The Troubadour. Canto 3 F Moorish Maiden's Tale



MOORISH MAIDEN'S TALE.

    ALBEIT on my brow and breast
    Is Moorish turban, Moorish vest;
    Albeit too of Moorish line,
    Yet Christian blood and faith are mine.
    Even from earliest infancy
    I have been taught to bend the knee
    Before the sweet Madonna's face,
    To pray from her a Saviour's grace!
    My mother's youthful heart was given
    To one an infidel to heaven;
    Alas! that ever earthly love
    Could turn her hope from that above;
    Yet surely 'tis for tears, not blame,
    To be upon that mother's name.

        Well can I deem my father all
    That holds a woman's heart in thrall,—
    In truth his was as proud a form
    As ever stemm'd a battle storm,
    As ever moved first in the hall
    Of crowds and courtly festival.
    Upon each temple the black hair
    Was mix'd with grey, as early care
    Had been to him like age,—his eye,
    And lip, and brow, were dark and high;
    And yet there was a look that seem'd
    As if at other times he dream'd
    Of gentle thoughts he strove to press
    Back to their unsunn'd loneliness.
    Your first gaze cower'd beneath his glance,
    Keen like the flashing of a lance,
    As forced a homage to allow
    To that tall form, that stately brow;
    But the next dwelt upon the trace
    That time may bring, but not efface,
    Of cares that wasted life's best years,
    Of griefs seared more than sooth'd by tears,
    And homage changed to a sad feeling
    For a proud heart its grief concealing.
    If such his brow, when griefs that wear,
    And hopes that waste, were written there,
    What must it have been, at the hour
    When in my mother's moonlit bower,
    If any step moved, 'twas to take
    The life he ventured for her sake?
    He urged his love; to such a suit
    Could woman's eye or heart be mute?
    She fled with him,—it matters not,
    To dwell at length upon their lot.
    But that my mother's frequent sighs
    Swell'd at the thoughts of former ties,
    First loved, then fear'd she loved too well,
    Then fear'd to love an Infidel;
    A struggle all, she had the will
    But scarce the strength to love him still:--
    But for this weakness of the heart
    Which could not from its love depart,
    Rebell'd, but quickly clung again,
    Which broke and then renew'd its chain,
    Without the power to love, and be
    Repaid by love's fidelity:—
    Without this contest of the mind,
    Though yet its early fetters bind,
    Which still pants to be unconfined,
    They had been happy.

                                          'Twas when first
    My spirit from its childhood burst,
    That to our roof a maiden came,
    My mother's sister, and the same
    In form, in face, in smiles, in tears,
    In step, in voice, in all but years,
    Save that there was upon her brow
    A calm my mother's wanted now;
    And that ELVIRA'S loveliness
    Seem'd scarce of earth, so passionless,
    So pale, all that the heart could paint
    Of the pure beauty of a saint.
    Yes, I have seen ELVIRA kneel,
    And seen the rays of evening steal,
    Lighting the blue depths of her eye
    With so much of divinity
    As if her every thought was raised
    To the bright heaven on which she gazed!
    Then often I have deem'd her form
    Rather with light than with life warm.

        My father's darken'd brow was glad,
    My mother's burthen'd heart less sad
    With her, for she was not of those
    Who all the heart's affections close
    In a drear hour of grief or wrath,—
    Her path was as an angel's path,
    Known only by the flowers which spring
    Beneath the influence of its wing;
    And that her high and holy mood
    Was such as suited solitude.
    Still she had gentle words and smiles,
    And all that sweetness which beguiles,
    Like sunshine on an April day,
    The heaviness of gloom away.
    It was as the souls weal were sure
    When prayer rose from lips so pure.

        She left us;—the same evening came
    Tidings of woe, and death, and shame.
    Her guard had been attack'd by one
    Whose love it had been her's to shun.
    Fierce was the struggle, and her flight
    Meanwhile had gain'd a neighbouring height,
    Which dark above the river stood,
    And look'd upon the rushing flood;
    'Twas compass'd round, she was bereft
    Of the vague hope that flight had left.
    One moment, and they saw her kneel,
    And then, as Heaven heard her appeal,
    She flung her downwards from the rock:
    Her heart was nerved by death to mock
    What that heart never might endure,
    The slavery of a godless Moor.

        And madness in its burning pain
    Seized on my mother's heart and brain:
    She died that night, and the next day
    Beheld my father far away.
    But wherefore should I dwell on all
    Of sorrow memory can recall,
    Enough to know that I must roam
    An orphan to a stranger home.—
    My father's death in battle field
    Forced me a father's rights to yield
    To his stern brother; how my heart
    Was forced with one by one to part
    Of its best hopes, till life became
    Existence only in its name;
    Left but a single wish,--to share
    The cold home where my parents were.

        At last I heard, I may not say
    How my soul brighten'd into day,
    ELVIRA lived; a miracle
    Had surely saved her as she fell!
    A fisherman who saw her float,
    Bore her in silence to his boat.
    She lived! how often had I said
    To mine own heart she is not dead;
    And she remember'd me, and when
    They bade us never meet again,
    She sent to me an Ethiop slave,
    The same who guides us o'er the wave,
    Whom she had led to that pure faith
    Which sains and saves in life and death,
    And plann'd escape.

                                       It was one morn
    I saw our conquering standards borne,
    And gazed upon a Christian knight
    Wounded and prisoner from the fight;
    I made a vow that he should be
    Redeem'd from his captivity.
    Sir knight, the Virgin heard my vow,—
    Yon light,—we are in safety now!

                         ————
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Submitted by Madeleine Quinn on August 31, 2016

Modified on March 05, 2023

5:23 min read
60

Quick analysis:

Scheme Text too long
Closest metre Iambic tetrameter
Characters 6,625
Words 1,029
Stanzas 9
Stanza Lengths 1, 14, 50, 20, 16, 16, 16, 15, 8

Letitia Elizabeth Landon

Letitia Elizabeth Landon was an English poet. Born 14th August 1802 at 25 Hans Place, Chelsea, she lived through the most productive period of her life nearby, at No.22. A precocious child with a natural gift for poetry, she was driven by the financial needs of her family to become a professional writer and thus a target for malicious gossip (although her three children by William Jerdan were successfully hidden from the public). In 1838, she married George Maclean, governor of Cape Coast Castle on the Gold Coast, whence she travelled, only to die a few months later (15th October) of a fatal heart condition. Behind her post-Romantic style of sentimentality lie preoccupations with art, decay and loss that give her poetry its characteristic intensity and in this vein she attempted to reinterpret some of the great male texts from a woman’s perspective. Her originality rapidly led to her being one of the most read authors of her day and her influence, commencing with Tennyson in England and Poe in America, was long-lasting. However, Victorian attitudes led to her poetry being misrepresented and she became excluded from the canon of English literature, where she belongs. more…

All Letitia Elizabeth Landon poems | Letitia Elizabeth Landon Books

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