The twilight-shadows fast and deeply fall, Yours is the triumph, and the conflict o'er.īut lo! descending o'er the darken'd hall, Stand faint and breathless, but undaunted yet. Urging his followers, till their foes beset, Hath well avenged a sire, a brother, lost. Yes, that young arm, amidst the Zegri host, Search through the serried fight, where loudest criesĪnd brightest where the shivering falchions glare,Īnd where the ground is reddest-he is there. Yes, trace the footsteps of the warrior's wrath,īy helm and corslet shatter'd in his path Īnd by the thickest harvest of the slain,Īnd by the marble's deepest crimson stain: While swells his voice that wild acclaim on high, His Aben-Zurrahs 3 there young Hamet leads His dark eye flashing with a fiercer light,Īrdent, untired, scarce conscious that he bleeds, In his red hand the sabre glancing bright, Where foes are mightiest, charging ne'er in vain "Revenge and freedom! let the tyrant die!"Īnd onward rushing, and prevailing still,Ĭourt, hall, and tower, the fierce avengers fill.īut first and bravest of that gallant train, While echoing domes return the battle-cry, There bleed the fallen, there contend the brave, There the strife centres-swords around him wave There, girt and guarded by his Zegri bands,Īnd stern in wrath, the Moorish monarch stands Of eve, yet lingering, on the fountain blaze Within the hall of Lions, 2 where the rays 'Tis the loud clash of shield and scymitar. Not the light zambra, 1 nor the choral song: Hark! from th' Alhambra's towers what stormy sound,Įach moment deepening, wildly swells around? Yes, Nature sleeps but not with her at rest
With all that art hath dreamt, but never caught. Tints of the sun, whose bright farewell is fraught
To the rich evening of a southern heaven In light and stillness wood, and tower, and steep, Hush'd are the winds, and Nature seems to sleep
That melts and mingles in th' empurpled sky.įragrance, exhaled from rose and citron bower,īlends with the dewy freshness of the hour: Īnd Darro's wave reflects each passing dye One of the most beautiful halls of the Alhambra is pointed out as the scene where so many of the former celebrated tribe were massacred and it still retains their name, being called the "Sala de los Abencerrages." Many of the most interesting old Spanish ballads relate to the events of this chivalrous and romantic period. The conquest of Granada, by Ferdinand and Isabella, is said, by some historians, to have been greatly facilitated by the Abencerrages, whose defection was the result of the repeated injuries they had received from the king, at the instigation of the Zegris. The events with which the following tale is interwoven are related in the "Historia de las Guerras Civiles de Granada." They occurred in the reign of Abo Abdeli or Abdali, the last Moorish king of that city, called by the Spaniards El Rey Chico. Le Maure ne se venge pas parce que sa colère dure encore, mais parce que la vengeance seule peut écarter de sa tête le poids d'infamie dont il est accablé,-Il se venge, parce qu'à ses yeux il n’y a qu'une âme basse qui puisse pardonner les affronts, et il nourrit sa rancune, parce que s'il la sentoit s'éteindre, il croiroit avec elle, avoir perdu une vertu.
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