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Translated by C. G. Leland
I. IN Cordova’s grand cathedral | |
| Stand the pillars thirteen hundred; | |
| Thirteen hundred giant pillars | |
| Bear the cupola, that wonder. | |
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| And on walls and dome and pillars, | 5 |
| From the top to bottom winding, | |
| Flow the Arabic Koran proverbs, | |
| Quaintly and like flowers twining. | |
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| Moorish monarchs once erected | |
| This fair pile to Allah’s glory; | 10 |
| But in the wild dark whirl of ages | |
| Many a change has stolen o’er it. | |
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| On the minaret, where the Mollah | |
| Called to prayer amid the turrets, | |
| Now the Christian bells are ringing | 15 |
| With a melancholy drumming. | |
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| On the steps where once the Faithful | |
| Sung the praises of the Prophet, | |
| Now the mass’s worn-out wonder | |
| To the world the bald priests offer. | 20 |
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| What a turning, what a twisting, | |
| By the puppets in odd draping! | |
| What a bleating, steaming, ringing, | |
| Round the foolish, flashing tapers! | |
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| In Cordova’s grand cathedral | 25 |
| Stands Almanzor ben Abdullah, | |
| Silently the pillars eying, | |
| And these words in silence murmuring: | |
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| “O ye strong and giant pillars, | |
| Once adorned in Allah’s glory, | 30 |
| Now ye serve, and deck while serving, | |
| The detested faith now o’er us! | |
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| “But if to the times ye ’re suited, | |
| And ye calmly bear the burden, | |
| Surely it becomes the weaker | 35 |
| Of such lore to be a learner.” | |
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| So Almanzor ben Abdullah | |
| Smiled and bowed with cheerful motion, | |
| O’er the decorated font-stone | |
| In the minster of Cordova. | 40 |
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II. HASTILY from the cathedral, | |
| Headlong on his wild horse riding, | |
| Went the knight, his ringlets waving, | |
| And with them his feathers flying, | |
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| On the way to Alcolea, | 45 |
| All along the Guadalquivir, | |
| By the perfumed golden orange | |
| And the almond’s snow-white glitter. | |
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| Onward flies the joyous rider, | |
| Whistling, singing, gayly laughing; | 50 |
| And the birds with merry music, | |
| And the waterfall, sing after. | |
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| In the castle Alcolea | |
| Dwells fair Clara de Alvarez. | |
| She is free now, since her father | 55 |
| Wages battle in Navarra. | |
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| In the distance drums and trumpets | |
| Sound a welcome to Almanzor, | |
| And he sees the castle-tapers | |
| Gleaming through the forest-shadows. | 60 |
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| In the castle Alcolea | |
| Twelve fair dames are gayly dancing; | |
| Twelve gay knights are dancing with them, | |
| Best of all Almanzor dances. | |
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| As if whirled by gay caprices, | 65 |
| Round the hall he gayly flutters, | |
| And by him to every lady | |
| Sweetest flattery is uttered. | |
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| Isabella’s pretty fingers | |
| Then are kissed, and then he leaves her; | 70 |
| Next he stands before Elvira, | |
| In her dark eyes archly peeping. | |
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| Laughingly he asks Lenora | |
| If to-day he strikes her fancy; | |
| And he shows the golden crosses | 75 |
| Richly broidered in his mantle. | |
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| And he vows to every lady, | |
| “In my heart you live, believe me”; | |
| And “As true as I ’m a Christian!” | |
| Thirty times he swore that evening. | 80 |
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III. IN the castle Alcolea | |
| Mirth and music cease their ringing; | |
| Lords and ladies are departed, | |
| And the tapers are extinguished. | |
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| Donna Clara and Almanzor, | 85 |
| Only they alone still linger: | |
| On them shines a single taper, | |
| With its light wellnigh extinguished. | |
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| On her chair the dame is seated, | |
| On her footstool he is dozing; | 90 |
| Till his head, with slumber weary, | |
| On the knees he loves reposes. | |
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| Now she pours attar of roses | |
| Cautiously, from golden vial, | |
| On the brown locks of Almanzor, | 95 |
| And she hears him deeply sighing. | |
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| Ever cautiously the lady | |
| Presses kisses sweet and loving | |
| On the brown locks of Almanzor; | |
| But his brow is clouded over. | 100 |
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| Ever cautiously the lady | |
| Weeps in floods, with anguish yearning, | |
| On the brown locks of Almanzor; | |
| And his lip with scorn is curling. | |
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| And be dreams again he ’s standing | 105 |
| In the minster at Cordova, | |
| Bending with his brown locks dripping, | |
| Gloomy voices murmuring o’er him. | |
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| And he hears the giant pillars | |
| Their impatient anger murmur; | 110 |
| Longer they will not endure it, | |
| And they tremble, and they totter, | |
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| And they wildly crash together. | |
| Deadly pale are priest and people. | |
| Down the cupola comes thundering, | 115 |
| And the Christian gods are grieving. | |
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