beneath this tree," the minstrel said, 
 "With nature's charms around me spread, 
 
 Seated upon this mound, 
 I've passed full many a quiet hour 
 
 In reverie profound; 
 Or in the distance far away 
 Have watched the winding Genii stray, 
 Have seen on yonder distant plain 
 Encamped the warlike host of Spain, 
 
 And heard the cannon sound. 
 
 "And here I've seen the lowering cloud 
 Yon western ridge in darkness shroud; 
 
 While muttering deep and low, 
 The boding thunder bade me seek 
 
 My rock-roofed cave below. 
 The fiercest mountain storms which rave 
 In vain assail my quiet cave; 
 And often when the storm had ceased, 
 
65 
 
 With beauty pictured in the East, 
 Have traced the cheerful bow. 
 
 "How like the varied scenes of life, , 
 When fiercely rage its storms and strife! 
 
 By -the resistless blast 
 Oar cherished joys are swept away 
 
 And into darkness cast ! 
 We fly to God, our sheltering rock, 
 Whose power restrains life's rudest shock. 
 When in the dark and threatening skies 
 We see the bow of promise rise. 
 
 And hope revives at last. 
 
 ''The clouds which shroud our lives to-day. 
 To-morrow's sun may drive away; 
 
 And hope's reviving bow 
 Shall picture on the somber cloud 
 
 Its bright and cheering glow. 
 The blasts of war which shook the plain 
 Are hushed, and peace returns again; 
 Forget the scenes of war and hate 
 While I my simple tale relate, 
 
 Which you desire to know 
 
66 
 
 " While two long years their course have run, 
 I've wandered friendless and alone, 
 
 Yet memory recalls 
 The day and scenes when last w^e met 
 
 Beneath Melendez' walls. 
 When mounted on your gallant grey 
 You to Grenada took your way, 
 I turned, and near the castle gate 
 Sat musing till the hour was late, 
 
 And twilight's curtain falls. 
 
 " When, wakened from my half repose, 
 I heard the castle gate unclose. 
 
 And footsteps drawing near. 
 Then moving forms attract my eye 
 
 And voices reach my ear ; 
 A female and two friars grey, 
 With cloak and cowl now took their way 
 To where a coach in waiting stood, 
 Then quickly o'er the northern road 
 
 The strangers disappear. 
 
 " I waite'd till the dawn of day, 
 Then to the castle took my way, 
 
67 
 
 Where ready at the gate, 
 The well known warder at his post 
 
 In thoughtful silence sat. 
 'Alas!' he sighed, 'no minstrel's lay 
 Can cheer these lonely halls to-day, 
 Their pride and beauty now are gone, 
 The mandate of the haughty Don 
 
 Has sealed his daughter's fate. 
 
 "'Your harp to cheer fair Madelon 
 Must warble in some convent lone, 
 
 She dwells no longer here ; 
 Don Lopez in his present mood, 
 
 Will give you little cheer.' 
 I from the castle turned away 
 And wandered many a weary day, 
 Till dark Morena's summits lone. 
 Gilded by the declining sun, 
 
 Before me now appear. 
 
 " Near Guadalquiver's classic stream 
 The sunlight casts its parting beam 
 
 Upon a castle old, 
 Whose massive walls and lofty towers 
 
68 
 
 Bespoke some chieftain bold; 
 Beside the gate I sat me down, 
 Upon a rude and moss-grown stone, 
 And struck a bold and warlike lay ; 
 Then as I struck a strain more gay 
 
 The massive gates unfold. 
 
 *' But little time for sleep or rest 
 Was given to the minstrel guest. 
 
 For now my gayest strain 
 Must cheer Gonsalvo's evening guests, 
 
 Three warlike knights of Spain, 
 Who with a friar took their way 
 To where De Leon's forces lay; 
 Though much I praised the priest and church, 
 Yet of the object of my search, 
 
 No tidings could I gain. 
 
 " The evening, spent in revelry. 
 Afforded little charms for me, 
 
 As each proud, boasting knight, 
 Inflamed with wine, loudly proclaimed 
 
 His prowess in the fight, 
 Poured curses on the Moor and Jew, 
 
69 
 
 Told how his enemies he slew, 
 Sang of the warlike deeds of Spain 
 And bade me join in the refrain 
 In which they all unite. 
 
 '^ The well pleased priest did then declare 
 The minstrel should their journey share, 
 
 To cheer them on their way. 
 And bade the company prepare 
 
 To start at dawn of day. 
 At length, with wine and sleep oppressed. 
 The castle sinks to quiet rest. 
 With stealthy steps I left the halls. 
 And from Gonsalvo's castle walls 
 
 I fled with speed away. 
 
 ^'I sometimes sought the mountain side. 
 Or wandered through the valleys wide, 
 
 Where'er a castle towers, 
 And when a convent's walls appeared 
 
 I sought its welcome bowers, 
 And helped to chant the vesper lays. 
 Or joined the matin song of praise. 
 Or in some ga}^ and festive throng, 
 
70 
 
 In some proud castle poured my song 
 To cheer the evening hours. 
 
 "As thus I wandered man}- a day 
 A score of convents heard my lay 
 
 Of solemn notes, or cheer. 
 Yet, of the object of my search 
 
 No tidings could I hear, 
 Till near yon mountain, old and gray, 
 At length I chanced to take my way. 
 When in the distance, near its base, 
 A welcome convent's walls I trace, 
 
 As night was drawing near. 
 
 " Its shadow, with majestic stride, 
 Stretched far across the valley wide, 
 
 And soon the rising moon 
 Silvered its dusky eastern side. 
 
 And o'er the valley shone. 
 While outlined by the western skies 
 Morena's peaks like phantoms rise. 
 These moonlit scenes I'd learned to love, 
 Portrayed by mountain, tower, or grove, 
 
 Or some dark convent lone. 
 
71 
 
 " My ready harp I tuned again, 
 And sang a sad and plaintive strain 
 
 Before the convent gate. 
 Then lightly touched a cheerful lay, 
 
 As patiently I wait. 
 'Welcome, into our saintly halls,' 
 At length the friendly warder calls. 
 ' A stranger, at the close of day. 
 Ne'er from our walls was turned away, 
 
 Whate'er his rank or state.' 
 
 '''Your patron saint and heaven aid 
 And shower rich blessings on your head,' 
 
 I modestly replied. 
 ' A weary pilgrim, lone I stray, 
 
 Scorning earth's wealth and pride. 
 My harp's my wealth, my home the grave, 
 Shelter and rest are all I crave.' 
 The creaking gate does now unclose. 
 'Within our walls enjoy repose,' 
 
 The pious warder sighed. 
 
 "Now, guided by a taper's ray, 
 A friendlv friar leads the wav 
 
72 
 
 Through dimly lighted halls, 
 To where a ray of moonlight pale, 
 
 From a high window falls. 
 ' Here rest till morn,' he meekly said; 
 ' The saints will guard the stranger's bed. 
 Good night.' The friar now is gone, 
 But many a tale of prison lone, 
 
 The gloomy scene recalls. 
 
 " As through the day my path had led 
 O'er rugged roads, I sought my bed 
 
 And blessed the hour of night; 
 Forgot my cares, nor woke again 
 
 Till dawned the morningJight. 
 As morn dispelled the twilight gloom, 
 I viewed my dimly lighted room 
 Its iron door, and walls of stone. 
 Perhaps had been the prison lone 
 
 Of many a luckless wight. 
 
 " The matin bell with cheerful air 
 Proclaims the hour of praise and prayer, 
 
 When quickly at my side. 
 With lightsome step, again appears 
 
73 
 
 My friendly evening guide. 
 ■'Stranger,' he says, 'within our halls 
 The matin bell to worship calls; 
 Your harp must aid the thankful lays 
 Which gratefully each morning raise 
 
 For every good supplied. 
 
 *"The cheerful lays which greet the morn. 
 Are lightly on the zephyr borne, 
 
 And mingle with the breeze. 
 As wafted o'er the convent walls 
 
 They whisper through the trees. 
 Awaking nature feels the thrill. 
 While sunshine smiles on vale and hill.' 
 With pious monks I bowed my head, 
 And to that power devoutly prayed 
 
 Who rules the earth and seas. 
 
 "" Soon as the morning meal was o'er, 
 Led by my former guide once more 
 
 Beyond the convent gate. 
 Where, underneath an ancient pine. 
 
 We for a moment wait. 
 When thus he spoke: ' Your well known face 
 10 
 
74 
 
 I oft have seen in former days. 
 Your name and race to me are known. 
 Pray, by what means have you alone 
 Escaped your nation's fate?' 
 
