Classic Poem

O H ye! whose sympathetic Hearts are formed
To Woe responsive, and whose tremulous nerves
Vibrate to Sorrow's mournful notes, attend!
Not you, ye gay! nor you, ye vacant crowds,
Who only wake to pleasures of the World,
Nor feel Existence when they cease t' impel,
I call not you! for your unfeeling breasts
Wild Dissipation steels, and robs your minds
Of the sweet Energies bestowed by Heaven.
But, come ye few! who love the lonely hour,
Who know the sense refined, the charming agony,
Which Pity gives the hallowed heart she fills,
To YOU I call! Oh come, and trace with me,
Whilst eve's bright star gives forth its glittering rays,
The mazy windings of yon sombre Wood.
Behold the lawn that opens on the left,
With crocus border'd, aromatic Thyme,
And every fragrant shrub that tempts the Bee
Down from the buoyant air to breathe in sweets.
—Erst oped the wicket of that humble Cot
By slow degrees full softly on its hinge,
As forth, with cautious tread, a beauteous girl,
A blessing breathing o'er her slumbering Sire,
The threshold passed, whilst from his short repose
A LMANZOR starting, called—Where art thou Child?
Where, where's my darling? Oh! return, O SMIDA !
Why wilt thou wander through Night's piercing air?
Ah! venture not amidst its chilling dews,
Return, my Child! th' unpitying winds will seize
Thy tender frame—
The night is calm my Father!
A Zephyr scarcely moves the restless Aspin,
And the clear Moon, with soft inviting beam,
Tempts through the Foliage of the lofty pines;
A thousand glowing colours bloom around,
A thousand scents perfume the tranquil air,
A moment let me breathe its balmy sweets.
Confined beneath the Cottage roof by fear,
But more confined by duteous cares for thee,
All Day I live immured. Then let me now
Taste Nature's blessings—exercise and air.
Heaven guard my Child! he breathed. But soon return,
That balmy Sleep may sooth thee on thy couch.
Osmida left the cot, and bent her steps
Towards the margin of a neighbouring Lake.
'Twas not its lucid bosom drew her steps,
Nor moon inviting through the lofty pines,
Nor balmy air, nor healthful exercise;
Ah, no! her bosom'd anguish 'twas to breathe,
Where grief, though audible, its notes might waste
In vacant air, not torturing the ear
Of old Almanzor, Sire revered, beloved!
Sinking to Earth, with eyes that view'd with awe
The glowing canopy of Heaven, in sounds
More mournful than the tender stock-dove's plaints,
She thus implored Omnipotence Divine.
Oh, Thou! to whose eternal, boundless, sight
All woes present themselves, to Thee I pray!
Not for Myself my Prayer, but for my Sire,
For him, whose care-worn heart, oppress'd, and drooping,
Subdued by torturous Griefs, seems torn from Thee!
His soul her wonted Confidence forgets,
And falls from Thee! he leans not on the rock,
The sacred rock, by which alone he stands,
And, quitting, sinks to measureless Despair!
O Thou! accept my humble heart for his,
Hear, hear Almanzor, in Osmida's voice!
'Tis he implores; bless, comfort, heal his griefs,
To Thee direct his sorrow-wilder'd Heart!
Next, for my Country , Heaven, accept my
Behold its Struggles with a pitying eye! [Prayer!
Drive from thy Temple's gate the mocking Infidel!
Restore thy Altars! Guard—
By Terror stopt,
Unfinish'd was her Prayer! Forth from the Shade
Of the surrounding thicket rush'd a Knight
In shining armour clad, on bright steed borne,
That seemed to scorn the earth his light heel pass'd
As though his element had been the Air,
And bore his master to the glittering lake
Whose border still Osmida's knee impressed.
Light vaulting on the ground, the Knight approached,
And in such Courteous Phrase addressed the maid,
That half her Terrors ended with his words.
Leave me Sir Knight! with Firmness she pronounced,
And as she spoke, her voice, though sweet, expressed
A custom to command! Leave me Sir Knight!
None ever tread these unfrequented wilds,
But those to whom the door of sweet Society,
And Friendship's holy gate, are shut for ever!
And can the social door, and Friendship's gate,
To others open, close on thee? O Heaven,
This Paragon forsake the peopled world
And here midst Desarts dwell! But, tell fair maid,
What ills, what sore afflictions, thee have driven
To these sequestered shades!
