But as the maid still pouted and eyed him with disdain, "The mimic sun," continued he, "which here is blazoned plain, Is overcast and hides itself from the true orb of day, And I by beauty's radiance eclipsed must ride away." And as he spoke the Moor struck deep the rowels in his steed, And rode away from Tagus' side across the grassy mead. The Moorish maiden recked not if he were far or near, Her thoughts returned to fancies sweet of her absent cavalier. FICKLENESS REBUKED While in the foeman's ruddy gore I waded to the breast, And for mine own, my native shore Fought braver than the best, While the light cloak I laid aside, And doffed the damask fold, And donned my shirt of mail, the spoil Of foeman brave and bold, Thou, fickle Mooress, puttest on Thine odorous brocade, And hand in hand with thy false love Wert sitting in the shade. Thus on the scutcheon of thy sires Thou plantest many a stain; The pillars of thine ancient house Will ne'er be firm again. But, oh, may Allah vengeance take For thine unkind deceit, And sorely weeping mayst thou pay The vengeance that is meet. Thus shalt thou pay--thy lover's bliss Thou shalt not, canst not share, But feel the bitter mockery Thy day-long shame must bear. And what revenge 'twill be to note When thou dost kiss his brow, How thy gold tresses, soft and light, Blend with his locks of snow; And what revenge to hear him To thee his loves recount, Praising some Moorish lass, or mark His sons thy staircase mount. Yes, thou shalt pay the penalty, When, from sweet Genil's side, Thou passest to the stormy waves Of Tagus' rushing tide; Abencerrajes are not there, And from thy balcony Thou shalt not hear the horsemen With loud hoof rushing by. Thoughts of lost days shall haunt thee then And lay thy spirit waste, When thy past glories thou shalt see All faded and effaced; All gone, those sweet, seductive wiles-- The love note's scented scroll-- The words, and blushing vows, that brought Damnation to thy soul. Thus the bright moments of the past Shall rise to memory's eye, Like vengeance-bearing ministers To mock thy misery. For time is father of distress; And he whose life is long Experiences a thousand cares, A thousand shapes of wrong. Thou shalt be hated in the court, And hated in the stall, Hated in merry gathering, In dance and festival. Thou shalt be hated far and wide; And, thinking on this hate, Wilt lay it to the black offence That thou didst perpetrate. Then thou wilt make some weak defence, And plead a father's will, That forced thee shuddering to consent To do the act of ill. Enjoy then him whom thus constrained Thou choosest for thine own; But know, when love would have his way, He scorns a father's frown. THE GALLEY-SLAVE OF DRAGUT