 " I stood amazed, for well I knew 
 That Spain had banished every Jew 
 
 Beyond her farthest coast. 
 But now, detected by a priest, 
 
 I gave up all for lost. 
 But soon his look my fears allayed, — 
 ' I, too, like you,' the friar said, 
 ' To use disguise have learned the art, 
 And how to act a borrowed part, 
 
 I, too, like you can boast. 
 
 '"A merchant, I in Madrid dwelt. 
 Until oppression's power I felt. 
 
 And left my native land. 
 And roamed a friendless wanderer 
 
 O'er many a foreign strand. 
 At length, disguised as now you see, 
 I sought the convent of St. Brie. 
 Here for a time I now remain. 
 
75 
 
 And to my countrymen in Spain 
 Oft lend a helping hand. 
 
 '' 'Returning from Judea's shore, 
 I brought a rich and varied store 
 
 Of relics, which now grace 
 Full many a convent, where I find 
 
 A palmer's honored place. 
 My palm branch and this cross and chain 
 Are passports through the realm of Spain, 
 A key to convent hall and tower, 
 And oft afford the means and power 
 
 To aid my banished race. 
 
 "'My palm bianch, broken fromx a tree 
 Beside the lake of Galilee, 
 
 With pilgrim pride I bore. 
 My relics, which I dearly sold. 
 
 Ne'er saw a foreign shore. 
 Stones gathered from Morena's side, 
 I chiseled with a sculptor's pride, 
 In crosses rude; while Moorish art, 
 Of my choice relics formed a part, 
 
 With remnants from mv store.' 
 
76 
 
 ^'My own adventures now I state, 
 And ask his aid to learn the fate 
 
 Of Donna Madelon. 
 'A distant convent's walls/ he says, 
 
 ' Now hold her as a nun, 
 But little distance from the halls 
 Where once she dwelt, Bernardo's walls 
 Now form her sad unwelcome bowers ; 
 But ill she brooks the cheerless hours 
 
 Of solitude so lone. 
 
 "'But swift the sun ascends the sky; 
 Again I to the walls must hie, 
 
 While you pursue your way. 
 By yonder path, o'er hill and plain, 
 
 Your journey now must lay. 
 Good bye, friend Marcus,' then he sighed, 
 'Good bye, friend Jacob,' I replied, 
 And took my way until the sun 
 Had the third time his journey run. 
 
 And twilight's curtain gray, 
 
 " Wide over valleys dark and deep. 
 In somber shadows seemed to creep. 
 
■77 
 
 While many a varied dye 
 Is penciled on the distant clouds, 
 
 Along the western sky. 
 But more to me than shade or light, 
 The convent's walls appear in sight; 
 Whose gloomy turrets old and gray. 
 Dimly reflect the sun's last ray. 
 
 And scarce attract the eye. 
 
 "Secluded from the public gaze, 
 By intervening hills, that raise 
 
 And half conceal the road, 
 Through which a winding pathway leads 
 
 Through the surrounding wood. 
 Its massive walls and iron gate 
 Bore the stern imagery of fate. 
 Two ancient pines, whose lofty forms 
 Had long withstood the winds and storms, 
 
 Before the gateway stood. 
 
 "A forest, stretching far and wide, 
 Skirted Nevada's rugged side, 
 And near its southern base, 
 The founders of Bernardo's walls 
 
78 
 
 Had found a sheltered place. 
 Along the borders of the wood 
 Is traced a wild, romantic road. 
 Three Spanish leagues the distance mark, 
 Till through the forests, dense and dark, 
 
 Melendez' towers we trace. 
 
 ^' Now, as I traced the scenes around, 
 Within the walls I heard no sound; 
 
 The gate was firmly closed; 
 And quiet as the midnight hour. 
 
 All nature now reposed. 
 I had no heart to break the spell 
 Which reigned o'er convent, rock and dell, 
 But stood awhile in reverie. 
 Leaning against an ancient tree, 
 
 With every thought composed." 
 
CANTO V. 
 
 What is a shadow that I thus should view, 
 
 With anxious thought, its light and fleeting 
 form? 
 Its empty form reveals a substance true, 
 
 Pictures the oak, or bodes the rising storm; 
 As in the world material I trace 
 
 The real substance dimly thus revealed, 
 So in my mind the vision oft finds place, 
 
 Of real good or evil half concealed; 
 Long shadows rise, by memory's pencil drawn, 
 
 Like the last beams of the departing day, 
 Of early scenes, or friends now past and gone, 
 
 A golden hue still lingers in the ray. 
 
 Or shadows rise from old historic days, 
 
 Of steel-clad knights, whose deeds in days of 
 yore 
 Have furnished themes to wake the minstrel's 
 lays. 
 In mystic numbers drawn from fancy's store; 
 
80 
 
 The pigmy shadow, by the setting sun, 
 
 Becomes a giant, so the tales of old 
 Draw their enchantment from the ages gone, 
 
 And many a knight becomes a hero bold; 
 Touched by the simple poet's magic wand. 
 
 The empty shadow springs to life once more, 
 As Neptune brought his charger from the sand, 
 
 Where scarce a shadow had appeared before. 
 
 Yet such is life. Its shadows come and go, 
 And what seems real in its scenes to-day 
 
 Fades to a shadow, fraught with joy or woe, 
 As fickle fortune takes her changing way. 
 
 Now startled by a rustling sound, 
 Each, in an instant, from the ground, 
 
 With sudden effort, springs; 
 An eagle, from the boughs above, 
 
 Now proudly spreads his wings. 
 And takes his strong and fearless flight 
 Above the lofty mountain's height. 
 While each resumes his seat once more. 
 Though each the ruddy flush still bore, 
 
 Which quick emotion brings. 
 
81 
 
 They sat awhile in thoughtful mood, 
 As, far beyond the distant wood, 
 
 He faded from their gaze; 
 So fade from sight," El Muza says, 
 
 "The hopes of former days. 
 The flutter of ambition's wings, 
 Which from our youthful vigor springs, 
 Soars upward like the eagle's flight, 
 Then quickly disappears from sight, 
 
 And fades in empty space. 
 
 " But hope eternal lifts her eye. 
 Still anxious, to the vacant sky, . 
 
 Although no form appears, 
 And pictures images that rise. 
 
 Drawn from our hopes and fears." 
 "Dreams of the past," the minstrel sighs, 
 "Which cheat ambition's eager eyes, 
 I fain would break your magic spell. 
 Yet vainly try to say, ' Farewell, 
 
 O ghosts of former years.' 
 
 "But to my tale. The light of day 
 Had faded from the earth away, 
 11 
 
82 
 
 When at the gate I stood; 
 The warder answered to my call, 
 
 With stern, repulsive mood. 
 Weary and sad, I sat me down 
 Upon a grey and moss-grown stone. 
 And struck my harp. Its accents rose 
 Amidst the evening's calm repose, 
 
 And echoed through the wood. 
 
 "As thus impatiently I wait. 
 Harsh creaks the heavy iron gate, 
 
 And quickly to my side, 
 Bearing a lamp, a dark-robed form 
 
 Did like a shadow glide; 
 'Some young and boyish page,' I thought, 
 'Has from within some message brought;' 
 When thus he spoke: 'To aid the weak, 
 Who in our convent shelter seek. 
 
 Is our delight and pride.' 
 
 "I viewed the stranger with surprise; 
 His manly form and boyish size 
 
 Seemed strangely to unite; 
 His sprightly step and slender form 
 
83 
 
 Seemed like some fairy sprite; 
 A gilded crucifix he bore 
 In his right hand, and proudly wore 
 Upon his breast an image quaint 
 (Perhaps his convent's patron saint), 
 
 Adorned with jewels bright. 
 
 "The lines of manhood I could trace 
 Upon the friar's sprightly face; 
 
 But scarce a tinge of grey 
 Appeared among his jet-black locks, 
 
 To tell of time's rude sway; 
 His form erect and stately stride 
 Spoke the Castilian birth and pride; 
 But the monastic garb he wore 
 And the proud dignity he bore, 
 
 His vanity display. 
 
 "I bowed, and said: 'A stranger, pressed 
 By hunger and fatigue, seeks rest, 
 
 Within your quiet bowers; 
 O'er rugged paths my way has led, 
 
 For many weary hours.' 
 He scanned me with a searching look, 
 
84 
 
 Then quickly turned, but nothing spoke, 
 And to the convent led the way, 
 Bearing a lamp, whose feeble ray 
 Scarce reached the lofty towers. 
 
 "Now seated in a lonely room, 
 A taper's light dispels the gloom, 
 
 And food and wine supplied; 
 While at the board my sprightly host 
 
 Was seated at my side. 
 'Our convent's rules,' he says, 'require. 
 Before a stranger guest retire. 
 His name and business be revealed; 
 To this demand each guest must yield; 
 
 Let nothing be denied.' 
 