My sorrows, Knight,
I scarcely whisper to the speechless air,
And must not trust them to a Stranger's ear!
And, from your courtesy, I now demand
My Solitude again. But, as you hope
Protection from the Power that hears my voice,
Swear never to divulge that in these glades
A maid you found of not mere rustic air!
The Stranger paused. And then, in hopes to win
Her Confidence, and woo her from Reserve
By frank Example, thus the Nymph addressed.
—To whom could I reveal this lone abode?
I who, like you, by keen misfortunes pressed,
Here shelter from the World; quit former haunts;
Blithe G ALLIA'S vineyards, and her fertile meads,
Which bloomed and fertilized in vain to grief!
Ah! is Affliction so insatiate
That daily victims must become her prey?
But, way-worn Knight! say whither tends your path,
What Warder lists to hear your Bugle's sound?
Sweet, pious, maid! no hospitable gate
De Courci seeks, no Welcome waits his steps!
To Eastern Climes I bend my lengthening course.
Entrust me with your Woes, instruct me, Lady,
How, at the Holy Sepulchre, your Name
May animate my Prayers! that there your griefs,
From Holy Ground, may pierce the vault of Heaven,
And gain from thence soft peace and cheering joy
Fit inmates for your breast. That duty past,
My Sword shall lend its vigour to the Cause,
The sacred cause, which arms each Christian Knight!
Osmida's eye, with new-born Hope's bright beam
And Gratitude inspired, shot forth her thought,
Ere from her moving lips these accents flowed;—
And shall my sorrows from the holy cave
Gain greeted audience at th' Almighty's throne!
She stopt, and check'd her growing Frankness!
The stranger saw instinctive Prudence rise,
And fear'd to give her Caution time to act—
Yes, he rejoin'd, with Zeal most pure and ardent
Will I your sorrows bear to that blest spot,
Where virtuous Sorrow cannot plead in vain!
Struck with his Piety, and hallowed air,
Yet doubting still, the timid, wavering, maid
Paused, then resolved; and, bending, meekly said
—Such kind persuasion Confidence demands
Reposed in Christian Knight, who, with his Life,
Now passes forth to aid each Christian's cause!
Yet, patience will you need, whilst I relate
Events so mighty fitter they'd become
A manly tongue. Of Battles I must speak,
Of falling kingdoms, and victorious arms.
Such strains attune not with a female voice!
But, not alone of War shall I discourse,
Of meeting armies and contending states,
A Tale for gentle Pity I'll unfold
But too accordant with each tender note!
Osmida, deck'd with grace of chaste reserve,
At gentle distance, near the moss-grown roots
Of an expanding beech a Wood-Nymph seemed,
A Woodland Goddess! and her grassy seat
Chaste D IAN'S rural throne. Grave recollection
O'er her soft features spread an air composed;
Whilst in Night's zenith, 'midst her radiant court,
The Moon's sweet rays invited calm Attention.
Closed were now the whispering Zephyr's wings,
To stillest rest resigned the rustling trees,
The silent waters of the lake reposed,
Night's sweet musician too had still'd her song
And heard a sweeter note from sad Osmida.
All thus in Silence wrapt, the thoughtful maid
In tone sedate began the promised Tale.
This happy clime, the Realm of A RRAGON ,
Had late a Monarch whom her sons revered,
As King, revered him, and as Father, loved!
He loved his People, knew no griefs but their's,
And the fond blessings which they gave his name
Soothed all the cares a Diadem brings on.
Peace in this happy reign secured the throne,
And brought each prosperous blessing in her train,
Fair Commerce wayed her Penons in our Ports,
Our sterile fields the fertile plough enriched,
Our Granaries, like those of Egypt, drew
From neighbouring countries riches and renown.
The common Peasant, round his well stored board,
Saw thankful features prove contented Hearts,
Blithe in the Morn he rose to healthful toil,
And hail'd, with joy, th' approach of festive eve.
Such once the envied lot of Arragon,
But, fame for Riches marked her out for prey!
The hope of Plunder spreading through the South,
Enticed the Moors from their polluted home.
Barbarian prows swarm'd o'er our peaceful seas.
The Afric spoilers swiftly reach'd our shores,
Our warning Beacons were but Hamlets fired
That blazed the woe-fraught tidings through the land!
Death, Rapine, Ruin, mark'd their dreadful way,
As, Devastation at their Coursers' heels,
They onwards came to S ARAGOSSA'S walls.
