'There is no law to say such things As may disgust the ear of kings:' Thus, snorting with his choler, said The Moorish King, and doomed him dead. Woe is me, Alhama! Moor Alfaqui! Moor Alfaqui! Though thy beard so hoary be, The King hath sent to have thee seized, For Alhama's loss displeased. Woe is me, Alhama! And to fix thy head upon High Alhambra's loftiest stone; That this for thee should be the law, And others tremble when they saw. Woe is me, Alhama! 'Cavalier, and man of worth! Let these words of mine go forth! Let the Moorish Monarch know, That to him I nothing owe. Woe is me, Alhama! But on my soul Alhama weighs, And on my inmost spirit preys; And if the King his land hath lost, Yet others may have lost the most. Woe is me, Alhama! Sires have lost their children, wives Their lords, and valiant men their lives! One what best his love might claim Hath lost, another wealth, or fame. Woe is me, Alhama! I lost a damsel in that hour, Of all the land the loveliest flower; Doubloons a hundred I would pay, And think her ransom cheap that day.' Woe is me, Alhama! And as these things the old Moor said, They severed from the trunk his head; And to the Alhambra's wall with speed 'Twas carried, as the King decreed. Woe is me, Alhama! And men and infants therein weep Their loss, so heavy and so deep; Granada's ladies, all she rears Within her walls, burst into tears. Woe is me, Alhama! And from the windows o'er the walls The sable web of mourning falls; The King weeps as a woman o'er His loss, for it is much and sore. Woe is me, Alhama! _Byron._ LXXV FRIENDSHIP My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea; But, before I go, Tom Moore, Here's a double health to thee! Here's a sigh to those who love me, And a smile to those who hate; And, whatever sky's above me, Here's a heart for every fate. Though the ocean roar around me, Yet it still shall bear me on; Though a desert should surround me, It hath springs that may be won. Were 't the last drop in the well, As I gasped upon the brink, Ere my fainting spirit fell, 'Tis to thee that I would drink. With that water, as this wine, The libation I would pour Should be, 'Peace with thine and mine, And a health to thee, Tom Moore!' _Byron._ LXXVI THE RACE WITH DEATH