ROSALINDA
It was the early morn of May Day,
When the song birds wake the grove,
And teeming trees and opening flowers
Own the glow of kindling love;
It was the early morn of May Day,
On the fresh bank of the wave
Sat the Infanta Rosalinda
Bent her flowing locks to lave.
Flowers they bring her red and rosy,
Flowers they bring her virgin white—
But on a blossom soft as she is
Questing eye may never light.
Softer far is Rosalinda
Than the rose that decks the thorn—
Purer than the purest lily
That opes to weep at dewy morn.
The Count High-Admiral passed by her
In his galley of the sea—
On each side so many rowers
Told aright they may not be.
Of the captive bands who row’d it—
All from Afric’s bosom torn—
Some were proud and mighty nobles
Some of kingly blood were born.
Betwixt Ceuta and Gibraltar
If one Moor in safety be,
Ill at ease the Lord Count saileth
In his galley of the sea.
O! how gentle glides the galley
Answering well the guiding oar—
More gentle still he who commands it,
Skill’d to leave or gain the shore.
—‘Count Lord Admiral tell me truly
From your galley of the sea,
If the captives that you conquer
All to row compelled be?
—‘Fair Infanta! tell me truly
Without equal, Rose so fair!
The many slaves that gladly tend thee
Tire they all thy flowing hair?’
—‘Art thou courteous, Count! so lordly
Asking thus—not answering me?’
—‘Answer thou, and I will answer,
To me thou must not silent be.
Of the slaves who round me muster,
Each the allotted task doth know;
Some aloft the sails to manage,
Some upon the bench to row.
The lady captives soft and gentle
Twine on deck the mazy dance—
Deftly wearing flowery carpets,
Couch for Lord in dreamy trance.’
—‘Thou’st answer’d, and I answer thee—
For good the law that bids re-pay.
I have slaves for every purpose—
Slaves who all my will obey.
Some to fit my varied vestments
Some to tire my flowing hair—
For one I keep another office,
But him my toils must yet ensnare!’
—‘He’s ta’en-be’s thine! So fully captur’d
That ne’er would he be ransom’d more!
Pull to the land—the land, ye vassals,
And drive the galley high ashore!’
Then sweet with fairest Rosalinda
And noble Count the moments sped—
While orange groves her form o’ershadow’d
And flowrets garlanded her head.
But crabbed fate, that will not suffer
Any good without allay,
Led the steps of the king’s huntsman,
As he roam’d to walk that way.
—‘What thine eyes have seen, O huntsman!
Huntsman! prithee do not tell.
Purses fill’d with gold I give thee,
As much as thou can carry well.’
All the royal huntsman witness’d
Did he to the King make known,
On study bent in private closet
Thoughtful sitting and alone.
—‘Whisper low the news you bring me,
And we give thee guerdon rare;
Raise on high thy voice to sound it,
And we hang thee high in air.
To arms—to arms, my faithful Archers,
Without the rousing war-pipes sound,
My Cavaliers, and trusty foot-men,
Haste the grove to circle round!’
It is not yet the glow of mid-day,
Loud and long the bell doth boom!
It is not yet the gloom of midnight,
Walk they both to meet their doom!
To the sound of Ave-Marias,
Both are tomb’d in solemn state;
She before the altar holy,
He beneath the western gate.
Soon the grave of Rosalinda
Did a Royal tree disclose,
Soon the grave of Count so noble
Show’d a bed of softest rose.
When the Monarch heard the marvels,
Quick he bade them both destroy,
Giving to the ruthless flame each
Record of departed joy.
The trees they cut, and roses scatter,
Still the emblems thrive again;
E’en as the air which them embracing
Feeleth neither wound nor pain.
The King when he was told the story
Ceased he to speak for aye,
And when the Queen the wonder heard
Moan’d she thus her dying lay:
—‘Call me not Queen!—a Queen no longer,
She who such dread deed hath done!
Two spotless souls I’ve rent asunder,
Whom heav’n would fain have joined in one!’