The Admiral's Farewell

The royal fleet with fluttering sail is waiting in the bay;
And brave Mustapha, the Admiral, must start at break of day.
His hood and cloak of many hues he swiftly dons, and sets
Upon his brow his turban gay with pearls and amulets;
Of many tints above his head his plumes are waving wide;
Like a crescent moon his scimitar is dangling at his side;
And standing at the window, he gazes forth, and, hark!
Across the rippling waters floats the summons to embark.

Blow, trumpets; clarions, sound your strain!
Strike, kettle-drum, the alarum in refrain.
Let the shrill fife, the flute, the sackbut ring
A summons to our Admiral, a salvo to our King!

The haughty Turk his scarlet shoe upon the stirrup placed,
Right easily he vaulted to his saddle-tree in haste.
His courser was Arabian, in whose crest and pastern show
A glossy coat as soft as silk, as white as driven snow.
One mark alone was on his flank! 'twas branded deep and dark;
The letter F in Arab script, stood out the sacred mark.
By the color of his courser he wished it to be seen
That the soul of the King's Admiral was white and true and clean.
Oh, swift and full of mettle was the steed which that day bore
Mustapha, the High Admiral, down to the wave-beat shore!
The haughty Turk sails forth at morn, that Malta he may take,
But many the greater conquest his gallant men shall make;
For his heart is high and his soul is bent on death or victory,
And he pauses, as the clashing sound comes from the distant sea;

Blow, trumpets; clarions, sound your strain!
Strike, kettle-drum, the alarum in refrain.
Let fife and flute, and sackbut in accord
Proclaim, Aboard! Aboard!
Thy pinnace waits thee at the slip, lord Admiral, aboard!

And as he hears the summons Love makes for him reply,
"O whither, cruel fortune, wilt thou bid the warrior fly?
Must I seek thee in the ocean, where the winds and billows roar?
Must I seek thee there, because in vain I sought thee on the shore?
And dost thou think the ocean, crossed by my flashing sail,
With all its myriad waters and its rivers, can avail
To quench the ardent fire of love that rages in my breast,
And soothe the fever of my soul into one hour of rest?"
And as he mused, in bitter thought, Mustapha reached in haste
A balcony; till dawn of day before that house he paced,
And all his heart's anxieties he counted o'er and o'er,
And, when the darkness of the night toward opening twilight wore,
Upon the balcony there came the cause of all his sighs,
But a smile was on her rosy lips and a light was in her eyes.
"O lovely Zaida," he began, and gazed into her face,
"If my presence at thy window is a burden to thy peace,
One pledge bestow upon me, one pledge of love, I pray,
And let me kiss thy lily hand before I sail away."
"I grieve for thy departure," the lady made reply,
"And it needs no pledge to tell thee I am faithful till I die,
But if one token thou must have, take this ere thou depart;
('Twas fashioned by these hands of mine) and keep it on thy heart!"
The Moor rose in his stirrups, he took it from her hand,
'Twas a piece of lace of gold and silk shaped for a helmet band.
There was the wheel of fortune with subtile needle drawn,
(Ah, Fortune that had left him there dejected and forlorn!)
And as he paused, he heard the sound tumultuous come again,
'Twas from the fleet, down in the bay, and well he knew the strain.

Blow, trumpets; clarions, sound your strain;
Strike, kettle-drum, the alarum in refrain.
Let fife and flute, and sackbut in accord
Proclaim, Aboard! Aboard!
Thy pinnace waits thee at the slip, lord Admiral, aboard!

Oh, stay my foes, nor in such haste invite me to the field!
Here let me take the triumphs that softer conquests yield!
This is the goal of my desire, the aim of my design,
That Zaida's hand in mine be placed and her heart beat close to mine!
Then spake the fair Sultana, and she dropped a tender tear,
"Nay mourn not for the present pain, for future bliss is near.
The wings of Time are swift, and they bear a brighter day;
And when once the longed-for gift is here 'twill never pass away!"
Then the Moor's heart beat high with joy; to smiles were changed his
sighs,
In silent ecstasy he gazed into the lady's eyes.
He rode to meet his waiting fleet, for favoring was the wind,
But while his body went on board, he left his heart behind!

Blow, trumpets; clarions, sound your strain!
Strike, kettle-drum, the alarum in refrain.
Let the shrill fife, the flute, the sackbut ring
A summons to our Admiral, a salvo to our King.