Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Spain, Portugal, Belgium, and Holland: Vols. XIV–XV. 1876–79.
Moorish Ballad
By José Zorrilla (18171893)R
Far away,
Stands a Moorish tower tall;
The Darro’s waters, swift and pure,
Flow obscure
Below its frowning wall.
Mysteriously,
Making soft music to the ear;
And close among the meadow reeds
And tangled weeds
The night breeze whispers near.
Flowers expand,
Outpouring perfume wild;
Birds of plumage, fair and bright,
Sing by night,
Amidst the flowers mild.
Dashing all
Down the rocks’ rough sides;
And like the image of a dream,
The broken stream
Paints pictures as it glides.
The jalousies
Welcome its murmurs breathed around;
Within the dark balcony wide,
The Sultan’s bride
Stands as in silence bound.
The midnight air
Is touched with gentle sound,
And the bride’s voice, in breathings low,
Is lost below
Upon the herb-grown ground.
With wakeful noise
The nightingale replies,
Warbling in tuneful ease,
Among the trees
That in the garden rise.
Of voice and bird
Swells round that solemn tower;
Hushed, as if listening, seem
The breeze, the stream,
Elm, palace, field, and flower.
And there replied
The bird in harmony,—
And there the Sultan stood,
And murmurs heard,
While watching jealously.
Rich pearls and gold,
And bring me garlands dear;
Yet say, O flower! to fortune rare
And beauty fair,
What still is wanting here?
And gardens great,
To Eden’s paradise near;
But, garden, say,—with fortune rare
And beauty fair,
What still is wanting here?
As fleecy light,
Veiling the charms they fear;
O, say, thou bird! to fortune rare
And beauty fair,
What still is wanting here?
Before my eyes,
Nothing calls forth a tear;
Then say, O moon! to fortune rare
And beauty fair,
What still is wanting here?”
And suddenly
A shadow came across the light,—
It was the Sultan, at the side
Of his fair bride,—
She started, half in fright.
“In thy tower,—
Flowers and jewels dear;
Tell me, loved one, to thy portion,
To thy passion,
What still is wanting here?
Or waters cold,
What has the bird or flower,
That with the dawn of every day
I do not lay
At thy own feet, a dower?
Charm or fortune,—
Ask me even for a folly.”
“Sultan, these birds that I love, singing,
These flowers springing,
Have air and liberty!”