At day-break from beneath Time's pinions flew
Wan Sorrow and her sister laughing Joy,
And floating towards the sunny vales of Spain
One rested in Granada, and the other
Lit on the banners of a host encamped
Around the city. The long day they revell'd,
And wearied fled at night-fall to their rest.
Early the vaunting trumpets had proclaimed
The invader's conquest; at high noon the sun
Flashed brightly on the ranks, as through the gates
The foeman passed in triumph; not at eve,
Led by their weary monarch, the sad band
Of Moorish warriors through the purple shades
Which deepened on the wood-clad mountain rode
Still upwards, never lingering to look back.
But when they gained the summit the fresh breeze
Blew o'er them, whispering of the happiness
And freedom they were leaving. Then they turned.
Already the dark hills began to veil
The sun's bright chariot, and the city shone
Like a charmed palace in a golden sea.
That fickle sun, who, guiding his fresh steeds,
Had kissed the Moorish banners as they floated
And opened slowly to the morning breeze,
But now upon the conqueror's blood-stain'd flag
Lavished its golden beauties! Abdallah
Peering beneath his bended eye-brows viewed
The palaces where he had spent his youth,
The mighty halls which late beheld his pride
And now, alas, his ruin. As he stood
His lips were parted, but his grief repressed
The words he would have uttered, and a sigh
Burst from his bosom. Slowly he passed on,
The mountain hid the valley, and for him
The sun forever on Granada set.
They passed, and a charmed silence held the heights;
Then strove each airy cloud, each mountain ridge
To hold the sun's last gifts, which, as in play,
He scattered ere he vanished; but in vain,
For slowly to his chamber in the west
He gathered them and soon from Heaven's face
The gorgeous hues had vanished. O'er the earth
Night's gloomy veil then sank, and Nature slept.
At the calm hour amidst unbroken peace
Granada rested, and within alike
Victor and vanquished, prince and slave, friend, foe
Lay all unconscious of their joys or griefs.
For through each chamber, hidden by the night,
Had flown a gentle spirit, from whose wings
A drowsy influence fell on those it passed.
Blest Spirit! On whose altar in all lands
Unnumbered offerings burn; upon whose name
How many have in weary accents called,
And when thou camest welcomed thee. To him
Who still upon Life's battle-field contends,
Courage thou givest, and renewest strength
To dare the morrow's combat. When at length
Thou gently bathest the strife-wearied limbs
In everlasting slumber, then no more
Return the once loved dreams of earthly bliss,
Far grander visions meet the warrior's gaze
Than e'er his noblest conquests could pourtray,
And in thy starry mansions he beholds
The everlasting victory of Peace.
So wondrous was the silence, and the Moon
Rose in a cloudy robe, which scarce concealed
Her beauty; but at length when her clear eyes
Peering from out her veil surveyed the night,
The mantle slowly dropped, and as it fell
Shed o'er the sleeping landscape glistening showers.
Upon the mountain's crest, where Abdallah
Had breathed his sad farewell, in the clear beams,
Clad as a Moorish maiden, now there sat
The spirit of the people which ere this
Had held the region. O'er her neck and face
Fell wildly the bright locks, and with her hands,
Made paler by the Moon, she hid her eyes.
Around the robe which stately hung there shone
A more than earthly radiance. Long she sat
In silent majesty. At last she rose,
And sadly gazed into the vale, where now
Entranced the city lay; for round the walls
A thousand streamlets caught the light of Heaven
And flashed it to the highest towers, whereon
It rested in mute glory. But the scene,
So full of peace, so beautiful, to her
Brought only wildest sorrow; then she spoke
And the deep silence by her low, sad voice
Seemed all unbroken; the winds ceased to sigh
And as they passed her gently bore her words
Through the long valley, and far up the hills,
And whispered them throughout the leafy wood:
" Once-glorious city! Many-towered Granada!
Has then thy greatness fallen? Have thy portals
Which I once thought would crush the daring head
That near'd to harm thee opened to the foe?