Deep Consternation spread through every street,
Th' affrighted daughters to the Temples ran,
Each Mother grasp'd her child, and shrieking hied
Near Husbands, Fathers, Brothers, all in arms,
Who chid the mourners that thus check'd their speed,
Snatch'd last Adieus, and rush'd upon the walls.
But, from the walls, what image struck their view!
A turban'd Phalanx on the hill appeared;
Upon the Right advanced a dreadful Column
Of Cars all armed around, so thickly set
With Scimitars, and tranchant glaves, each seemed
A steely Porcupine, whose burnish'd quills
Caught the bright rays of the meridian Sun
And on the Town refracted gleaming fire.
Upon the Left, the Marksmen, dark, keen eyed,
With ebon bows, and quivers fully stored,
Seem'd minions from th' unerring archer Death!
In dreadful pomp, they slowly reach'd the plain,
Fixed their bold Standards, and entrenchments formed!
Whilst our scared citizens observed their works
Like louring elephants when looking forth
Upon th' entrapping huntsmen they behold
Inevitable Fate!—But, dark despair,
That first unnerved, next gave them mad'ning Rage,
Lead us! they cried—lead to the Moorish Camp!
Their Numbers what! for self alone each comes,
With us our Parents, Wives, our Children, Laws,
Religion, Liberty, all aid the war,
And will incessantly inspire our arms!
This holy rage like sparks electric flew
From man to man. Each urged his valiant Friend,
As if on Each the general weal depended!
The King, who felt that from Th' A LMIGHTY'S arm
Their foe's destruction could alone proceed!
Each holy Temple's gate threw wide.
The Soldiers, Citizens, the Nobles croud,
And every fane resounds with earnest Prayer.
Devout and prostrate, they implored the High
For G IDEON'S sword, and mighty J OSHUA'S arm.
Shield us, they cried, preserve thy faithful people!
Nor give us to the Mockers for a scorn!
Omnipotence! preserve us from their yoke,
Humble these boasters who repose their strength
Not on thy arm, but in their own frail host.
To Thee, O God of Battles, we appeal!
The Arragons, with sanctioned hopes inspired,
Rush'd from the temples in impetuous haste!
All like fierce Lions that at distance see
Their destined prey, and pant, and foam, and rage
With Pride of certain Conquest! But their Prince
Strove their incautious ardour to restrain.
No golden torrent hurried from his lips,
No dazzling periods on each other strung,
No Lightning rapid in each sentence flew,
No words that petrified, or pause that spoke,
Calm and reflective he pursued his theme,
As, true to Thought, his words spontaneous flowed—
“All bounteous Heaven, he urged, by means, not Miracles,
Decides the Fate of Armies and of Realms,
Let prudent Foresight then direct your aim.
The haughty Moors, contemptuous of our strength,
Doubtless expect to see our opening Gates
Receive them Masters at the Trumpet's call!
To lull their Vigilance we'll offers make
Of Terms, too humble for a state in Freedom,
And yet too high for Conquerors to accept.
Then, in the Night's meridian, when no star
With tell-tale beam upon our polished mail
Shall show us to the watchful centinel,
Then will we rouze, like Lions from their dens,
And prove our Courage equal to our Cause!”
The swelling notes of spreading approbation,
Like growing Thunder height'ning on the ear,
Pour'd on at length in loud extended shouts!
Live, live the King! re-echoed all the troops—
Heaven guard my People! breathed the heart-touch'd King.

The Herald sent, in well set terms misled,
By show of fear unfelt, the Moorish camp.
All now made ready for the hour of onset!
Peace-rusted swords regain'd their polish'd edge,
The nervous Archer tried his idle Bow,
And gave new plumage to his missile darts,
Whilst Maidens, Matrons, spread the martial flame.
Yet 'mongst the maidens one sad Heart there was,
Which in the bosom of the Princess heaved.
Her vows, her plighted vows, had long been given
To young M ONTENOS , Duke Medina's Heir,
He, only he, could melt her icy breast!
And none so well a heart untouched deserved.
His mind, more noble than his Princely Birth,
Lent Glory to his Name, his Form was matchless,
As th' Ancients feign celestial Virtue wears
When visible to man. Then, wonder not,
She lived, she breathed, she thought, but for Montenos!
Incessant terrors now besieged her mind,
A thousand Perils which her Fancy dressed
In colour, substance, circumstance, and form!