 "'A minstrel from the holy war. 
 Where oft my harp, in lands afar, 
 
 Has cheered the Christian band, 
 My name, Almagro,' I replied, 
 
 *And Spain my native land. 
 Our pious queen has heard my lays, 
 I modestly omit her praise; 
 But pray good friar would you tell 
 
85 
 
 Your convent's history, which well 
 Your grace must understand ?' 
 
 ''But little interest I felt 
 
 As proudly on his theme he dwelt, 
 
 But ere his tale was done 
 I vainly hoped some news to gain 
 
 Of Donna Madelon. 
 Full many legends he recalls 
 Of St. Bernardo's classic halls, 
 But ere he closed, the vesper bell 
 Called my companion to his cell, 
 
 And I was left alone. 
 
 "Alone I passed a quiet night, 
 But at the early dawn of light. 
 
 Before the rising sun, 
 Appeared again my evening guide, 
 
 The friar Algernon, 
 'Minstrel,' he says, 'pursue your way, 
 No stranger here may pass the day,' 
 Then quickly to the gate he led; 
 'Minstrel, farewell,' he meekly said, 
 
 And I was left alone. 
 
86 
 
 "Awhile I undecided stood, 
 
 Then sought the shelter of the wood, 
 
 Where 'neath its friendly shade 
 I passed the weary hours of day, 
 
 While many plans I laid, 
 But like the mists which disappear 
 Before the sunlight bright and clear, 
 Each newdaid scheme my fancy wrought, 
 Each plan my reason vainly sought 
 
 Was quickly doomed to fade. 
 
 "Though fancy paints her varied schemes, 
 Time soon dispels her empty dreams; 
 
 So the advancing day, 
 Regardless of my hopes and fears 
 
 Unheeded passed away ; 
 I saw the sun his calm good night 
 Smile on the lofty mountain height. 
 Then sink to rest while shadows deep 
 In gloomy silence slowly creep 
 
 Around the convent gray. 
 
 Then as the quiet twilight hour 
 Stole softly o'er the earth once more 
 
87 
 
 Beneath a cypress tall, 
 Which distant from the convent gate 
 
 O'erhung the outer wall; 
 I sat me down upon a stone 
 And touched my harp with lively tone. 
 I knew full well the simple strain 
 She oft had heard, if heard again 
 
 Your memory would recall. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 ^' Wild rushes the Minho through forest and dell. 
 
 And loud is the cataract's roar, 
 Whose echoes are heard in the prisoner's cell; 
 But deeper the sighs which in loneliness swell 
 
 From Zulinda, the bride of the Moor. 
 Zulinda was lovely, but thoughtless and gay, 
 
 And Omar was gallant and poor, 
 And she from her home on a bright summer day, 
 To join her true lover stole softly away, 
 
 And wedded the gallant young Moor; 
 When this to her father, Gonsalvo, was known, 
 
 Young Omar was drove from his door. 
 Zulinda now dwells as a prisoner lone 
 Where the Minho's wild waves seem to utter their 
 moan 
 
For Omar the gallant young Moor, 
 Who with a last effort to rescue his bride, 
 
 A light shallop pushed from the shore, 
 But fiercely the winds his vain efforts deride, 
 And shallop and boatman were lost in the tide; 
 
 Thus perished the gallant young Moor. 
 
 " Before my rustic song was done 
 The well known voice of Madelon 
 
 Exclaimed 'Your welcome strain 
 Has reached my ears, and hope revives 
 
 Within m)^ breast again ; 
 It cheers my lone and helpless lot 
 To know that I am not forgot; 
 Perhaps the secret hand of fate 
 May yet unclose my prison gate 
 
 When other help is vain. 
 
 "'I sadly miss my native home 
 
 And mountain paths I loved to roam, 
 
 But here I must not stay, 
 The vesper bell to worship calls. 
 
 And I must haste away; 
 She left the wall, I heard no more, 
 
89 
 
 My weary search I now gave o'er, 
 Beneath the walls I passed the night, 
 Then started with the morning light 
 Upon my homeward way, 
 
 ^'Within my quiet cave once more 
 I thought life's varied fortunes o'er, 
 
 With less of joy than pain, 
 Till weary of my solitude 
 
 I took my way again 
 To seek Grenada, but alas! 
 Each public way and private pass, 
 By many a watchful sentinel. 
 Was guarded in each part so well. 
 
 My eflEorts were in vain. 
 * 
 
 '*Once more I sought my quiet cave 
 Where lofty trees in grandeur wave, 
 
 And with the breeze unite 
 To aid my harp to cheer the morn 
 
 Or lonely hours of night. 
 Resolved till war's alarm should cease 
 To live in solitude and peace, 
 While to forget the world I strove, 
 
 12 
 
90 
 
 Its scenes of sorrow and of love 
 No longer to invite." 
 
 The minstrel ceased, as now the sun 
 His daily course had almost run, 
 
 While lengthened shadows fall 
 From mountain peak and lofty pine, 
 
 Like specters grim and tall 
 And many an eastern summit bold 
 Now proudly wears his crown of gold. 
 And soon the bright and golden crown 
 Assumes the dark and somber brown 
 
 Of twilight's gloomy pall. 
 
 In silence rising from their seat, 
 They seek again their safe retreat 
 
 Within the quiet cave; 
 More fitting for a hermit's home, 
 
 Than priest or chieftain brave. 
 A slight repast partook, and then 
 Silence resumes her wonted reign; 
 While fancy, like some wanderer lone, 
 Strays without guide through realms unknown, 
 
 The sport of wind and wave. 
 
91 
 
 How rough soe'er life's varied stream, 
 The magic pleasure of a dream. 
 Like sunshine breaking through the cloud; 
 Which nature oft in darkness shrouds, 
 Makes still more beautiful the rays, 
 Which 'midst surrounding darkness plays. 
 
CANTO VI. 
 
 The shade of evening gently falls, 
 On proud Melendez' castle walls; 
 
 While on the mountain height, 
 The lingering beams of closing day 
 
 Still cast a feeble light 
 Through broken clouds; some twinkling star 
 Glimmers a moment from afar; 
 Then like some transient meteor fades, 
 And makes more dark the gathering shades 
 
 Of the approaching night. 
 
 Yet midst the gloom the eye could mark 
 The castle's outlines grim and dark, 
 
 And trace its massive walls. 
 Half hidden by the gathering gloom, 
 
 Which o'er the landscape falls. 
 But all was quiet now and still. 
 Save one old trusty sentinel, 
 Who moved with slow and measured tread, 
 And as each passing hour sped. 
 
 The nightly watchword calls. 
 
93 
 
 The massive pile in grandeur stood 
 Beside a dense and wide-spread wood, 
 
 Which skirts the mountain side. 
 Its oaken gate with iron bars 
 
 Had proved its strength well tried. 
 Its fountains, groves and frescoed halls 
 Were guarded by its massive walls; 
 While from its turrets grand and high, 
 A score of silken banners fly 
 
 In old Castilian pride. 
 
 The proud old castle long had stood, 
 And witnessed many scenes of blood; 
 
 Till by the warlike Moors, 
 Its brave defenders were subdued; 
 
 And from its walls and towers 
 The crescent banner floated long, 
 And in its halls a merry throng 
 Chanted the Moslem prophet's praise. 
 Or sang in fierce and warlike lays 
 
 Some conquering chieftain's powers. 
 
 But now Melendez' towers again 
 Display the ensigns proud of Spain, 
 
94 
 
 And a brave Spanish knight, 
 Its present lord, now helpless lay, 
 
 A victim of the fight 
 Before Grenada's leaguered walls, 
 Where the proud chieftain wounded falls. 
 Borne homeward from the bloody fray. 
 Upon his couch he dying lay 
 
 As closed the shades of night. 
 
 The valiant chief in other wars 
 
 Had gained renown, and bore the scars 
 
 Of battles bravely won; 
 Yet murmured oft that cruel fate 
 
 Had given him no son 
 To proudly bear his honored name. 
 And imitate his deeds of fame. 
 And hold his halls and ample lands 
 Against the Moors and robber bands 
 
 With valor and renown, 
 
 While Madelon, his daughter fair. 
 To his estate the only heir, 
 - Now cloistered as a nun 
 In St. Bernardo's lonely cells, 
 
95 
 
 Impatient, sad and lone. 
 From childhood trained with careless pride 
 O'er mountain paths the steed to guide, 
 Or with her father join the chase. 
 Nor feared the wildest paths to trace 
 
 Unguarded and alone, 
 
 As on a pleasant summer day 
 Alone she rode a narrow way 
 
 Through the surrounding wood. 
 Two bandits seized her horse's rein, 
 
 With language rough and rude. 
 Her frightened steed, with backward bound, 
 Threw his fair rider to the ground. 
 Where, as she now unconscious lay, 
 They seized and bore their helpless prey 
 
 O'er an untrodden road. 
 