Where were the mighty souls that erewhile dwelt
Within thy kingly palaces? Would they
Have calmly watched, and in gay tournaments
With the thick gathering enemy have spent
The precious days, while all around thee rose
The hostile ramparts? Would they thus have perished?
When the swan dies its breath aloft is borne
In rapture-swelling numbers; so the day
Decked in a million-coloured robe withdraws,
And at the last with treble splendour dies
Far in the western heaven; but from thee;-
Thou who in power and glory soared'st as high
As e'er the swan above the crystal waves,
Who with thy beauty lit'st the lands around
As the sun doth the universe; from thee,
In thy last hour of pride, no gladsome song
No battle-cry was heard. Along thy streets,
In solemn grandeur and proud state, the foe
Walked unresisted. O degenerate King!
Weep dry the fountains of thy burning tears,
Then pour upon the sterile sand that blood
Thou would'st not peril for a fruitful realm!
Thou art the last of a long royal line
Whose glories I have witnessed. For, one day
Far back among the ages, which long since
Have passed to the land of sunset, from a fount
Which bubbled in a fair oasis, set
Midst burning deserts, joyful I leapt forth
To meet the day-light. Not alone I lived,
For on this island in a sea of sand
There dwelt rude children of the wilderness.
The freedom of their uncurbed breasts, which owned
No sway but Nature's had a mighty power
Which drew me on to love them. All the day
Unseen by them I wandered, and at eve,
As stretched beneath the fragrant boughs they lay
And watched the fiery circle dropping low
O'er lands unknown to them, I sang strange songs,
Which mingling with the merry fountain's ripple
Sank deep within their hearts, and breathed to life
The spark of nobler passion. When they slept
In pleasant dreams they heard me, and I sang
Of power and empire, happy lands which lay
Far onward to the sun-rise, and cool groves
Whence icy streamlets sprung, and rushing forth
Wandered through golden valleys; past the towers
Of thickly-peopled cities; till with joy
Bearing upon their bosoms Heaven's face,
They joined the sun-lit Ocean. Thus I sang,
And as the ages passed a mightier soul
Echoed the music, but the barren face
Of never-changing deserts wearied it.
For a still freer life my people longed
And northward wandering found it by the sea.
Here they long rested, and their children grew
Learn'd in the secrets which the billows told,
Rich-stor'd in mind with all the wondrous tales
Of the far-travelling zephyrs. Once again
A longing roused them, and their shining keels
Clove the dark purple billows. With gentle words
I won the whispering winds and fickle waves,
And for my sake they bore the wanderers on
To a still fairer land, where azure peak
With valley alternated, and wide bays
Spread their spray-spangled arms into the sea
In joyful welcoming. Ere long arose
Their cities, ever nobler, till at last
Thy towers, Granada, stood, a monument
Which Art may vainly rival. O how oft
As thy fair walls were rising, have I sat,
When sleep possessed thy builders, sat enthroned
On some yet crownless column, singing songs
Of triumph to the night, and from the hills
The winds have rushed to revel in thy halls
And chanted a wild chorus. For a time
Within thy courts, Alhambra, I forgot
My people were but mortal, and I dreamt
E'en Time was vanquished. What a shock was that
Which broke the pleasant dream. Alas! How soon
Was lost each dear-loved city. First, thy walls,
O sadly-wept Alhama, were encircled;
Then sunny, sea-lulled Malaga, thy ships
Bowed to a stranger's banner, and thy woods
Flower-crownid Baza sunk beneath the axe;
And now my own Alhambra's sorrowing halls
Have echoed hoarsely to the victor's tread!
Farewell Granada! Far away to the south
A whisper calls me; there beneath the fount
Whence long ago I issued I shall rest;
Forgetful of the flush of victory,
Forgetful of the onward flight of Time,
And of thy glory which shall fill the world! "
This said the Spirit vanished, as the East
With slowly deepening blushes heralded
The young Day's coming, and before his car
Night's shadows fled from off the " Moor's Last Sigh " .
