First shrilled an unrepeated female shriek!—
It seemed as if Don Roderick knew the call,
For the bold blood was blanching in his cheek.—
Then answered kettle-drum and attabal,
Gong-peal and cymbal-clank the ear appal,
The Tecbir war-cry, and the Lelie’s yell,
Ring wildly dissonant along the hall.
Needs not to Roderick their dread import tell—
“The Moor!” he cried, “the Moor!—ring out the Tocsin bell!
XX.
“They come! they come! I see the groaning lands
White with the turbans of each Arab horde;
Swart Zaarah joins her misbelieving bands,
Alla and Mahomet their battle-word,
The choice they yield, the Koran or the Sword—
See how the Christians rush to arms amain!—
In yonder shout the voice of conflict roared,
The shadowy hosts are closing on the plain—
Now, God and Saint Iago strike, for the good cause of Spain!
XXI.
“By Heaven, the Moors prevail! the Christians yield!
Their coward leader gives for flight the sign!
The sceptred craven mounts to quit the field—
Is not yon steed Orelio?—Yes, ’tis mine!
But never was she turned from battle-line:
Lo! where the recreant spurs o’er stock and stone!—
Curses pursue the slave, and wrath divine!
Rivers ingulph him!”—“Hush,” in shuddering tone,
The Prelate said; “rash Prince, yon visioned form’s thine own.”
XXII.
Just then, a torrent crossed the flier’s course;
The dangerous ford the Kingly Likeness tried;
But the deep eddies whelmed both man and horse,
Swept like benighted peasant down the tide;
And the proud Moslemah spread far and wide,
As numerous as their native locust band;
Berber and Ismael’s sons the spoils divide,
With naked scimitars mete out the land,
And for the bondsmen base the free-born natives brand.
XXIII.
Then rose the grated Harem, to enclose
The loveliest maidens of the Christian line;
Then, menials, to their misbelieving foes,
Castile’s young nobles held forbidden wine;
Then, too, the holy Cross, salvation’s sign,
By impious hands was from the altar thrown,
And the deep aisles of the polluted shrine
Echoed, for holy hymn and organ-tone,
The Santon’s frantic dance, the Fakir’s gibbering moan.
XXIV.