Gazul's Despair

Upon Sanlucar's spacious square
The brave Gazul was seen,
Bedecked in brilliant array
Of purple, white, and green.
The Moor was starting for the joust,
Which many a warrior brings
To Gelva, there to celebrate
The truce between the kings.
A fair Moor maiden he adored,
A daughter of the brave,
Who struggled at Granada's siege;
Granada was their grave.
And eager to accost the maid,
He wandered round the square;
With piercing eyes he peered upon
The walls that held the fair.
And for an hour, which seemed like years,
He watched impatient there;
But when he saw the lady mount
Her balcony, he thought,
That the long hour of waiting
That vision rendered short.
Dismounting from his patient steed,
In presence of his flame,
He fell upon his knees and kissed
The pavement in her name.
With trembling voice he spoke to her,
"I cannot, cannot meet,
In any joust where you are near,
Disaster and defeat.
Of yore I lived without a heart,
Kinsmen, or pedigree;
But all of these are mine, if thou
Hast any thought of me.
Give me some badge, if not that thou
Mayst recognize thy knight,
At least to deck him, give him strength,
And succor in the fight."
Celinda heard in jealous doubt;
For some, with envious art,
Had told her that fair Zaida still
Ruled o'er the warrior's heart.
She answered him in stormy rage:
"If in the joust thou dost engage
With such success as I desire,
And all thy broken oaths require,
Thou wilt not reach Sanlucar's square
So proud as when thou last wert there.
But there shalt meet, disconsolate,
Eyes bright with love and dark with hate.
God grant that in the deadly joust
The enemies that thou hast roused,
May hurl at thee the unparried dart
And pierce thee, liar, to the heart.
Thy corpse within thy mantle bound
May horses trail along the ground.
Thou comest thy revenge to seek,
But small the vengeance thou shalt wreak.
Thy friends shall no assistance yield;
Thy foes shall tread thee in the field;
For thou the woman-slayer, then,
Shall meet thy final fate from men.
Those damsels whom thou hast deceived
Shall feel no pang of grief;
Their aid was malediction,
Thy death is their relief.
The Moor was true in heart and soul,
He thought she spake in jest.
He stood up in his stirrups,
Her hand he would have pressed.
"Lady," he said, "remember well
That Moor of purpose fierce and fell
On whom my vengeance I did wreak
Hast felt the curse that now you speak.
And as for Zaida, I repent
That love of mine on her was spent.
Disdain of her and love of thee
Now rule my soul in company.
The flame in which for her I burned
To frost her cruelty has turned.
Three cursed years, to win her smile,
In knightly deeds I wrought,
And nothing but her treachery
My faithful service brought,
She flung me off without a qualm,
Because my lot was poor,
And gave, because the wretch was rich,
Her favor to a Moor."
Celinda as these words she heard
Impatiently the lattice barred,
And to the lover's ardent sight
It seemed that heaven was quenched in night.
A page came riding up the street,
Bringing the knight his jennets fleet,
With plumes and harness all bedight
And saddled well with housings bright;
The lance which he on entering bore
Brandished the knight with spirit sore,
And dashed it to the wall,
And head and butt, at that proud door,
In myriad fragments fall.
He bade them change from green to gray;
The plumes and harness borne that day
By all the coursers of his train.
In rage disconsolate,
He rode from Gelva, nor drew rein
Up to Sanlucar's gate.