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Upon the loftiest mountain height That rises in its pride, And sees its summits mirrored In Tagus' crystal tide, The banished Abenamar, Bound by a captive chain, Looks on the high-road to Madrid That seams the dusty plain. He measures, with his pining eyes, The stretching hills that stand Between his place of banishment And his sweet native land.
And their faces turned toward the bier where Abenamar lies, The men his kinsmen silent stand, amid the ladies' cries And thousand thousands ask and look upon the Moorish knight, By his coat of steel they weeping kneel, then turn them from the sight. And some proclaim his deeds of fame, his spirit high and brave, And the courage of adventure that had brought him to the grave.
By gloomy fortune overcast, Vassal of one he held in scorn, Complaining of the wintry world, And by his lady left forlorn, The wretched Abenamar mourned, Because his country was unkind, Had brought him to a lot of woe, And to a foreign home resigned. A stranger Moor had won the throne, And in Granada sat in state.
Fair Adelifa sees in wrath, kindled by jealous flames, Her Abenamar gazed upon by the kind Moorish dames. And if they chance to speak to him, or take him by the hand, She swoons to see her own beloved with other ladies stand.
By Allah, I beseech thee, if thou art true to me, That when the Moorish ladies turn round and gaze on thee, Thou wilt not glance again at them nor meet their smiling eye, Or else, my Abenamar, I shall lay me down and die. For thou art gallant, fair, and good; oh, soothe my heart's alarms, And be as tender in thy love as thou art brave in arms.
Yet when he stands beside her and smiles beneath her gaze, Her cheek is pale with passion pure, though few the words she says. Her thoughts are ever with him, and they fly the mountain o'er When in the shaggy forest he hunts the bristly boar. In vain she seeks the festal scene 'mid dance and merry song, Her heart for Abenamar has left that giddy throng.
"Abenamar, Abenamar," said the monarch to the knight, "A Moor art thou of the Moors, I trow, and the ladies' fond delight, And on the day when first you lay upon your mother's breast, On land and sea was a prodigy, to the Christians brought unrest; The sea was still as a ruined mill and the winds were hushed to rest. And the broad, broad moon sank down at noon, red in the stormy west.
And as they yield to thee the prize for valor in the field Oh, show that thou wilt pity to thy loving lady yield." Then Abenamar, with a smile, a kiss of passion gave.
Upon a flowering almond-tree He fixed an ardent gaze; Its leaves were withered with the wind That flowers in ruin lays. Thus in Toledo's garden park, Did Abenamar wait, Who for fair Galliana Watched at the palace gate. The birds that clustered on the towers Spread out their wings to fly, And from afar his lady's veil He saw go floating by.
He recks no more of woman's love, His city now he bids farewell, And swears he will no more return Nor in Granada seek to dwell. A stout and valorous gentleman, Granada knew his worth, And rich with many a spoil of love, Went Abenamar forth. Upon his bonnet, richly dyed, He bore a lettered scroll, It ran, "'Tis only love that makes The solace of my soul."
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