 But soon restored to sense again. 
 The maiden stru-ggled, but in vain. 
 
 And called aloud for aid. 
 And soon a horseman's form is seen 
 
 Swift riding through the glade. 
 He hears the captive maiden's cries, 
 
96 
 
 And quickly to her rescue flies. 
 The bandits now release their prey, 
 And sorely wounded, take their way 
 Into the thickest shade. 
 
 The stranger, with a tender care. 
 Politely aids the lady fair 
 
 To reach her home once more, 
 Who with the stranger freely talks 
 
 The day's adventures o'er; 
 And as they part, the blushing maid 
 Thanked the bold stranger for his aid, 
 Who bowed and said his pleasant toil 
 Was well rewarded by her smile. 
 
 Then left the palace door. 
 
 Soon autumn, with its brilliant skies 
 And forests tinged with varied dyes, , 
 
 And breezes soft and bland. 
 Had touched the forest field and stream 
 
 With its enchanting wand; 
 No wonder that the maiden fair 
 Should often seek the mountain air. 
 No wonder that the knight should guide 
 
97 
 
 Her footsteps with a lover's pride 
 And soldier's fearless hand. 
 
 But as the mystic stream of love 
 Does seldom smoothly onward move. 
 
 Soon the vindictive Don 
 Chanced to detect the happy pair 
 
 As thus they strayed alone; 
 As they approach the castle gate, 
 He fiercely vents his rage and hate 
 Upon the knight, and sternly swore 
 The Moorish chief should never more 
 
 Behold fair Madelon. 
 
 But fickle fortune's mystic power. 
 
 Which brings some change with every hour, 
 
 The warlike summons calls, 
 El Muza leads the Moorish troops 
 
 Who guard Grenada's walls; 
 Don Lopez, to a convent lone, 
 Has sent his daughter Madelon, 
 And with his vassals once again 
 Joined the invading hosts of Spain, 
 
 And in the conflict falls. 
 13 
 
98 
 
 Borne to his castle from the fight 
 Attended by one trusty knight, 
 
 Few other guards are near; 
 The castle's massive walls and gate 
 
 Gave little cause for fear, 
 Though the retainers of the Don 
 Were to Grenada's siege now gone. 
 Don Lopez with a mortal wound 
 Within his stately palace found 
 
 But little hope or cheer. 
 
 The castle guards, untried or old, 
 With feeble hands the walls now hold 
 
 Against the robber bands, 
 Who often from their forest haunts 
 
 Infest the feudal lands; 
 One trusty knight, brave Leopold, 
 With ready hand and courage bold, 
 Stood faithfully beside his lord, 
 Quick to obey each look and word 
 
 With ready heart and hand. 
 
 Within a room where oft before 
 Don Lopez sought the scenes of war, 
 
99 
 
 Around the festal board, 
 Where ladies gay and gallant knights 
 
 Oft feasted with their lord, 
 The flickering lamps a twilight shed 
 Around the wounded chieftain's bed. 
 Where few attendants silent stand, 
 Prompt to obey his last command 
 
 Or wait his dying word. 
 
 He raised his head with anxious look 
 And thus to his attendants spoke, 
 
 '' Life's closing scenes are near. 
 The Moorish steel has done its work. 
 
 But death I do not fear; 
 I lived to see my mortal foe, 
 The Moorish chief, fall 'neath my blow, 
 Our vanquished foes in terror yield 
 And fly the close-contested field ; 
 
 These thoughts my heart still cheer. 
 
 "But ere the sunlight gilds again, 
 My lofty towers and rich domain, 
 
 Their lord will be no more. 
 My banished daughter, Madelon, 
 
100 
 
 I to her rights restore; 
 Ere life's last ebbing currents waste 
 To right my wrongs I gladly haste, 
 My castle and my feudal lands 
 Are freely given to her hands 
 
 As her own lawful dower. 
 
 "But life's last sands are running fast, 
 To St. Bernardo's convent haste 
 
 And bring a prelate soon; 
 I absolution would receive, 
 
 Ere life's last hope is gone." 
 The knight obeys, each active steed 
 Bounds forward at his highest speed. 
 The hall is silent now again, 
 Save oft a stifled sigh of pain 
 
 From the fast failing Don. 
 
 The castle's gate stands half ajar, 
 Slightly removed each bolt and bar. 
 
 While at the open space 
 The wily warder listening stands, 
 
 All ready to replace 
 The loosened bars should any sound 
 
101 
 
 Disturb the solitude profound. 
 While lightly from the outer side 
 He hears a footstep softly glide 
 And shadowy form can trace. 
 
 His watchful eye and practiced ear 
 Discern the stranger drawing near, 
 
 And with a cautious look 
 On every side, turned to the gate 
 
 And in a whisper spoke: 
 "Well met, Francisco, once again. 
 Go, quickly rouse your gallant train, 
 Bold Leopold, his faithful guard. 
 To-night holds not his watch and ward 
 
 O'er every secret nook. 
 
 "The wounded Don's fast failing strength 
 Has brought the welcome hour at length, 
 
 When from the castle gate 
 To seek a priest the knight has gone, 
 
 While his return I wait. 
 Soon as the inmates seek repose 
 The castle gate I will unclose. 
 Or leave withdrawn each bolt and bar. 
 
102 
 
 And leave the gate almost ajar, 
 And castle to its fate." 
 
 But ere the stranger answer made, 
 A sentinel with measured tread 
 
 Is heard approaching near; 
 The gate is closed, the stranger's form 
 
 Does quickly disappear 
 Amidst the darkness of the night, 
 And mutters as he takes his flight, 
 " Soon as the castle gate I gain. 
 The treacherous warder shall be slain. 
 
 His aid shall cost him dear." 
 
 The bandit chieftain oft at night, 
 
 When moon and stars were veiled from sight 
 
 Had sought the castle gate; 
 Had parleyed with the faithless guards. 
 
 And planned the castle's fate; 
 And half the booty of his band 
 Had promised to the warder's hand. 
 Who only waited for the hour. 
 To place within the robber's power 
 
 Don Lopez' rich estate. 
 
103 
 
 "Ho! comrade," cries the sentinel, 
 " The night flies on, and all is well, 
 
 Has aught disturbed your ear. 
 For to the eye on such a night 
 
 No object can appear? 
 Guard well the gates, Francisco's band 
 Of robbers now infests the land. 
 For scarcely could the wounded Don, 
 Who almost holds his halls alone. 
 
 Handle the sword or spear." 
 
 " The earth now rests in calm repose, 
 I little fear your phantom foes," 
 
 The warder made reply; 
 "I need no special orders, when 
 
 No enemy is nigh; 
 The castle gate is strongly barred. 
 My trusty sword is ample guard. 
 When wielded by my powerful hand. 
 The boldest robber and his band 
 
 I boldly now defy." 
 
 The watchful sentinel once more, 
 Resumes his duties as before. 
 
104 
 
 With cautious eye and ear; 
 The few retainers seek repose, 
 
 Devoid of care or fear, 
 The faithless warder's guilty mind, 
 Starts at each rustle of the wind. 
 While o'er the earth a darker gloom, 
 Seemed to forebode impending doom, 
 
 Or some disaster near. 
 
CANTO VII. 
 
 The convent bell is silent now, 
 
 Its gates the cautious warder closes, 
 The evening breezes murmur low, 
 
 The shepherd in his cot reposes. 
 The inmates of the mountain cave. 
 
 In dreams forget their cares and sorrows, 
 One leads again his soldiers brave. 
 
 One priestly robes from fancy borrows. 
 O quiet sleep, like gentle dew. 
 
 Which paints anew^ the fading flowers, 
 Our withered hopes to life renew 
 
 Though__but in fancy's dreamy hours! 
 But fortune's ever busy hand, 
 
 Our destiny unseen is molding; 
 Ere morn again shall wake the land, 
 
 Her mystic plans will be unfolding. 
 
 Round St. Bernardo's gloomy walls 
 The evening twilight softly falls 
 
 And casts its shadows gray. 
 While through the darkly cloistered halls, 
 14 
 
106 
 
 Still darker shadows stray; 
 The pious abbess sits alone, 
 And frowns upon each passing nun 
 Who dares to smile or lightly tread, 
 Until the evening prayers are said. 
 
 To close the scenes of day. 
 
 Though three-score years had left their trace 
 In lines of age upon her face, 
 
 Yet in her silvered hair 
 The raven tresses lingered still 
 
 As relics rich and rare; 
 Her eye had lost its youthful fire, 
 Yet kindled still with joy or ire; 
 Her slender form, though slightly bowed, 
 Had well the force of time withstood, 
 
 And moved w4th queenly air. 
 
