CAPTIVE ZARA

  In Palma there was little joy, so lovely Zara found;
  She felt herself a slave, although by captive chain unbound. 
  In Palma’s towers she wandered from all the guests apart;
  For while Palma had her body, ’twas Baza held her heart. 
  And while her heart was fixed on one, her charms no less enthralled
  The heart of this brave cavalier, Celin Andalla called. 
  Ah, hapless, hapless maiden, for in her deep despair
  She did not know what grief her face had caused that knight to bear;
  And though the Countess Palma strove with many a service kind
  To show her love, to soothe the pang that wrung the maiden’s mind,
  Yet borne upon the tempest of the captive’s bitter grief,
  She never lowered the sail to give her suffering heart relief. 
  And, in search of consolation to another captive maid,
  She told the bitter sorrow to no one else displayed. 
  She told it, while the tears ran fast, and yet no balm did gain,
  For it made more keen her grief, I ween, to give another pain. 
  And she said to her companion, as she clasped her tender hand: 
  “I was born in high Granada, my loved, my native land;
  For years within Alhambra’s courts my life ran on serene;
  I was a princess of the realm and handmaid to a queen. 
  Within her private chamber I served both night and day,
  And the costliest jewels of her crown in my protection lay. 
  To her I was the favorite of all the maids she knew;
  And, ah! my royal mistress I loved, I loved her true! 
  No closer tie I owned on earth than bound me to her side;
  No closer tie; I loved her more than all the world beside. 
  But more I loved than aught on earth, the gallant Moorish knight,
  Brave Celin, who is solely mine, and I his sole delight. 
  Yes, he was brave, and all men own the valor of his brand;
  Yes, and for this I loved him more than monarchs of the land. 
  For me he lived, for me he fought, for me he mourned and wept,
  When he saw me in this captive home like a ship to the breakers swept. 
  He called on heaven, and heaven was deaf to all his bitter cry,
  For the victim of the strife of kings, of the bloody war, was I;
  It was my father bade him first to seek our strong retreat. 
  Would God that he had never come to Baza’s castle seat! 
  Would God that he had never come, an armored knight, to stand
  Amid the soldiers that were ranked beneath my sire’s command. 
  He came, he came, that valiant Moor, beneath our roof to rest. 
  His body served my father; his heart, my sole behest;
  What perils did he face upon that castle’s frowning height! 
  Winning my father’s praise, he gained more favor in my sight. 
  And when the city by the bands of Christians was assailed,
  My soul ’neath terrors fiercer still in lonely terror quailed.