Yet, from her Lover, 'twas her care to hide
The tender weakness which her heart confessed—
Yes go, Montenos, prop our tottering State,
Amidst our great Preservers, be thou Chief!
The shades of Eve advanced, and from the camp
The subtile messenger returned—returned
With Insult loaded, and contemptuous threats,
That spoke the Spirit of the dreadful foe!
The Moors demanded general Vassalage;
That conquer'd Arragon! so proud their stile!
Should yield them Homage, and perpetual Tribute;
A Day they granted, to elect or Death,
Or slavery on earth, Revolt from Heaven!
Our open'd Gates, and Crescents on our spires,
The only answers they will deign to take!
Some hours, tremendous Pause! were yet to pass,
Gloomy Suspense imprinted on each brow,
Between this Insult, and the hour for fight.
All, self collected, seem'd retired within,
Reflection nursing courage in their hearts.
The tender Twilight, which so long had dwelt
With dubious light upon the martial plain,
Withdrew its beam to follow distant day,
And Night, at length, advanced her gloomy reign.
And now through Saragossa's streets the March,
Unmeasured by the Drum's awakening sound,
In awful pomp began! The mansions near
Re-echoed Blessings as the soldiers passed,
And urgent voices uttered fervent prayer
As eager, ardent, eyes petitioned Heaven!
Where, near the Postern gate, wide Space extends
The Army formed. But I, a simple maid,
Cannot relate, Sir Knight, in terms of Art,
How, in what Order, grew. I have not skill
To use the Phrases chance hath given my ear.
Were I to muster Flank, and Rear, and Van,
You'd find my tongue to wild Confusion lead!
—Learn then but this: the King the Centre kept;
Montenos, lofty Chief! led on the Right.
'Twas now the holy Prelate, with a train
Of cloister'd Priests, bare-footed, robed in white,
And bearing each a C RUCIFIX , advanced—
“Ye more than Warriors, said the man of God,
Ye C HRISTIAN Soldiers, think whose sword you bear!
The barbarous nations of the earth, whose ears
With sound of Gospel truth were never blessed,
Have yet atchieved such wondrous deeds in arms
Their names will live to Time's remotest day!
How many nations have for Freedom fought?
How many others for Revenge have armed?
All this You fight for.—But, You fight for more!
The death You risk, is death incurred for Him,
Who, on this Cross! bore torturous wounds for you
Beyond all mortal sense! For your Sins flowed,
This blood, this sacred blood, for All gush'd forth,
As Tortures, borne for All, surpassed all Mortal pain!
For Him then fight, who Heaven's bright crowns
Go, and atchieve them, as you die for Him! [awards,
Let all aspire beyond this earthly sphere
As you with hopes of more than Life pass on!
The Choirs of Holy Angels hymns attune
To greet ye Conquerors at the gates of Heaven!
The sword of Gilead girded on your loins
Go forth, undaunted!”
As the Father ceased,
By this true Heroism all inspired,
As if one Soul had reign throughout the field
From every mouth burst forth—“We fearless go!”
All eagerly depart; and favouring Night
Long hid their progress from th' unwatchful foe.
The midnight gloom no longer aided now,
For traitress Echo to the Moorish Camp
The sounds of distant warlike steps conveyed.
From Guard to Guard the hasty signals flamed,
Like Meteors flitting thwart the dark expanse!
The Infidels, alarmed, were all alert,
And quivering lights, that lately faintly served
To guide our soldiers in their dread approach,
Now multiplied and blazed, till all the Camp
One vast illumination seemed! that broke,
With dreadful splendour the surrounding gloom.
Our troops, undaunted, quicken'd as they trod,
Till hasty marching grew to eager speed—
To Arms! to Arms! the scared besiegers cried,
O UR arms are here! replied th' advancing Foe!
Silence, no longer useful now, gave way
To all the dreadful din that Battle loves!
The haughty trumpet, and the vigorous drum,
With the shrill fife's acuter voice, accorded
To summon Valour in the weakest heart!
The Moors rush'd forth impetuous and confused,
No order thought of, and no order heard.
Some to the Trench, some to the War-Cars flew
T' attach the frighted horses to the shafts,
The restive horses spurned th' accustomed yoke,
Dash'd their scared leaders wildly to the earth
And plunging scour'd th' illuminated plain.
Ere panic yielded to courageous calm,
Our troops had gained the ditch, and to the fronts
Of the besiegers, now besieged, advanced!
The battle's Fury in an instant spread,
And all its horrors were mature at once!
