THE LOVERS.
When Muza parted from Almamen, he bent his steps towards the hill that
rises opposite the ascent crowned with the towers of the Alhambra; the
sides and summit of which eminence were tenanted by the luxurious
population of the city. He selected the more private and secluded paths;
and, half way up the hill, arrived, at last, before a low wall of
considerable extent, which girded the gardens of some wealthier
inhabitant of the city. He looked long and anxiously round; all was
solitary; nor was the stillness broken, save as an occasional breeze,
from the snowy heights of the Sierra Nevada, rustled the fragrant leaves
of the citron and pomegranate; or as the silver tinkling of waterfalls
chimed melodiously within the gardens. The Moor's heart beat high: a
moment more, and he had scaled the wall; and found himself upon a green
sward, variegated by the rich colours of many a sleeping flower, and
shaded by groves and alleys of luxuriant foliage and golden fruits.
It was not long before he stood beside a house that seemed of a
construction anterior to the Moorish dynasty. It was built over low
cloisters formed by heavy and timeworn pillars, concealed, for the most
part by a profusion of roses and creeping shrubs: the lattices above the
cloisters opened upon large gilded balconies, the super-addition of
Moriscan taste. In one only of the casements a lamp was visible; the
rest of the mansion was dark, as if, save in that chamber, sleep kept
watch over the inmates. It was to this window that the Moor stole; and,
after a moment's pause, he murmured rather than sang, so low and
whispered was his voice, the following simple verses, slightly varied
from an old Arabian poet:--
Light of my soul, arise, arise!
Thy sister lights are in the skies;
We want thine eyes,
Thy joyous eyes;
The Night is mourning for thine eyes!
The sacred verse is on my sword,
But on my heart thy name
The words on each alike adored;
The truth of each the same,
The same!--alas! too well I feel
The heart is truer than the steel!
Light of my soul! upon me shine;
Night wakes her stars to envy mine.
Those eyes of thine,
Wild eyes of thine,
What stars are like those eyes of thine?
As he concluded, the lattice softly opened; and a female form appeared on
the balcony.
"Ah, Leila!" said the Moor, "I see thee, and I am blessed!"
"Hush!" answered Leila; "speak low, nor tarry long I fear that our
interviews are suspected; and this," she added in a trembling voice,
"may perhaps be the last time we shall meet."
"Holy Prophet!" exclaimed Muza, passionately, "what do I hear? Why this
mystery? why cannot I learn thine origin, thy rank, thy parents? Think
you, beautiful Leila, that Granada holds a rouse lofty enough to disdain
the alliance with Muza Ben Abil Gazan? and oh!" he added (sinking the
haughty tones of his voice into accents of the softest tenderness),
"if not too high to scorn me, what should war against our loves and our
bridals? For worn equally on my heart were the flower of thy sweet self,
whether the mountain top or the valley gave birth to the odour and the
bloom."
"Alas!" answered Leila, weeping, "the mystery thou complainest of is as
dark to myself as thee. How often have I told thee that I know nothing
of my birth or childish fortunes, save a dim memory of a more distant and
burning clime; where, amidst sands and wastes, springs the everlasting
cedar, and the camel grazes on stunted herbage withering in the fiery
air? Then, it seemed to me that I had a mother: fond eyes looked on me,
and soft songs hushed me into sleep."
"Thy mother's soul has passed into mine," said the Moor, tenderly.
Leila continued:--"Borne hither, I passed from childhood into youth
within these walls. Slaves ministered to my slightest wish; and those
who have seen both state and poverty, which I have not, tell me that
treasures and splendour, that might glad a monarch, are prodigalised
around me: but of ties and kindred know I little: my father, a stern and
silent man, visits me but rarely--sometimes months pass, and I see him
not; but I feel he loves me; and, till I knew thee, Muza, my brightest
hours were in listening to the footsteps and flying to the arms of that
solitary friend."
"Know you not his name?"
"Nor, I nor any one of the household; save perhaps Ximen, the chief of
the slaves, an old and withered man, whose very eye chills me into fear
and silence."
"Strange!" said the Moor, musingly; "yet why think you our love is
discovered, or can be thwarted?"
"Hush! Ximen sought me this day: 'Maiden,' said he, 'men's footsteps
have been tracked within the gardens; if your sire know this, you will
have looked your last on Granada. Learn,' he added, in a softer voice,
as he saw me tremble, 'that permission were easier given to thee to wed
the wild tiger than to mate with the loftiest noble of Morisca! Beware!'
He spoke, and left me. O Muza!" she continued, passionately wringing her
hands, "my heart sinks within me, and omen and doom rise dark before my
sight!"
"By my father's head, these obstacles but fire my love, and I would scale
to thy possession, though every step in the ladder were the corpses of a
hundred foes!"
Scarcely had the fiery and high-souled Moor uttered his boast, than, from
some unseen hand amidst the groves, a javelin whirred past him, and as
the air it raised came sharp upon his cheek, half buried its quivering
shaft in the trunk of a tree behind him.
"Fly, fly, and save thyself! O God, protect him!" cried Leila; and she
vanished within the chamber.
The Moor did not wait the result of a deadlier aim; he turned; yet, in
the instinct of his fierce nature, not from, but against, the foe; his
drawn scimitar in his hand, the half-suppressed cry of wrath trembling on
his lips, he sprang forward in the direction the javelin had sped. With
eyes accustomed to the ambuscades of Moorish warfare, he searched
eagerly, yet warily through the dark and sighing foliage. No sign of
life met his gaze; and at length, grimly and reluctantly, he retraced his
steps, and quitted the demesnes; but just as he had cleared the wall, a
voice--low, but sharp and shrill--came from the gardens.
"Thou art spared," it said, "but, haply, for a more miserable doom!"