Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE ALHAMBRA, by GEORGE CROLY Poet's Biography First Line: Palace of beauty! Where the moorish lord Last Line: Silence is now sole monarch of thy throne! Subject(s): Alhambra, The | ||||||||
PALACE of beauty! where the Moorish lord, King of the bow, the bridle, and the sword, Sat like a genie in the diamond's blaze. Oh! to have seen thee in the ancient days, When at thy morning gates the coursers stood, The "thousand," milk-white, Yemen's fiery blood, In pearl and ruby harness'd for the king; And through thy portals pour'd the gorgeous flood Of jewell'd Sheik and emir, hastening, Before the sky the dawning purple show'd, Their turbans at the caliph's feet to fling. Lovely thy morn, -- thy evening lovelier still When at the waking of the first blue star That trembled on the Atalaya hill, The splendours of the trumpet's voice arose, Brilliant and bold, and yet no sound of war; But summoning thy beauty from repose, The shaded slumber of the burning noon. Then in the slant sun all thy fountains shone, Shooting the sparkling column from the vase Of crystal cool, and falling in a haze Of rainbow hues on floors of porphyry, And the rich bordering beds of every bloom That breathes to African or Indian sky, Carnation, tuberose, thick anemone; Then was the harping of the minstrels heard, In the deep arbours, or the regal hall, Hushing the tumult of the festival, When the pale bard his kindling eyeball rear'd, And told of eastern glories, silken hosts, Tower'd elephants, and chiefs in topaz arm'd: Or of the myriads from the cloudy coasts Of the far western sea, the sons of blood, The iron men of tournament and feud, That round the bulwarks of their fathers swarm'd, Doom'd by the Moslem scimitar to fall; Till the Red Cross was hurl'd from Salem's wall. Where are thy pomps, Alhambra, earthly sun That had no rival, and no second? -- gone! Thy glory down the arch of time has roll'd, Like the great day-star to the ocean dim, The billows of the ages o'er thee swim, Gloomy and fathomless; thy tale is told. Where is thy horn of battle? that but blown Brought every chief of Afric from his throne; Brought every spear of Afric from the wall; Brought every charger barded from the stall, Till all its tribes sat mounted on the shore; Waiting the waving of thy torch to pour The living deluge on the fields of Spain. Queen of earth's loveliness, there was a stain Upon thy brow -- the stain of guilt and gore; Thy course was bright, bold, treacherous, -- and 'tis o'er. The spear and diadem are from thee gone; Silence is now sole monarch of thy throne! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THE COURT OF THE LIONS; BY MOONLIGHT by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON LEGEND OF ALHAMBRA by RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH THE DEATH OF LEONIDAS by GEORGE CROLY A LOVER'S OATH by GEORGE CROLY A MEETING OF MAGICIANS by GEORGE CROLY A PARISIAN FAUXBOURG by GEORGE CROLY AN AURORA BOREALIS by GEORGE CROLY DEATH AND RESURRECTION by GEORGE CROLY EFFECT OF ORATORY UPON A MULTITUDE by GEORGE CROLY JACOB'S DREAM; FROM A PICTURE BY WASHINGTON ALLSTON by GEORGE CROLY |
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