The bows were useless, throat to throat they fought,
Foes mixed with foes, ranks broke on hostile ranks,
Till both were blended in one dreadful whole.
Death never triumphed as he triumphed now,
Of hasty victims ne'er such tribute gained.
He who was killing, by another's slain,
And he, in finishing his blow, partook
The Fate he gave! The armies scarcely joined,
A thousand souls had passed th' eternal bourn,
And mingled blood, of Moors and Christians, flowed
In heavy tide one murky stream along.
Borne by his Steed, in all its pride of Strength
Ire'd by the Corslet's and the Helmet's glare,
O'er Heroes now M ONTENOS Hero shone;
Turn'd the aim'd spear, and, fired with sense of Right,
Dread Retribution wreaking on the Moors,
Each foe o'erthrew, whilst fearless valour beam'd
In vivid sparkles from his threatning eye.
Where'er he moved destruction oped his way,
And Death seemed rampant on his ponderous axe!
What caught the view a moment since, no more
Had hold on Thought throughout the spacious plain,
So much beyond the rest his deeds excelled
The wildest devastation of the Night!
At length, the glowing portals of the east
Gave forth the Morn, whilst Victory still advanced
Our trophied Banners o'er the reeking field.
The Moor perceived the remnant of his host
Bereft of Leaders, and for quarter called.
His Troops their arms surrendered on their knees,
Invoking Mahomet their lives to save
From forfeit merited; invoking him
Who them taught ne'er to spare th' avenging sword!
The mercy, now implored as gracious boon,
The Christian Rule accords as due of Right,
The Christian wars not but in self-defence,
Nor knows to trample on a vanquish'd foe!
With louring fronts the conquered Moors are led
To grace the March Triumphant to the town.
The Princess, midst her Suite, upon the walls
In dread Anxiety had passed the night!
Judge then her Rapture, her exalted Joy,
When she beheld, on this victorious march,
Betrothed Montenos and her royal Sire!
She to the Plain, of Forms all heedless, rush'd,
Her virgins followed, and the reverend Priests;
To Heaven they lowly bent, and, with their King,
Adored the mighty arm that him restored,
With unstain'd Victory from the deathful field.
Her valiant Lover, leading in his hand
The Moorish Prince, with eager pace pressed on,
To claim his high Reward—her raptured glance!
The sullen Moor scarce deign'd a startled look
As, with an air no fancy can pourtray,
The lofty triumph of the Conqueror's smile
His features height'ning to sublimer Grace,
The gallant youth presented him, and said—
“My arm, resistless when inspired by You,
Hath vanquish'd even this courageous foe,
Whose Valour, shown in righteous cause, were Fame!”
Ah! Fatal moment, source of every grief!
Would Heaven had pleased, in mercy, then to send
Death's saving dart to strike the royal maid
Thus in the thrill of every sweetest joy!
So had her breast, each throbbing anguish spared,
Sunk peacefully----Alas! where roves my tongue,
From the strait Order of narrating facts!
It needless were my story to prolong
In painting scenes your fancy will supply;
The joyful Entry, warlike Games, where all
Was one triumphant Holiday. In brief,
T' appreciate Liberty a Tyrant taught
High Ransom offered now the captive Moor,
With league of amity and lasting peace!
The Terms accepted, Gallies were dispatched
The barter'd price of Liberty to bring.
Meanwhile he joined the Games, and seem'd to lose
His barbarous roughness in blithe social sports!
'Twas other influence subdued his soul,
Alas! the Princess fired his heart with Love!
Perchance he hoped to found a future Claim
On realms allied thus by a tender tie.
He e'en dared vaunt his haughty hopes to her
When now approached the destined day to join
The royal maiden and her loved Montenos.
Though marriage sports already were prepared
Still the proud Moor, audacious! talked of Love.
With due disdain repulsed, strait to the K ING
His Love-tale he, with sullen port, addressed
I am not used, he urged, to offer Crowns
And have them spurned, like Subject-lover's Toys!
Give me your Daughter! I'll give her a Throne!
Dominion she shall have makes Arragon
But fertile Villa seem, so vast the State
Whose Sceptre's mine!
The King's firm answer showed
Th' assuming Infidel his suit was vain!
—Zorador's Fury to such Transports grew,
At this destruction of his Hopes, he seem'd
No longer Man! his eye-balls glared with Rage.
His Brain on fire, his wrath spared not Himself!
