The Jealous King

'Twas eight stout warriors matched with eight, and ten with valiant ten,
As Aliatare formed a band allied with Moslem men,
To joust, with loaded canes, that day in proud Toledo's ring,
Against proud Adelifa's host before their lord the King.
The King by proclamation had announced the knightly play,
For the cheerful trumpets sang a truce upon that very day;
And Zaide, high Belchite's King, had sworn that war should cease,
And with Tarfe of Valentia had ratified the peace.
But others spread the news, that flew like fire from tongue to tongue,
That the King was doting-mad with love, for then the King was young;
And had given to Celindaja the ordering of the day.
And there were knights beside the King she loved to see at play.
And now the lists are opened and, lo! a dazzling band,
The Saracens, on sorrel steeds leap forth upon the sand;
Their trailing cloaks are flashing like the golden orange rind,
The hoods of green from their shoulders hang and flutter in the wind.
They carry targets blazoned bright with scimitars arow,
But each deadly blade is deftly made into a Cupid's bow.
A shining legend can be seen in letters ranged above;
And "Fire and Blood" the motto runs. It speaks of war and love.
In double file a company of warriors succeed;
The bold Aliatares come mounted on Arab steeds.
The livery that they wear is dyed in tint of crimson red;
And flower and leaf in white relief its surface overspread.
The globe of heaven, which many a star and constellation strow,
Borne upon Atlas' shoulders, is the blazon that they show.
And a Moor of Aliatar this motto does express,
Written upon a streamer, "I Endure through Weariness."
The Adelifas follow; a mighty race are they.
Their armor is more costly, their mantles are more gay.
Of bright carnation is the web, enriched with saffron streaks,
And for favors there are fluttering veils upon their helmet peaks.
A globe they blazon on their shields, but it is bruised and broke
By a savage with a bludgeon, who deals it many a stroke;
And a rod, and underneath it this motto tells the tale,
All written in Arabian scrip. It says, "The Strong Prevail."
The eight Azarques following these into the plaza spring,
With air of haughty arrogance they gallop round the ring.
Of blue and purple and pale gold are the mantles that they wear,
And for plumes they carry amulets that dangle high in air.
On their left arm are their targets, painted a dazzling green.
The orb of heaven is outlined there on which two hands are seen,
The motto, "Green is paramount," is lettered full in view;
Its arrogance explains to all those targets' vivid hue.
Then foams the King in rage to see his doting love was fleered,
And his heart is filled with bitter thought as that proud shield
appeared.
And he called the warden of his keep, Celin his henchman tried,
And he pointed to Azarque, and, flushed with anger, cried--
"The sun upon that haughty shield myself will bid it set;
It works some mischief upon me, like an evil amulet."
Azarque drew his ready lance, his strong arm hurled it high,
The light shaft soared amid the clouds, and vanished in the sky.
And those whose vision followed it grew dizzy at the sight,
They knew not whither it had flown, nor where it would alight.
The ladies of the burgesses at many a window press
To see the javelin from his hand rise with such readiness,
And those who on the platform were seated with the King
Bent back to see how well the cane that gallant Moor could fling.
And as Azarque forward rides, as in retreat he flies,
"Now, Allah guard thee, gallant knight," with shouts the people cries.
"My curse upon him; he shall die," the jealous King replies.
But Celindaja paid no heed to all that cavalcade;
Her lips were parched, her throat was dry, her heart was sore dismayed.
She asked that they would bring her fruit, but yet she strove in vain
With juice of any earthly tree to slake her fevered pain.
"Now let the sport be ended," the angry King decreed.
The joust was late, and every judge in weariness agreed.
And as they closed the empty lists, they heard the King's command,
"Now seize, now seize Azarque, a traitor to this land."
The double lines of cavaliers who led the jousting train
Threw down upon the open square the spear of idle cane;
Then swiftly seized the lance of steel and couching it for fight,
According to the royal wish rode down upon the knight.
For arms and plea must ever bootless prove
To curb the passions of a king in love.

The other band came forth to save Azarque from his foes,
But the stout Moor waves his hand to them ere they in battle close.
Then calmly cries: "Tho' love, it seems, has no respect for law,
'Tis right that ye keep peace to-day and from the lists withdraw!
Nay, gentlemen, your lances lower before it be too late;
And let our foes their lances raise, in sign of passion's hate;
Thus without blood accorded be a victory and defeat.
'Tis only bloodshed makes the one more bitter or more sweet,
For arms or reason unavailing prove
To curb the passions of a king in love."

At last they seize the struggling Moor, the chains are on his hands;
And the populace, with anger filled, arrange themselves in bands.
They place a guard at every point, in haste to set him free,
But where the brave commander who shall lead to victory?
And where the leader who shall shout and stir their hearts to fight?
These are but empty braggarts, but prowlers of the night,
Cut-throats and needy idlers--and so the tumult ends--
Azarque lies in prison, forsaken by his friends.
For, ah, both arms and reason powerless prove
To turn the purpose of a king in love.

Alone does Celindaja the coward crowd implore,
"Oh, save him, save him, generous friends, give back to me my Moor."
She stands upon the balcony and from that lofty place
Would fling herself upon the stones to save him from disgrace.
Her mother round the weeping girl has flung her withered arm.
"O fool," she whispers in her ear, "in Mary's name be calm!"
Thou madly rushest to thy death by this distracted show.
Surely thou knowest well this truth, if anyone can know,
How arms and reason powerless prove
To turn the purpose of a king in love.

Then came a message of the King, in which the monarch said
That a house wherein his kindred dwelt must be a prison made.
Then Celindaja, white with rage: "Go to the King and say
I choose to be my prison-house for many and many a day,
The memory of Azarque, in which henceforth I live:
But the treachery of a monarch my heart will not forgive.
For the will of one weak woman shall never powerless prove
To turn the foolish purpose of a king who is in love.

"Alas for thee, Toledo! in former times they said
That they called thee for vengeance upon a traitor's head.
But now 'tis not on traitors, but on loyal men and true
That they call to thee for vengeance, which to caitiff hearts are due.
And Tagus gently murmurs in his billows fresh and free
And hastens from Toledo to reach the mighty sea."
E'er she said more, they seized the dame, and led her to the gate,
Where the warden of the castle in solemn judgment sate.