Wan Sorrow and her sister laughing Joy,
And floating towards the sunny vales of Spain
One rested in Granada, and the other
Lit on the banners of a host encamped
Around the city. The long day they revell'd,
And wearied fled at night-fall to their rest.
Early the vaunting trumpets had proclaimed
The invader's conquest; at high noon the sun
Flashed brightly on the ranks, as through the gates
The foeman passed in triumph; not at eve,
Led by their weary monarch, the sad band
Of Moorish warriors through the purple shades
Which deepened on the wood-clad mountain rode
Still upwards, never lingering to look back.
But when they gained the summit the fresh breeze
Blew o'er them, whispering of the happiness
And freedom they were leaving. Then they turned.
Already the dark hills began to veil
The sun's bright chariot, and the city shone
Like a charmed palace in a golden sea.
That fickle sun, who, guiding his fresh steeds,
Had kissed the Moorish banners as they floated
And opened slowly to the morning breeze,
But now upon the conqueror's blood-stain'd flag
Lavished its golden beauties! Abdallah
Peering beneath his bended eye-brows viewed
The palaces where he had spent his youth,
The mighty halls which late beheld his pride
And now, alas, his ruin. As he stood
His lips were parted, but his grief repressed
The words he would have uttered, and a sigh
Burst from his bosom. Slowly he passed on,
The mountain hid the valley, and for him
The sun forever on Granada set.
They passed, and a charmed silence held the heights;
Then strove each airy cloud, each mountain ridge
To hold the sun's last gifts, which, as in play,
He scattered ere he vanished; but in vain,
For slowly to his chamber in the west
He gathered them and soon from Heaven's face
The gorgeous hues had vanished. O'er the earth
Night's gloomy veil then sank, and Nature slept.
At the calm hour amidst unbroken peace
Granada rested, and within alike
Victor and vanquished, prince and slave, friend, foe
Lay all unconscious of their joys or griefs.
For through each chamber, hidden by the night,
Had flown a gentle spirit, from whose wings
A drowsy influence fell on those it passed.
Blest Spirit! On whose altar in all lands
Unnumbered offerings burn; upon whose name
How many have in weary accents called,
And when thou camest welcomed thee. To him
Who still upon Life's battle-field contends,
Courage thou givest, and renewest strength
To dare the morrow's combat. When at length
Thou gently bathest the strife-wearied limbs
In everlasting slumber, then no more
Return the once loved dreams of earthly bliss,
Far grander visions meet the warrior's gaze
Than e'er his noblest conquests could pourtray,
And in thy starry mansions he beholds
The everlasting victory of Peace.
So wondrous was the silence, and the Moon
Rose in a cloudy robe, which scarce concealed
Her beauty; but at length when her clear eyes
Peering from out her veil surveyed the night,
The mantle slowly dropped, and as it fell
Shed o'er the sleeping landscape glistening showers.
Upon the mountain's crest, where Abdallah
Had breathed his sad farewell, in the clear beams,
Clad as a Moorish maiden, now there sat
The spirit of the people which ere this
Had held the region. O'er her neck and face
Fell wildly the bright locks, and with her hands,
Made paler by the Moon, she hid her eyes.
Around the robe which stately hung there shone
A more than earthly radiance. Long she sat
In silent majesty. At last she rose,
And sadly gazed into the vale, where now
Entranced the city lay; for round the walls
A thousand streamlets caught the light of Heaven
And flashed it to the highest towers, whereon
It rested in mute glory. But the scene,
So full of peace, so beautiful, to her
Brought only wildest sorrow; then she spoke
And the deep silence by her low, sad voice
Seemed all unbroken; the winds ceased to sigh
And as they passed her gently bore her words
Through the long valley, and far up the hills,
And whispered them throughout the leafy wood:
" Once-glorious city! Many-towered Granada!
Has then thy greatness fallen? Have thy portals
Which I once thought would crush the daring head
That near'd to harm thee opened to the foe?