 Of discipline severe and stern 
 
 Each novice soon was brought to learn 
 
 Her mandates to obey; 
 The abbot too was wont to yield 
 
 Obedience to her sway; 
 With pious zeal she early sought 
 
107 
 
 The convent's solitude, and brought 
 Of wealth a rich and ample store, 
 Which gave its donor place and power, 
 As years had passed away. 
 
 One only relative she claimed, 
 An orphan boy already named 
 
 As friar Algernon; 
 Who from his childhood had been taught 
 
 Only by priest or nun ; 
 His sprightly form and active mind, 
 And zealous piety combined 
 To give the little friar fame. 
 And spread abroad the honored name 
 
 Of her adopted son. 
 
 When holy mass or prayer was said 
 To rest the spirit of the dead. 
 
 Or, ere life's sands were run, 
 To shrive some dying sinner's soul. 
 
 Who but her foster son 
 Should lead the monks in solemn chant, 
 Or ready absolution grant. 
 Or cause the dreaded hand of fate 
 
108 
 
 To still increase the church estate, 
 But friar Algernon? 
 
 But Madelon's unyielding soul 
 
 111 bore the matron's stern control, 
 
 And oft alone at night 
 In waking dreams, full many plans 
 
 Were laid for secret flight. 
 Which vanished at the dawn of day 
 And passed like morning mists away; 
 And oft the day's most peaceful close 
 Brought little of that calm repose 
 
 Which evening hours invite. 
 
 The convent's discipline severe 
 Caused little reverence or fear. 
 
 And little did she care 
 For matin hymns or vesper lays, 
 
 But sighed for mountain air, 
 And sadly missed her horseback ride 
 With brave El Muza at her side. 
 And longed to spend her lonely hours 
 Amidst Melendez' vine-clad bowers. 
 
 So pleasant and so fair. 
 
109 
 
 Now scarcely had the vesper lay 
 In solemn cadence died away, 
 
 And peaceful calm repose 
 Breathed through the halls, when at the gate 
 
 A sudden murmur rose; 
 A carriage by fleet horses drawn 
 Brings the sad news a wealthy Don 
 Requires ere morn the last sad rite, 
 Lest ere another morning light 
 
 His failing life should close. 
 
 " Make ready now my robe and cowl," 
 Cries Algernon, "while for his soul 
 
 I offer up a prayer; 
 Hasten and send them to my cell, 
 
 While I await them there;" 
 " Ho ! Madelon," the abbess cries; 
 Quick to her room the novice flies, 
 " The robe and cowl of Algernon 
 Bear to his cell, quickly begone, 
 
 You have no time to spare." 
 
 The tell-tale daylight now had gone. 
 And evening with its shadows lone 
 
110 
 
 Had veiled the earth once more, 
 While through the waving forest boughs 
 
 The sullen night winds roar; 
 The maiden seized the robe and stood 
 A moment lost in thoughtful mood; 
 ''These priestly robes," she says, "shall be 
 The passport which my liberty 
 
 Shall once again restore." 
 
 In friar's robes arranged with care, 
 She seems no more a maiden fair, 
 
 But, robed like Algernon, 
 She quickly passed the dusky halls 
 
 Unnoticed and unknown. 
 The pious friar sought his cell 
 And waited patiently and well. 
 And often breathed the silent prayer 
 That, till his coming, heaven would spare 
 
 The unforgiven Don. 
 
 The trembling maiden took her way. 
 Full well disguised as friar gray. 
 
 Till, at the outer gate. 
 The abbess' voice attracts her ear. 
 
Ill 
 
 " My son, a moment wait. 
 This night, perhaps, Don Lopez dies. 
 His wealth must be our convent's prize. 
 
 Give absolution to his soul, 
 But first secure the sure control 
 
 Of his immense estate." 
 
 The abbess turned as thus she said, 
 And quickly to the convent sped 
 
 And sought her quiet cell; 
 And midnight silence, o'er the scene, 
 
 Resumed her magic spell. 
 She told her beads with solemn air, 
 And offered up a silent prayer; 
 Then sought that calm and sweet repose, 
 Such as a pious spirit knows, 
 
 Assured that all is well. 
 
 As light as moves the prisoner 
 When liberty is gained once more. 
 
 The maid, with hasty feet, 
 •Within the waiting vehicle 
 
 Still trembling, takes her seat. 
 A knight is seated at her side. 
 
112 
 
 When the postillion quick applied 
 The ready lash, the coursers bound, 
 And .heeding not the varying ground 
 They fly with footsteps fleet. 
 
 As thus the carriage onward flies, 
 A thousand anxious thoughts arise 
 
 At once within her breast. 
 " I soon must meet my dying sire 
 
 Who waits to be confessed. 
 His daughter's face must not be known. 
 Disguised I'll seek his room alone; 
 Administer the last sad rite, 
 And when the spirit takes its flight 
 
 Fortune must do the rest." 
 
 Ere night had reached its midnight hour 
 They reach the castle's well known door. 
 
 Where, 'midst surrounding gloom, 
 The knight in silence leads the way 
 
 Into her father's room. 
 Her robe and cowl she closely drew, 
 Concealing thus her face from view, 
 Then silently she waved her hand. 
 
113 
 
 The room is left to her command, 
 As silent as the tomb. 
 
 The waning lamps, with feeble light, 
 But half dispel the shades of night, 
 
 And almost seem to hide. 
 And yet reveal the spacious halls 
 
 Adorned by art and pride. 
 Her former home, her father, too, 
 Laid on his couch, now met her view. 
 " O, is this real as it seems, 
 Or but the sport of fairy dreams 
 
 Which through my fancy glide?" 
 
 'Tis solemn, at the midnight lone, 
 
 To hear the winds, with plaintive moan, 
 
 Sigh through the spectral towers. 
 Or, lone within the convent cells, 
 
 To note the passing hours. 
 But when the weak and failing breath 
 Bears in each sigh the wail of death. 
 And midnight flaps her raven wing 
 Beside the dread, relentless king, 
 
 How sink weak nature's powers! 
 15 
 
114 
 
 Almost unconscious now she stood 
 While grief and terror chilled her blood. 
 
 Till, with a heavy sigh, 
 Don Lopez feebly turns his head 
 
 And opes his failing eye. 
 He sees the priest beside his bed. 
 "Almost too late," he faintly said. 
 '' My sinful soul, while I confess. 
 With absolution grant to bless, 
 
 I feel my end is nigh. 
 
 "While life's departing moments waste, 
 To right my wrongs I gladly haste 
 
 Ere life's last sands have run. 
 Your convent holds my only child 
 
 Now cloistered as a nun. 
 My wealth and pride I now give o'er 
 My injured daughter to restore, 
 Your guide, the faithful Leopold, 
 Does now my written mandate hold, 
 
 Restoring Madelon." 
 
 He ceased to speak; his failing breath 
 Foretold the sure approach of death, 
 
115 
 
 When, with a hasty tread, 
 Knight Leopold again appears 
 
 Beside her father's bed; 
 While two dark forms, which well she knew 
 As dreaded priests, now met her view; 
 In breathless haste, but all too late 
 To stay the stern decree of fate, 
 
 The Don, alas ! is dead. 
 
 The lamp's faint rays scarce break the gloom 
 Of sable twilight in the room, 
 
 While somber shadows fall. 
 In ghostly forms from frowning priests, 
 
 Upon the curtained wall; 
 While in despair the trembling maid. 
 Stood close beside her father's bed; 
 Her priestly robes aside were thrown. 
 While, unrestrained, each sigh and m lan 
 
 Sounds deeply through the hall. 
 
 The abbot and priest Algernon 
 Frowned darkly on the truant nun; 
 
 The knight in silence stands 
 Beside the abbot, and awaits 
 
116 
 
 The reverend priest's command. 
 But soon he starts; his practiced ear 
 Has caught the sound of rage and fear, 
 And clash of arms within the walls. 
 And sees the castle's quiet halls 
 
 Assailed by robber bands. 
 
 The treacherous warder left ajar 
 The castle gate, nor bolt nor bar 
 
 The massive portals close; 
 And ere the priests had reached the hall 
 
 The gates again unclose; 
 The brigands' shout, both w^ild and high, 
 Answered the murdered warder's cry; 
 Each trusty guard escapes or falls. 
 And soon Melendez' ancient halls 
 
 Are held by bandit foes. 
 
 I 
 The knight, though active, strong and bold, 
 Struggles in vain the hall to hold, 
 
 While through the open door 
 Dark forms, with flashing cimeters, 
 
 Through every passage pour. 
 The knight is overpowered and bound; 
 
117 
 
 But when the lifeless Don is found, 
 The brigands quickly take their flight, 
 With priests and maiden and the knight, 
 And spoils an ample store. 
 
