ra's palace courts she waited on the Queen,
A daughter of Hamete--of royal line was he,
And held the mighty castle of Baja's town in fee.
Now sad and mournful all the day the maiden weeping sat,
And her captive heart was thinking still of the distant caliphat,
Which in the stubborn straits of war had passed from Moslem reign,
And now was the dominion of King Ferdinand of Spain.
She thought upon the dreary siege in Baja's desert vale
When the fight was long and the food of beasts and men began to fail,
And her wretched father, forced to yield, gave up his castle hold,
For falling were the towers, falling fast his warriors bold.
And Zara, lovely Zara, did he give into the care
Of the noble Countess Palma, who loved the maiden fair.
And the countess had to Baja come when Queen Isabella came,
The lovely vega of the town to waste with sword and flame.
And the countess asked of Zara if she were skilled in aught,
The needle, or the 'broidery frame, to Christian damsels taught.
And how she made the hours go by when, on Guadalquivir's strand,
She sat in the Alhambra, a princess of the land.
And, while her eyes were full of tears, the Moorish maid replied:
"'Twas I the silver tinsel fixed on garments duly dyed;
'Twas I who with deft fingers with gold lace overlaid
The dazzling robes of flowery tint of velvet and brocade.
And sometimes would I take my lute and play for dancers there;
And sometimes trust my own weak voice in some romantic air;
But now, this moment, I retain but one, one mournful art--
To weep, to mourn the banishment that ever grieves my heart.
And since 'tis thou alone whose bread, whose roof my life didst save,
I weep the bitterest tears of all because I am a slave!
Yet wouldst thou deign, O lady dear, to make more light to me
The hours I pass beneath thy roof, in dark captivity,--
I bid thee build for me, if thou approve of the design,
An ocean bark, well fitted to cross the surging brine;
Let it be swift, let it be strong, and leave all barks behind,
When on the surges of the main it feels the favoring wind.
We'll launch it from the sloping shore, and, when the wind is high,
And the fierce billows threatening mix their foam-tops with the sky,
We'll lower the mainsail, lest the storm should carry us away,
And sweep us on the reefs that lurk in some deep Afric bay.
And on the lofty topmast shall this inscription stand,
Written in l