His beard in scattered fragments strewed the floor,
Whilst his inflated bosom, rack'd within,
Without resounded with his frenzied blows.
He raved, blasphemed, and wept. His Strength o'er-come,
His Mind gave way, as though convulsive sleep
Had seized his Faculties, and slack'd the fire
That filled his heated veins. His Slaves who oft
Beheld their Lord a victim to himself,
Bore him, exhausted, to his couch; and there,
With tremulous Lutes, and Vocal melody,
By sweet enchantment woke him from his trance!
His haughty soul, that scorns all other laws,
Will yield to Music all its boisterous ire,
On each strain hang, at each note's magic melt,
And transient virtue gain from soothing sound.
Composed in air, and masking what he felt,
Again Zorador sought the pensive King.
“Forgive, he said, the Frenzy of my mind!
Spoiled by Prosperity, till late I thought
That Earth, that Fate, that Heaven, for me combined
To shield misfortune from my circled head.
Your Powerful Arms, O King of Arragon!
First taught Zorador that he is but Man,
And, now, your Daughter's still more potent sway
Has taught Zorador he's almost a Slave!
I love with Agony, with Madness, love!
Oh, spare me then the horror of a sight
My fever'd brain doth fire to think on! Save,
From torturous neighbourhood to marriage Rites,
The Heart which thus with hopeless ardour burns.
Now, lingering Time hath number'd all the hours
That we allotted for my Fleet's return,
Soon as the southern Zephyrs sooth the air,
The swelling sails will whiten all the coast.
My Ransom paid, I quit your fatal walls;
Then, whilst my woes I bear to distant seas,
The blithe triumphant spousals may be sung,
And no wretch near to madden at the sound!”
Here ceased Zorador, and the good old King,
Unable to withstand a claim thus urged,
Granted his tortured suitor his request.
The Moorish squadron with the shifting wind
Quick reached the ports; whence patient Camels bore
Their sumptuous loads to Saragossa's gates.
Stuffs, Ingots, Ivory, formed the Ransom borne,
Carpets of Persia, Hangings wrought with gold,
The richest sables, scarves enrich'd with Pearl;
Silk robes, by Grecian damsels taught to glow
With flowers of vivid tint, and buds so prompt,
They seem'd to blow beneath the gazer's eye;
Rich Scimetars with sparkling diamonds deck'd,
Or sanguine Rubies dyed. All these were borne,
In pompous march through Saragossa's streets,
Whilst haughty coursers, from Arabia's hills,
In sumptuous housings, champing golden bits,
Curvetting, check'd the wonder-loving croud
At length arrived the joyful wish'd for morn
To rid the city of the sullen Moors!
With words of courtesy, but moody looks,
Zorador went; but bade his train of Slaves
To shed profusely, as they pass'd along,
Rich showers of Gold upon the gazing croud,
Whose venal voice was loud with “Live Zorador!”
Soon as our couriers, swift returning, brought
News that the swarthy Moor had spread his sails,
State Heralds strait proclaimed the Royal Marriage!
—The Nuptial Morn the silver trumps announce,
With the soft hautboy, and the tender lute,
And sweeter voice of choral maids, combined.
Forth from the palace to the Church, through streets
With Carpets laid, and myrtle garlands hung,
The long Procession's length'ning train drew out.
The Nobles first, in Order due, advanced;
The less in Rank escaped eclipse in front,
The greater after in due progress came
Till Splendor heighten'd into Sovereignty!
In his due rank, not yet of royal state,
Montenos, still not unattended, walked.
Her rich Train borne by twenty noble maids
The Princess came, by gazing eyes abashed.
The King, beneath his Canopy of State,
With due Attendants closed the splendid scene!
Now, from the croud, a Youth advanced, who caught
The eager gaze of every wondering eye!
His face a Mask, of youthful beauty, hid,
His airy Form seem'd worthy such a face;
His flowing hair with knots of Pearl was tied,
And on his head a rose-form'd Garland bloom'd;
An ivory Flute he held, through which he breathed
Each melting touching strain of melody!
As he came on the soldiers clear'd his way,
And near the King, with fuller note, he passed,
Approached the Princess, and, with reverence low,
And softer breathings, paid her graceful homage
He passed, and reached the Bridegroom; quicker notes
His hurried music gave.—He forward step'd,
Proffer'd, with courteous air, the tuneful pipe;
Montenos, smiling, stretch'd his hand, when—Horror!