 In mountain cave and wooded dell 
 Dark superstition loves to dwell, 
 
 Or hover o'er the towers 
 In goblin shape, or rides the cloud. 
 
 Or howls at midnight hours. 
 The outlaw band, whose hands are red 
 With murder, shrink before the dead, 
 Whose soul they think still hovers near, 
 And for revenge will soon appear 
 
 With more than mortal powers. 
 
 With haste they seek the thickest wood. 
 With neither light nor guide nor road. 
 
 Where rocks and hills abound; 
 While through the woods the night winds roar 
 
 With deep and boding sound; 
 While thus they urge their hasty flight, 
 With scarce a friendly ray of light. 
 The pious priests, in accents faint, 
 
118 
 
 Implore Bernardo's patron saint 
 With reverence profound. 
 
 The trembling maid, in deep affright, 
 Clings closely to the pinioned knight, 
 
 As the fierce robber band 
 Urge on their helpless prisoners, 
 
 With cimeter in hand; 
 The angry oath, the bitter sigh, 
 The fitful blast that hurried by, 
 In mingled cadence often broke. 
 Or hushed awhile, as hoarsely spoke 
 
 The chief, in stern command. 
 
 Thus onward through the tangled wood, 
 Without a path to mark their road, 
 
 Or star to guide their way. 
 While gathering clouds o'erspread the sky 
 
 And vivid lightnings play 
 Along the dark and threat'ning cloud, 
 And rolled the thunder deep and loud, 
 While the bewildered bandits try 
 Some sheltered nook or path to spy, 
 
 And vainly wish for day. 
 
no 
 
 A forest dense and tangled lay, 
 
 Far stretching on their backward way, 
 
 And rising on each side, 
 And in their course the rising steeps 
 
 Their onward course defied. 
 Till by the lightning now revealed 
 A narrow path almost concealed 
 By thickets dense the wanderers trace, 
 Hoping to find some sheltered place, 
 
 From the near storm to hide. 
 
 The thunder roars more deep and loud, 
 And darker grows the lowering cloud. 
 
 While every mountain height 
 Seemed, b}^ the lightning's flash revealed, 
 
 Some demon of the night. 
 At length, within the mountain side, 
 O'erhung with vines, a cave they spied; 
 The welcome refuge soon they gain, 
 Where, sheltered from the wind and rain, 
 
 They wait the morning light. 
 
 Their fears dispelled, the motley throng 
 Indulge in story and in song. 
 
120 
 
 With more than wonted cheer; 
 While each now boasts his valiant deeds, 
 
 And scorns his comrades' fear, 
 Till fierce disputes on valor rose, 
 And words had almost changed to blows 
 But soon each angry brigand's hand 
 Returns to sheath his half-drawn brand, 
 
 A comrade's tale to hear. 
 
 " Let him that boasts his valor show 
 Whene'er he meets a daring foe, 
 
 For cowards only boast 
 When out of danger, but the brave 
 
 Will not desert his post." 
 So spoke old Carlo, who had been 
 A daring brigand long in Spain, 
 But now grown grey by crime and years, 
 Was often haunted by the fears 
 
 Of some avenging ghost. 
 
 "Now comrades, listen to my tale; 
 No mortal man e'er made me quail 
 
 Till once I slew a knight, 
 Who once had nobly saved my life. 
 
121 
 
 And now his steed of white 
 And steel-clad form I oft can trace, 
 As through the woods with rapid pace, 
 Like some impatient cavalier 
 Bearing his cimeter and spear 
 
 And rushing to the fight. 
 
 "Once on a solitary road, 
 
 Amidst a thick surrounding wood, 
 
 I with a comrade strayed 
 And captured, as she passed that way, 
 
 An unprotected maid; 
 We thought a ransom large to gain, 
 But all our hopes were worse than vain, 
 For soon the dreaded phantom knight. 
 Mounted upon his steed of white, 
 
 Came rushing through the glade. 
 
 "We flee and in the thicket hide, 
 
 And that same night my comrade died. 
 
 And yester night again 
 I saw the same ill-omened steed 
 
 Fly swiftly o'er the plain. 
 I fear no form of flesh and blood, 
 16 
 
122 
 
 But when the ghosts that haunt the wood 
 Mingle their voices with the storm, 
 Or take some murdered victim's form, 
 To fight such foes is vain." 
 
 " Old Carlo's tale may do full well 
 For aged dames or priests to tell, 
 
 To scare some wayward child;" 
 Exclaimed a youth, "but we who roam 
 
 The forest free and wild. 
 Would sooner hear some rover's lay 
 Of wild adventures far away, 
 Or make our captive friars dance, 
 Or pious maiden sing, perchance, 
 
 Some Ave Maria mild." 
 
 This speech restored their wonted cheer, 
 When he exclaimed, "Who'll volunteer 
 
 To treat us with a song?" 
 When an old pirate's voice is heard 
 
 Amidst the motly throng: 
 "The landsman fears the steed of white, 
 The sailor fears the water sprite," 
 Exclaimed the sailor while in tones 
 
12'd 
 
 As harsh as sound the wave's wild moans 
 He sang his ocean song. 
 
 pirate's song. 
 
 The Wild Rover sailed from old Lisbon away, 
 Her Portuguese flag floated lightly, and gay 
 Was each heart as her sails caught the breeze, 
 And she flew like a swan toward the wide south- 
 ern seas, 
 A hundred bright sabers were hid in the hold, 
 A hundred tried seamen, all reckless and bold; 
 With flags of all nations and one which none 
 
 owns, 
 'Twas a pennant of black with a skull and cross- 
 bones, 
 But only the Portuguese pennant displayed 
 From her high pointed topmast, the symbol of 
 
 trade; • 
 Thus onward she flew on the wings of the wind, 
 And soon left the shores of old Europe behind. 
 And over the rough, trackless ocean she passed 
 And reached the wild African islands at last, 
 Where many a merchant ship, nearing the shore 
 Of those distant islands, was never seen more. 
 
124 
 
 * 
 
 x\nd many a chest, richly laden with gold 
 
 And jewels, found place in the Wild Rover's hold; 
 
 And many a ship lies at rest evermore 
 
 Beneath the wild waves of that far distant shore. 
 
 But twelve months soon passed and the Rover 
 
 once more, 
 Well laden with gold, sought her own native 
 
 shore. 
 At length in the distance the mountains of 
 
 Spain, 
 Afar to the East were discovered again. 
 Now far o'er the waters arose the glad shout 
 Which rang from the seamen so joyfully out. 
 The bright sun was shining and fair to behold, 
 Each blue distant mountain seemed crested with 
 
 gold. 
 But fancy our terror when every eye 
 Was turned to a mermaid who uttered her cry. 
 And sang a wild song, which no mortal can 
 
 know, 
 And then disappeared in the waters below. 
 My song now must end, for before the next 
 
 morn. 
 Our ship by a tempest to tatters was torn. 
 
125 
 
 I climbed to a rock and escaped to the shore, 
 My gold and the Rover I never saw more. 
 
 But little thought the bandit throng, 
 Who listen to the tale and song, 
 
 That other guests were near, 
 Who, wakened from their quiet rest. 
 
 Now lend a listening ear. 
 Behind a high projecting wall 
 Which hid from view the outer hall, 
 The knight and minstrel silent stand 
 The only weapons at command 
 
 A harp and cimeter. 
 
 But now the welcome dawn of day 
 First sheds a dim and twilight ray, 
 
 And soon the clearer light 
 Of cheerful morning drives away 
 
 The shadows of the night; 
 The dripping boughs like diamonds shone. 
 Reflected by the rising sun, 
 While in the north descending slow 
 The distant cloud is sinking low 
 
 And soon is lost to sight. 
 
126 
 
 The robber chief arousing cries, 
 "Daylight again, now to our prize. 
 
 My comrades, strong and bold; 
 Two priest, a soldier, and a nun, 
 
 And much uncounted gold; " 
 With this strange prize we now might have 
 A convent in our new-found cave, 
 But priests and brigands ill unite 
 Now let us in the outer light 
 
 Our well earned prize behold. 
 
 The morning sunlight, soft and bland. 
 Smiles gaily on the motley band. 
 
 Who issue from the cave. 
 While still within, the prisoners 
 
 And guard the robbers leave; 
 The bearded brigands, fierce and strong, 
 Around their chief impatient throng, 
 While each his share at once demands, 
 And waits to grasp, with eager hands. 
 
 The booty which he craves. 
 
 Francisco, leader of the band, 
 An outlaw from a foreign land. 
 
