When the monarch’s dearest mistress Heard these words, so harsh and cruel, Hastily she left her litter, Her lord’s neck embracing fondly. “Boabdil el Chico,” said she, “Comfort take, my heart-belov’d one! “From the deep abyss of sorrow “Blossoms forth a beauteous laurel. “Not alone the glorious victor, “Not alone the proud triumphant “Fav’rite of the blind jade Fortune, “But misfortune’s bloody son, too, “And the’ heroic-fighting warrior, “Who to destiny o’erpow’ring “Has succumb’d, will live for ever “In the memory of mortals.”-- “Mountain of the Moor’s last sigh” To this very moment call they Yonder height from whence the monarch For the last time saw Granada. Time has now fulfill’d full sweetly His beloved one’s prophecy, And the Moorish monarch’s name is Reverenced and held in honour. Never will his glory vanish, Never, till the last chord’s broken Of the last guitar remaining In the land of Andalusia. GEOFFRY RUDÈL AND MELISANDA OF TRIPOLI. In the Château Blay still see we Tapestry the walls adorning, Worked by Tripoli’s fair countess’ Own fair hands, no labour scorning. Her whole soul was woven in it, And with loving tears and tender Hallow’d is the silken picture, Which the following scene doth render: How the Countess saw Rudèl Dying on the strand of ocean, And the’ ideal in his features Traced of all her heart’s emotion. For the first and last time also Living saw Rudèl and breathing Her who in his every vision Intertwining was and wreathing. Over him the Countess bends her, Lovingly his form she raises, And his deadly-pale mouth kisses, That so sweetly sang her praises. Ah! the kiss of welcome likewise Was the kiss of separation, And they drain’d the cup of wildest Joy, and deepest desolation. In the Château Blay at night-time Comes a rushing, crackling, shaking On the tapestry the figures Suddenly to life are waking. Troubadour and lady stretch their Drowsy ghostlike members yonder, And from out the wall advancing, Up and down the hall they wander. Whispers fond and gentle toying, Sad-sweet secrets, heart-enthralling, Posthumous gallánt soft speeches, Minnesingers’ times recalling: “Geoffry! At thy voice’s music “Warmth is in my dead heart glowing, “And I feel once more a glimmer “In the long-quench’d embers growing!” “Melisanda! I awaken “Unto happiness and gladness, “When I see thine eyes; dead only “Is my earthly pain and sadness.” “Geoffry! Once we loved each other “In our dreams; now, cut asunder “By the hand of death, still love we,-- “Amor ’tis that wrought this wonder!”