His breast the Flute-head reach'd, whence sprang a Poniard!
A second blow, ere thought could steady, came,
The third the murderer on himself bestowed,
And weltering sought his refuge with the Dead!
Astonishment all motion seem'd t'arrest,
And rooted all who saw the bloody deed.
The Bridegroom, sinking on th' assassin's corse,
From this state roused the horror-struck around!
And now dread sounds, of Death! Montenos! Murder!
Assail'd the wretched Bride—almost a Wife!
Osmida paused; for Firmness seem'd to strive;
Her flutter'd pulse, all tremor for the Cause,
By sudden Fear congeal'd, its office ceased,
And saving Stupor snatch'd her from her woes!
The dying Bridegroom to the Palace now
By Knights in blood-stain'd marriage robes was borne,
Whilst others search'd the Murderer's mangled corse,
To learn his Motives for the dreadful deed.
His mask unclasped disclosed a well known face;
A Mute he was, and in Zorador's train!
Content to die by self inflicted blow,
Less tortured thus than had he dared refuse!
A Fiend-like scroll, concealed within his vest,
Developed all the murderous hell-sprung deed
In these dread words:—“'Tis not the Slave, from Me
Proceeds the blow! Vengeance, though not my Love,
Shall be appeased. Learn, King of Arragon!
Learn both to know, and dread, contemn'd Zorador!”
The noble victim of the Moor's revenge
Breathed not a word; but strain'd his beamless eyes
To catch the object made his heart still beat!
—Not seeing her, they closed on all, for ever,
Seal'd for their long enduring Sleep by Death!

Here paused Osmida, fixed in moody thought!
The story, fraught with woe, had cast a shade
Of deepest Sorrow o'er her pensive brow.
Her heaving bosom laboured with her Sighs,
Her Mind was absent, lost in past event!
The Knight, who eager grew to know the tale
She promised of Herself, presumed at length
To wake attention to the point at which
Her voice ceased charming with its touching notes.
You, gentle Stranger! shall be spared to hear
Described at length in torturous detail
The Court's distress, the anguish of the King,
The Bride's, the unwedded Bride's, forlorn distraction.
Uncheering Suns passed o'er long tedious months,
Ere midst her features Patience spread its Smile
And Resignation soothed her widowed Heart:
Nor then, until, at lost Montenos' Tomb,
Her solemn Vow she made, no more to list
A Lover's tale, but, widow'd still to him,
To wait the heavenly hour that should unite
Her faithful Spirit with her murder'd Lord's!
—This tribute paid, a dawn, like that a Peace,
By soft degrees illumed the mourner's mind.
Two years had slowly doled their-heavy hours
To Time's eternal stream, when, in the south,
Terrific Objects all th' horizon broke!
Zorador, he whose soul from inmost hell
Was mission'd scourge to earth, not glutted yet
With full satiety of hoped for Vengeance,
Nor yet forgiving our triumphant arms
That seized the Laurels all his Life had gained,
Like a night torrent, dreadful, fierce, unchecked,
Again came on to overwhelm the land.
—As vain, as striving with a whirlwind, seemed
Our hope to vanquish this long muster'd force;
Mysterious Heaven will'd they should succeed!
Again we saw them hover on the hill,
The country victim to the locust train.
The Parley, deign'd before, not now allowed,
Their arrows, catapults, and battering rams,
Were now the only messengers they sent!
—Whilst sounding anvils clanging music gave,
Still, one dread week our troops sustained the siege,
And filled the Breaches with their slaughter'd foes.
At length some billets on the Javelins' points
The rampart passed; their threats Assault, and Death,
To every citizen that dared refuse
To own Zorador Conqueror and King!
The Threat effected all the Moor had hoped!
And Arragon's grey Monarch all forsook,
They, for whose Rights he'd freely yield his Life!
The throneless Monarch saw his yielding gates
Part, and admit his fell remorseless foe!
The Posterns still were open to escape,
Swift, all distraction, he his Daughter sought,
Fly! let us instant fly! he, breathless, said,
The Moors have vanquish'd, and my Child's a Slave!
The Crescents gleam throughout our conquer'd streets,
And fierce Zorador will not long delay
Within my Palace to assert his reign!
Away! my Daughter, lest dishonour find thee.
—The Princess, practised in repressing Grief,
And taught a Firmness stranger to her years,
Her Father's hand close grasped. Lead on she cried
Where Providence ordains! My duteous steps
Shall ever wait on your's, assist your path,
And chear, to Life's last sigh, your weary way!