127 
 
 Of the Italian race, 
 Whose stalwart form and daring deeds 
 
 Now gave him rank and place, 
 The dusky Moor and banished Jew, 
 Amongst the group although but few, 
 Joined with a band whose love of gold 
 Oft makes the Spanish brigand bold. 
 
 Amidst the group we trace. 
 
 Their ill-got gains the robber band 
 Bring forward at their chief's command, 
 
 A rich and costly store, 
 The castle's spoils, which now are placed 
 
 Beside the cavern door; 
 But ere their undivided gain 
 Is parceled out, a mystic strain 
 Of music strange attracts their ear, 
 Now seeming distant, now more near 
 
 And louder than before. 
 
 The prize untouched, each brigand's hands 
 Unsheathe his blade, and listening stands 
 
 Before the mystic cave, 
 With superstitious awe and fear 
 
128 
 
 Of what they dare not brave; • 
 While Algernon, now wild with fear, 
 Sprang through the crowd fleet as a deer. 
 And swiftly through the forest flew, 
 While none the fugitive pursue. 
 
 Who thus his life would save. 
 
CANTO VIII. 
 
 How buoyant and light, o'er the cypress-crowned 
 mountain, 
 The fleet-footed antelope urges his way, 
 Refreshed by a draught from the sparkling foun- 
 tain, 
 Or cooled by the shades in the heat of the 
 day. 
 While carelessly perched on the branches above, 
 
 The warbler utters her innocent notes, 
 While gently the zephyrs in harmony move. 
 As through the light branches the soft music 
 floats. 
 
 (Thus nature has charms for the soul that is 
 weary, 
 To waken the fancy and gladden the ear, 
 Inviting the heart that is lonely and dreary, 
 
 To smile in her beauty and join in her cheer.) 
 But little he heeds, as he urges his way. 
 
 The charms of gay nature, nor stops in his 
 flight, 
 17 
 
130 
 
 Till lengthening shadows the signal displa}^ 
 
 Of what is now welcome, the coming of night. 
 Thus nature, with scenes ever varied and blend- 
 ing, 
 To some affords pleasure, and quiet, and rest, 
 To others the omens of evils portending ; 
 
 One sighs 'midst the scenes which another has 
 blest. 
 
 Again the low-descending sun 
 On St. Bernardo's convent shone. 
 
 When friar Algernon, 
 With faltering step, approached the gate. 
 
 All weary and alone ; 
 His robe, by many a bush and thorn. 
 Was rudely into tatters torn; 
 No cowl concealed his reeking brow, 
 But still more sad the picture now; 
 
 The abbot, too, is gone. 
 
 The inmates of the convent all 
 Now^ gather in the spacious hall. 
 
 And wait, with anxious ear. 
 The story of the little priest, 
 
131 
 
 Which all desire to hear; 
 And many a pitying look is given, 
 As, with his eyes upraised to heaven, 
 The priest expressed, in accents faint, 
 Thanksgiving to his patron saint. 
 With many a sigh and tear. 
 
 The nuns, v^ith ready hand, prepare. 
 And bring the convent's richest fare. 
 
 The fruits of field and vine, 
 For in her ample stores v^ere found 
 
 The choicest fruit and wine; 
 The food, and rest, and wine, at length 
 Restore the friar's wasted strength; 
 And, as he now proceeds to tell 
 What strange mishaps had him befell, 
 
 To listen all incline. 
 
 The cheering wine had shown its power 
 The native vigor to restore 
 
 To his aspiring mind; 
 He boasts the courage of his heart 
 
 And piety combined; 
 And, with much earnestness declares, 
 
132 
 
 But for his courage and his prayers. 
 He by the outlaws had been slain, 
 Or, like the abbot, still remain 
 Within a cave confined. 
 
 '' We reached the castle all too late, 
 For the relentless hand of fate 
 
 The work of death had done; 
 The lamps burned dimly in the hall. 
 
 And all was sad and lone; 
 A thousand ghostly shadows tall 
 Seemed dancing on the curtained wall. 
 While, leaning o'er her father's bed. 
 With bitter wailing for the dead. 
 
 Was seen our truant nun, 
 
 " The abbot stood, like one amazed. 
 And on the scene in silence gazed. 
 
 While I alone prepare 
 To aid the abbot, or, perchance. 
 
 Some threatening danger dare; 
 But brother Pedro's robe so ill 
 Became my upright form, that still 
 I looked about to find my own. 
 
133 
 
 Which Madelon aside had thrown, 
 With little thought or care. 
 
 "When dangers suddenly arise, 
 And men are taken by surprise, 
 
 How many lose the power. 
 To meet and face with ready skill, 
 
 The perils of the hour; 
 'Twas thus they stood, but no one spoke. 
 Until a cry of terror broke 
 The silence, and a robber band 
 With naked cimeters in hand, 
 Rush through the shattered door." 
 
 The little friar, now again 
 
 Showed signs of weariness and pain, 
 
 But soon the cheering wine 
 Revives his spirits, and he blessed 
 
 The strength-restoring vine; 
 He then resumes his tale once more, 
 And tells his strange adventures o'er. 
 While priests and nuns around him stand, 
 And oft express with lifted hand 
 
 Their sense of help divine. 
 
134 
 
 (Algernon's tale, continued.) 
 
 '' Oh, had my hand but held a sword, 
 The castle soon had been restored, 
 
 To quiet peace again, 
 And the invading robber band, 
 
 Had fled, or else been slain; 
 But all unarmed, at bay I stood 
 With no defense but cowl and hood; 
 I deemed it safer then and there 
 To yield my thoughts to silent prayer, 
 
 Than risk a strife so vain. 
 
 " Now, fiercely rushing through the gloom 
 A hundred robbers throng the room. 
 
 And seize their helpless prey, 
 Then quickly to the forest wild, 
 
 They urge us on their way; 
 While threats and curses deep and loud 
 Assail us from the wicked crowd. 
 And peals of thunder seem to swell 
 The dread artillery of hell. 
 
 And vivid lightnings play. 
 
135 
 
 "How like a wild and troubled dream, 
 These fearful midnight perils seem ! 
 
 But 'midst a drenching rain, 
 A shelter in a mountain cave 
 
 At length we gladly gain; 
 Where soon the fearful shades of ni^ht 
 Vanish before the morning light; 
 When, rising from beneath the ground, 
 Is heard a strange, unearthly sound, 
 
 Of demon music's strain. 
 
 "It seemed each fiend and midnight sprite 
 Was busy on that fearful night, 
 
 And thronged the earth and air. 
 And nothing saved the prisoners 
 
 But Heaven's constant care; 
 The curses I was forced to hear. 
 Still seem to echo in my ear. 
 And in each shadow I can trace, 
 Some daring robber's fiendish face, 
 
 Whose eyes with fury glare." 
 
 x\s thus the trembling friar spoke, 
 A sudden sigh of terror broke 
 
136 
 
 " The silence of the hall, 
 While in each shadow fancy saw 
 
 Some phantom grim and tall; 
 But now another cup is drained, 
 And soon the weary priest regained 
 His, wonted cheer, and now deplores 
 Their lack of courage, and restores 
 
 The confidence of all. 
 
 *' But think not that my courage then 
 Did for a moment weakly wane. 
 
 Or faith forsake its hold. 
 Had I been timid like the rest. 
 
 My fate had ne'er been told; 
 But while my comrades trembling stood, 
 And terror seemed to chill their blood, 
 I thought our convent needed me, 
 So I resolved the place to flee. 
 
 With courage strong and bold. 
 
 "Quick as the fleetest mountain hare 
 Rushes for safety from her lair 
 When the fierce wolf is nigh. 
 With one light bound I cleared the cave, 
 
137 
 
 And through the woods did fly; 
 Till in a thicket, dense and lone, 
 I for a moment sat me down, 
 And listened with a cautious ear ; 
 But no pursuers could I hear, 
 
 Nor danger met my eye. 
 
 " My way along the mountain side 
 Now led without a point to guide 
 
 My rough, uncertain way; 
 So, higher up the rugged steep 
 
 I boldly took my way; 
 Till, from a summit grand and high. 
 On plains below I cast my eye, 
 Where, in the distance I could trace 
 Grenada's towers, whose classic grace 
 
 No pencil could portray. 
 
 "A river then attracts my view, 
 The winding Darrow well I knew, 
 
 And traced the glittering stream. 
 As dancing on through field and glade 
 
 Its waters brightly gleam; 
 While many a shepherd's cot is seen 
 18 
 
138 
 
 Like specks upon the valley's green, 
 Then o'er the hills and valleys wide, 
 Our distant convent walls I spied. 
 
 Greeting the morning beam. 
 