Where were the mighty souls that erewhile dwelt
Within thy kingly palaces? Would they
Have calmly watched, and in gay tournaments
With the thick gathering enemy have spent
The precious days, while all around thee rose
The hostile ramparts? Would they thus have perished?
When the swan dies its breath aloft is borne
In rapture-swelling numbers; so the day
Decked in a million-coloured robe withdraws,
And at the last with treble splendour dies
Far in the western heaven; but from thee;-
Thou who in power and glory soared'st as high
As e'er the swan above the crystal waves,
Who with thy beauty lit'st the lands around
As the sun doth the universe; from thee,
In thy last hour of pride, no gladsome song
No battle-cry was heard. Along thy streets,
In solemn grandeur and proud state, the foe
Walked unresisted. O degenerate King!
Weep dry the fountains of thy burning tears,
Then pour upon the sterile sand that blood
Thou would'st not peril for a fruitful realm!
Thou art the last of a long royal line
Whose glories I have witnessed. For, one day
Far back among the ages, which long since
Have passed to the land of sunset, from a fount
Which bubbled in a fair oasis, set
Midst burning deserts, joyful I leapt forth
To meet the day-light. Not alone I lived,
For on this island in a sea of sand
There dwelt rude children of the wilderness.
The freedom of their uncurbed breasts, which owned
No sway but Nature's had a mighty power
Which drew me on to love them. All the day
Unseen by them I wandered, and at eve,
As stretched beneath the fragrant boughs they lay
And watched the fiery circle dropping low
O'er lands unknown to them, I sang strange songs,
Which mingling with the merry fountain's ripple
Sank deep within their hearts, and breathed to life
The spark of nobler passion. When they slept
In pleasant dreams they heard me, and I sang
Of power and empire, happy lands which lay
Far onward to the sun-rise, and cool groves
Whence icy streamlets sprung, and rushing forth
Wandered through golden valleys; past the towers
Of thickly-peopled cities; till with joy
Bearing upon their bosoms Heaven's face,
They joined the sun-lit Ocean. Thus I sang,
And as the ages passed a mightier soul
Echoed the music, but the barren face
Of never-changing deserts wearied it.
For a still freer life my people longed
And northward wandering found it by the sea.
Here they long rested, and their children grew
Learn'd in the secrets which the billows told,
Rich-stor'd in mind with all the wondrous tales
Of the far-travelling zephyrs. Once again
A longing roused them, and their shining keels
Clove the dark purple billows. With gentle words
I won the whispering winds and fickle waves,
And for my sake they bore the wanderers on
To a still fairer land, where azure peak
With valley alternated, and wide bays
Spread their spray-spangled arms into the sea
In joyful welcoming. Ere long arose
Their cities, ever nobler, till at last
Thy towers, Granada, stood, a monument
Which Art may vainly rival. O how oft
As thy fair walls were rising, have I sat,
When sleep possessed thy builders, sat enthroned
On some yet crownless column, singing songs
Of triumph to the night, and from the hills
The winds have rushed to revel in thy halls
And chanted a wild chorus. For a time
Within thy courts, Alhambra, I forgot
My people were but mortal, and I dreamt
E'en Time was vanquished. What a shock was that
Which broke the pleasant dream. Alas! How soon
Was lost each dear-loved city. First, thy walls,
O sadly-wept Alhama, were encircled;
Then sunny, sea-lulled Malaga, thy ships
Bowed to a stranger's banner, and thy woods
Flower-crownid Baza sunk beneath the axe;
And now my own Alhambra's sorrowing halls
Have echoed hoarsely to the victor's tread!
Farewell Granada! Far away to the south
A whisper calls me; there beneath the fount
Whence long ago I issued I shall rest;
Forgetful of the flush of victory,
Forgetful of the onward flight of Time,
And of thy glory which shall fill the world! "
This said the Spirit vanished, as the East
With slowly deepening blushes heralded
The young Day's coming, and before his car
Night's shadows fled from off the " Moor's Last Sigh " .