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(From Granada)
THAT day from Cordova came word, | |
| Confused, of what had there occurred, | |
| Which no one understood aright,— | |
| Each told a version of his own; | |
| And, when at last the truth was known, | 5 |
| All talked about that wondrous flight; | |
| Some saw the Moor, and some the knight, | |
| And some had seen two men in fight; | |
| And, though to tell were nothing loath, | |
| Knew not if one was killed or both. | 10 |
| Some said they fought not, but were lost | |
| As a deep mountain stream they crossed; | |
| Others affirmed that in despair | |
| The Moslem leaped his horse in air, | |
| Where a deep chasm broke the path, | 15 |
| To ’scape his fierce pursuer’s wrath; | |
| And that the knight, in headlong course, | |
| Unable to restrain his horse, | |
| While pressing close upon his foe, | |
| Fell also in the gulf below. | 20 |
| Some, howe’er, there be who say | |
| They were seen at break of day | |
| Near Penillo, in their flight,— | |
| Two shadowy forms that mocked the sight. | |
| For, they say, the Evil One | 25 |
| Helped the Moor his fate to shun; | |
| And Our Lady, when he prayed, | |
| To the knight gave equal aid: | |
| Thus, no more mere flesh and blood, | |
| Man and horse as spirits rode; | 30 |
| And the Moslem still doth fly | |
| From the vengeful Christian nigh. | |
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| ’T is said he pressed him hard and sore | |
| As the plain they traversed o’er, | |
| Till, at last, he had to seek | 35 |
| Refuge on the mountain peak. | |
| From Alhama’s rocky height— | |
| Lofty as an aerie’s site, | |
| On a giddy precipice, | |
| Overlooking an abyss, | 40 |
| In whose dreadful depths you scan | |
| The foaming torrent of Marchan— | |
| They were noticed in their flight, | |
| Speeding for the southern side, | |
| Where the Velez pours its tide. | 45 |
| From Malaga the two were seen, | |
| The Christian still pursuing keen; | |
| And, as they passed the castle gate | |
| Where Julian’s daughter met her fate, | |
| The guard upon the lofty wall | 50 |
| Heard the Moor derisive call, | |
| In loud, insulting tone, the name | |
| Of that unhappy maid whose shame | |
| Is coupled with the woes of Spain. | |
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| By Monardo now he flies, | 55 |
| Where the Red Sierras rise; | |
| Again the mocking Moslem jeers, | |
| And the maddened Christian hears | |
| A shout, like demon-laugh from far,— | |
| “El Feri de Ben Estepar!” | 60 |
| By Ronda next, as legends say, | |
| The spirit horsemen took their way; | |
| Dashing amid its broken rocks | |
| Like the wild goat that danger mocks. | |
| ’T is said they leaped the Guadalvin, | 65 |
| And that their hoof-prints long were seen | |
| On the chasm’s dreadful brink, | |
| Where the dark gulf doth deepest sink, | |
| And the hidden stream doth flow | |
| A hundred fathoms far below. | 70 |
| Leaving Zahara on the right, | |
| The Moor to Arcos takes his flight; | |
| And, still ahead, doth swiftly ride | |
| Along the Guadalete’s side | |
| To the Campiña of Xerez,— | 75 |
| That field where Spain found shame and death. | |
| The air was filled with battle’s sound, | |
| Two armies fought upon the ground; | |
| A swarthy chief, with glowing eye, | |
| His flashing scimitar waved high; | 80 |
| And his fierce, turbaned followers led | |
| Against a Christian host which fled; | |
| And soon the whole of that vast plain | |
| Was strewed and covered with their slain. | |
| The Moor triumphant waved his hand, | 85 |
| Again the Christian drew his brand, | |
| And one more frenzied effort made | |
| To reach him with the avenging blade. | |
| The Moor sped on, and followed hard, | |
| From all rest and case debarred, | 90 |
| Distant hills and plains he sought; | |
| And wherever fight was fought | |
| Which on Spain hath evil brought— | |
| Since then, or in the days before, | |
| From Cadiz to Cantabrian shore— | 95 |
| He would point, and mock his foe | |
| With the visioned scene of woe. | |
| |
| And still they hold their ceaseless flight | |
| Amid the haunted hills of Spain,— | |
| Invisible to mortal sight, | 100 |
| And free from mortal wants and pain. | |
| Ne’er pausing, on their course they sweep | |
| Over despoblados wild; | |
| Through barrancos dark and deep, | |
| Where broken rocks like walls are piled; | 105 |
| Over dehesas lone and wide, | |
| And where the rugged ramblas stray, | |
| And up the steep Sierra’s side, | |
| They still pursue their reckless way. | |
| Swift as the cloud’s dark shadow flies | 110 |
| Across the sunlit plain below; | |
| So, though unseen by mortal eyes, | |
| The spirit horsemen come and go. | |
| But the muleteer hath heard | |
| Their hoofs amid the silent hills, | 115 |
| When sultry noon hath left unstirred | |
| The drooping leaves and dried the rills. | |
| And when the goat on giddy height | |
| Stands gazing forth with fixéd eye, | |
| Although invisible to sight, | 120 |
| The goatherd knows that they are nigh; | |
| And when beside the gurgling stream | |
| His noontide rest the traveller takes, | |
| Perchance the raven’s dismal scream | |
| His light but grateful slumber breaks, | 125 |
| He looks around, but all is still | |
| Amid the lonely, lifeless waste,— | |
| Only a stone rolls down the hill | |
| No mortal hand nor foot displaced. | |
| And when the wintry tempests howl, | 130 |
| And danger fills the midnight air, | |
| And loudly shrieks the boding owl, | |
| And the lone hermit kneels in prayer, | |
| More fiercely on their wild career, | |
| Pursuer and pursued sweep past; | 135 |
| And sometimes you can plainly hear | |
| Their voices on the stormy blast. | |
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