 " But from these worldly scenes I turned, 
 And every tempting picture spurned, 
 
 And scorned the seeming mirth 
 Of the gay stream, which only showed 
 
 The vanity of earth; 
 The city's proud and lofty towers. 
 Its festive palaces and bowers, 
 And the rude shepherd's morning lay 
 Which caught my ear so light and gay, 
 
 Were all of sinful birth. 
 
 "So, hasting from the mountain brow 
 I quickly reached the plain below, 
 
 And took my homeward flight. 
 Through vale, o'er hill, o'er rock and stream, 
 
 Swift as a mountain sprite ; 
 And as I thus pursued my way 
 Would often to the Virgin pray. 
 Or halt beside some mountain spring, 
 
139 
 
 Drink deeply, and again take wing 
 With footsteps strong and light. 
 
 "Thus I escaped that haunted cave 
 Which is (no doubt) the abbot's grave, 
 
 Far distant and alone, 
 Where robber bands their revels hold 
 
 To demon music's tone. 
 Let holy mass and prayers be said 
 To rest the spirit of the dead, 
 Then let some priest of highborn race 
 Be chosen in the abbot's place 
 
 Until his fate is known. 
 
 "Then let the holy abbess' choice 
 Express the priests' united voice 
 
 To fill the vacant place, 
 A man of courage and of note, 
 
 And filled with zeal and grace." 
 
 As thus the friar closed his tale 
 
 Each nun breathed forth a stifled wail 
 
 The abbess standing near 
 Now bade the nuns and priests retire 
 
140 
 
 The vesper song to hear. 
 But many a jealous look is cast 
 Upon the friar as they passed, 
 By many a monk who thought his claim 
 To bear the abbot's rank and fame, 
 
 Gave less of hope than fear. 
 
 The hour was late, the twilight ray, 
 Which lingers at the close of day, 
 
 Had faded from the West, 
 When the clear vesper notes proclaim 
 
 The welcome hour of rest. 
 The solem^n chorus sends its thrill 
 Through the lone halls, then all is still. 
 And thus the evening's scenes now close, 
 While each forgets in calm repose 
 
 The troubles of his breast. 
 
CANTO IX. 
 
 In famed Judea's classic lands afar, 
 
 When fiercely raged the tide of doubtful war, 
 
 The sun obedient to Almighty force 
 
 Rolled strangely backward in its daily course ; 
 
 So gently backward through the scenes of day, 
 
 Again we glide o'er life's eventful way, 
 
 The mountain cave, its motley inmates too. 
 
 And morning scenes again we bring to view. 
 
 Life oft appears more real than before 
 
 As we recall its varied scenes once more, 
 
 In records drawn from fruitful memory's store. 
 
 A clearer sky and brighter dawn 
 Ne'er on a smiling landscape shone, 
 
 Than greets the outlaw band. 
 When first emerging from the cave 
 
 Around their chief they stand, 
 But had a peal of thunder riven 
 The mountain side, no bolt of heaven 
 Could cause such terror and alarm 
 
142 
 
 As superstition's magic charm, 
 To stay the bandit's hand. 
 
 The little friar wild with fear 
 Soon as the music strikes his ear, 
 
 Springs quickly to his feet. 
 And, scarcely noticed, leaves the cave 
 
 Unchecked in his retreat; 
 While all in listening attitude, 
 Beside the cave in terror stood. 
 The friar like a frightened hare, 
 When roused by hunters from his lair. 
 
 Escapes with footsteps fleet. 
 
 A.S Algernon now took his flight 
 And quickly disappeared from sight 
 
 (Yet none the monk pursued) 
 The most intrepid of the clan 
 
 Again the cavern viewed; 
 The room seemed empty, strange and lone, 
 The captives gone, or changed to stone, 
 While mystic strains rose wild and high ; 
 The frightened brigands quickly fly 
 
 And seek the thickest wood. 
 
143 
 
 A mortal foe they dared to face, 
 But now such mystery they trace 
 
 That filled with sudden dread, 
 They left their spoils and prisoners 
 
 And from the cavern fled, 
 For mystic legends oft were told 
 Of haunted caves and spirits bold, 
 Of music rising from the ground, 
 While each believes the fearful sound 
 
 Was voices of the dead. 
 
 Warning the living to prepare 
 For dread events or evils near, 
 
 Or dirges sung before 
 By vengeful spirits sent to bear 
 
 Their prey to some dread shore. 
 Their conscience dead at other times, 
 Starts into life as thus their crimes, 
 Like threatening demons seem to rise 
 In real forms before their eyes. 
 
 By superstition's power. 
 
 While thus the music wildly rose, 
 And woke the cavern from repose. 
 
144 
 
 The startled maid and knight 
 The well known strains of Marcus knew, 
 
 And listened with delight. 
 Behind a high projecting rock, 
 Which seemed the inner wall to lock, 
 A narrow passage now is seen, 
 And soon behind the welcome screen 
 
 The prisoners take their flight. 
 
 As the last strain in silence dies, 
 
 "Good minstrel, hear!" the maiden cries, 
 
 But all was still within. 
 And soon a cautious step is heard; 
 
 And now a light is seen. 
 The minstrel's voice again they call. 
 The light is gone, and silence all. 
 But followed by the pinioned knight, 
 As from his steps it takes its flight; 
 And finds within an inner cav^e 
 The minstrel and a soldier brave, 
 
 Who stands with threatening mien. 
 
 "An unarmed captive, soldier brave," 
 The knight exclaimed, ''your aid we crave 
 
145 
 
 From foes who hover near. 
 An abbot and a captive maid 
 
 Are my companions here." 
 El Muza sheathed his Calf-drawn blade. 
 ''An unarmed knight or priest," he said, 
 " Whate'er their errand, ne'er shall feel 
 The terror of El Muza's steel. 
 
 You have no cause for fear." 
 
 The abbot and the maiden now 
 Had followed to the room below, 
 
 Where all were quickly known. 
 But short their greetings, as the guests 
 
 Had now their danger shown. 
 With cautious steps but spirits brave, 
 They reach the entrance of the cave. 
 Where, glittering in the morning ray. 
 The castle's walls before them lay. 
 
 The brigand band had flown. 
 
 As brightly dawns the morning ray. 
 
 When night's dark shades are chased away, 
 
 And smiles on grove and plain; 
 Or when the fettered prisoner 
 19 
 
146 
 
 Does liberty regain, 
 So now is changed eacii gloomy fear 
 To smiles of joy and words of cheer. 
 Each tells his strange adventures o'er, 
 And love and friendship wake once more, 
 
 To soothe each grief and pain. 
 
 Homeward again, by Marcus led, 
 The narrow forest paths they tread. 
 
 For well each path he knew; 
 Until at length Melendez' walls 
 
 And turrets meet their view. 
 I need not longer wait to tell 
 How sadly tolled the castle bell, 
 When slowly from his silent room 
 They bore Don Lopez to the tomb, 
 
 Beneath an ancient yew ; 
 
 Nor how the minstrel's saddest notes. 
 Upon the passing zephyr floats, 
 
 As priests with cross and stole 
 Followed the hearse; or how were said 
 
 Long masses for his soul. 
 But sorrow, like the mists that lay 
 Amidst the valleys, flies away. 
 
147 
 
 Soon the retainers seek their homes, 
 And when the peaceful evening comes, 
 Enjoy the sparkling bowl. 
 
 And soon as cheerful as before, 
 
 The minstrel's lay is heard once more 
 
 To cheer the passing hours. 
 And peace and pleasure smile again 
 
 In proud Melendez' bowers. 
 El Muza as a knight unknown 
 Enjoyed with Donna Madelon 
 The castle's wealth, but none could trace 
 His country or his name or race. 
 
 Or dare oppose his power. 
 
 On time's fleet wings the years have flown. 
 The castle's ruins, old and lone. 
 
 Still molder on the plain. 
 No traces of its ancient power 
 
 And grandeur now remain. 
 But legends strange are often told 
 In St. Bernardo's convent old; 
 Of the brave lord who ruled so well, 
 Whose race or nation none could tell, 
 
 Though many sought in vain. 
 
148 
 
 The minstrel ceased, his tale was done; 
 The waning lamp now dimly shone; 
 The evening hours had fled full fast; 
 The midnight was already past. 
 Rinaldo, by the minstrel pressed, 
 Within the cave found quiet rest. 
 And often on some leisure day, 
 Still to the grotto takes his way; 
 And from the ancient hermit hears 
 Some song or tale of former years. 
 
 Muse of the West, the winter days 
 To smiling spring again give place. 
 The cheerful sunlight and the showers 
 Revive again chilled nature's powers. 
 The late deserted fields again 
 Teem with the tread of busy men. 
 I lay aside my pen and song, 
 And mingle with the busy throng. 
 To chase some fancied bright ideal; 
 To grasp some empty form, or real; 
 While friendly hope forever near, 
 Through varied life my way shall cheer. 
 
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