Now stops the drum; close, close they come; thrice meet, and thrice give back;
The white foam of Harpado lies on the charger’s breast of black;
The white foam of the charger on Harpado’s front of dun;
Once more advance upon his lance—once more, thou fearless one!
Once more, once more! in dust and gore to ruin must thou reel!
In vain, in vain thou tearest the sand with furious heel!
In vain, in vain, thou noble beast! I see, I see thee stagger,
Now keen and cold thy neck must hold the stern Alcaydé’s dagger!
They have slipped a noose around his feet, six horses are brought in,
And away they drag Harpado with a loud and joyful din;
Now stoop thee, lady, from thy stand, and the ring of price bestow,
Upon Gazul of Algava, that hath laid Harpado low.
THE BRIDAL OF ANDALLA.
The following exquisitely tender ballad has been often imitated by modern poets:
“Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down;
Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town!
From gay guitar and violin the silver notes are flowing,
And the dulcet lute doth speak between the trumpet’s lordly blowing;
And banners bright from lattice light are waving everywhere,
And the tall, tall plume of our cousin’s bridegroom floats proudly in the air;
Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down:
Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town!
“Arise, arise Xarifa! I see Andalla’s face—
He bends him to the people with a calm and princely grace;
Through all the land of Xeres and banks of Guadalquivir,
Rode forth bridegroom so brave as he, so brave and lovely never,
Yon tall plume waving o’er his brow, of purple mixed with white,
I guess ’twas wreathed by Zara, whom he will wed to-night:—
Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down:
Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town!
“What aileth thee, Xarifa? what makes thine eyes look down?
Why stay ye from the window far, nor gaze with all the town?
I’ve heard you say on many a day, and sure you said the truth,
Andalla rides without a peer, ’mong all Granada’s youth;
Without a peer he rideth, and yon milk-white horse doth go
Beneath his stately master, with a stately step and slow:—
Then rise, oh! rise, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down;
Unseen here through the lattice, you may gaze with all the town!”
The Zegri lady rose not, nor laid her cushion down,
Nor came she to the window to gaze with all the town;
But though her eyes dwelt on her knee, in vain her fingers strove,
And though her needle press’d the silk, no flower Xarifa wove;
One bonny rosebud she had traced, before the noise drew nigh;
That bonny bud a tear effaced, slow drooping from her eye.
“No, no!” she sighs; “bid me not rise, nor lay my cushion down,
To gaze upon Andalla with all the gazing town!”