The world before them lay, they knowing not
Whither to point their feet, or whom to trust!
In this drear moment, loyal A RLOS came,
In haste exclaimed—“Accept the only aid
Destructive Fate, Sire, suffers me to give.
Your Flight is plann'd! A loyal Knight attends,
To humble, but secure retreat he'll guide.
The worst foreseen, this Refuge I prepared
As the fell Moor advanced upon the town.
For me, I'll stay, and greet with plausive smile,
My Hate! Zorador; whilst you ambush near,
To take advantage of each turn of fate.”
With speechless Gratitude, and brighten'd eye,
They both quick followed where Lord Arlos led,
'Neath humbler Mantles those of State concealed,
And 'scaped on steeds the swiftest of their race.
Full entrance now the Moorish troops atchieved,
O'er all the walls their haughty Crescents fixed;
No Terms the citizens, thus Slaves, obtained,
'Twas unconditioned Slavery, or Death!
Now, heavy Tribute starves their pallid frames,
And tears the morsel from their children's mouths!
With quickest speed towards the royal dome
His palace now! Zorador bent his course;
In haughty vaunt enjoying that the King
Would now implore him to espouse his child,
Though proffer'd Thrones rejected were before.
But—Frenzy fires his brain! his Prey is flown!
No fallen King to outrage and insult,
No Princess subject to his dreaded suit!
His furious rage made victims all around,
Each Church, each house, each Monastry was search'd,
And troops dispatched soon reach'd each frontier pass
To bar the Fugitives from full escape.
The King and Princess devious journey'd on,
Through Wilds where Boars and howling midnight Wolves
Had taught the Echoes all the sounds they knew.
A whole day's Sun they rode; the Moon that rose
Through Heaven's blue vault bedropt with molten gold
In vast magnificence its course pursued,
The travellers guiding to a Forest's verge.
Their trusty Guide a humble shelter there,
Formed by misfortune's hand, to view displayed.
And on a rough-hewn table, that before
With other dainties never had been heaped
Than labour culled from the surrounding herbs,
Parch'd corn, sun-candied grapes, and racy wine
They found with caution frugally prepared;
Exhausted nature craved the cordial aid
And all the patriarchal feast partook.
Th' attendant Knight here left them; with the steeds,
That traitor hoofs might not betray the King,
To other districts, by detour , went off;
But, bosom'd deep in numerous leagues of wood,
The means to find the wish'd Asylum gave.
A weary distance now, on foot, they go,
Through dreary Desarts, and untravell'd Wilds,
The aged, grief-worn King, when faint, cheer'd on
By her who seemed to find the griefs assuaged
That gave her Heart full range of filial care!
In the full centre of the Wood described,
The Cot, made humble by Design, they found,
Three rooms, all fitted but in rural stile.
Their food they took, or from the stores prepared,
Or from the Vines, long hid from human eye
No hand to ease them of delicious loads!
Such the retreat the Fugitives have found.
Farewell to gilded roofs, and chorded Minstrelsy!
Their shelter, now, but such as Peasants seek,
Their concert, Birds immingling wild-notes sweet,
Or Winds that rustle round their turf-crown'd Cot.
Some shifting phases of the moon they've watch'd,
Since human voice, save their own pensive tones,
A Sovereign's lately flatter'd ear hath reached.
Yet, happier they than those condemned t' endure
The voice of coarse unfeeling Tyranny!
What can I more? If my eventful Tale
Hath touched the chord of Pity in your heart,
And raised the pleasing pain of Sympathy,
Know, 'tis no Stranger's woe that I have told!
Myself the Subject of my grief fraught tale,
It is the P RINCESS speaks——
Enough! exclaimed
The Knight, with ardor springing from the bank,
Enough! our Prize is found! and Wealth, and Rank,
Gained through his Master's smiles, are now D E C OURCI 's!
His hurrying lips his Bugle closely press'd,
The piercing sounds the mingling Echoes seized
And sent them transverse back from hill to hill;
The Signal heard, the call some Moors obeyed,
And spur'd their horses headlong through the glades.
Osmida now had flown! The wily Wretch
No sooner spoke his Joy, than like the fawn
That finds 'tis neighbour'd by a lurking foe
Lovely Osmida flitted through the shades,
Rapid, as starting star that cleaves the air
In beauteous transit 'thwart the Ethiop Night.