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If the King should bid me hasten to release thee from thy chain, Oh, believe me, dearest lady, he would never bid in vain; Naught he could demand were greater than the price that I would pay, If in high Alhambra's halls I once again could see thee gay! None can say I am remiss, and heedless of thy dismal fate; Love comes to prompt me every hour, he will not let my zeal abate.
Alhambra's bell had not yet pealed Its morning note o'er tower and field; Barmeja's bastions glittered bright, O'ersilvered with the morning light; When rising from a pallet blest With no refreshing dews of rest, For slumber had relinquished there His place to solitary care, Brave Abenamar pondered deep How lovers must surrender sleep.
He called his varlet to his side, "Now seek the Alhambra's hall," said he, "And privately to Zaide say That this epistle comes from me; "And whisper, that none else may hear, And say that I his coming wait, Where Genil's crystal torrent laves The pillars of yon palace gate." The royal fleet with fluttering sail is waiting in the bay; And brave Mustapha, the Admiral, must start at break of day.
Thus the foreboding of my soul I see at last come true; Shame that a janizary vile, Of Christian creed and race, A butt of bright Alhambra's feasts, Has taken now my place. Where is the love thou didst avow, The pledge, the kiss, the tear, And all the tender promises Thou whisperedst in my ear?
And she was wise and modest, as her race has ever been, And in Alhambra's palace courts she waited on the Queen, A daughter of Hamete of royal line was he, And held the mighty castle of Baja's town in fee.
Yes, all who drink the water sweet Where Genil's stream and Darro meet, All of bold Albaicins's line, Who mid Alhambra's princes shine The ladies mourn the warrior high, Mirror of love and courtesy; The brave lament him, as their peer; The princes, as their comrade dear; The poor deplore, with hearts that bleed, Their shelter in the time of need.
A hundred thousand favors she In public or in private gives, To show her lover that her life Is Almarada's while she lives! And once upon a cloudy night, Fit curtain for his amorous mood, The gallant Moor the high hills scaled And on Alhambra's terrace stood. Arrived, he saw a Moorish maid Stand at a window opened wide; He gave her many a precious gem; He gave her many a gift beside.
"In the sunset's fire there glisten, sire, Alhambra's tinted tiles; And somewhat lower Alijire's tower upon the vega smiles, And many a band of subtile hand has wrought its pillared aisles.
While Chico, proud Granada's King, nor night nor day can rest, For of all the Moorish ladies Vindaraja he loves best; And while naught can give her solace and naught can dry her tear, 'Tis not the task of slavery nor the cell that brings her fear; For while in Antequera her body lingers still, Her heart is in Granada upon Alhambra's hill.
Tis the holy Baptist's feast they hold in royalty and state, And they have closed the spacious lists beside the Alhambra's gate; In gowns of black and silver laced, within the tented ring, Eight Moors to fight the bull are placed in presence of the King.
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