Romance del Rey Moro que Perdio Alhama

Romance del Rey Moro que Perdio Alhama

Ay de mi Alhama!


The Moorish King rides up and down
Through Granada’s royal town;
From Elvira’s gates to those
Of Bivarambla on he goes.
Woe is me, Alhama !

Letters to the monarch tell
How Alhama’s city fell;
In the fire the scroll he threw,
And the messenger he slew.
Woe is me, Alhama !

He quits his mule, and mounts his horse,
And through the street directs his course;
Through the street of Zacatin
To the Alhambra spurring in.
Woe is me, Alhama !

When the Alhambra walls he gain’d,
On the moment he ordain’d
That the trumpet straight should sound
With the silver clarion round.
Woe is me, Alhama !

And when the hollow drums of war
Beat the loud alarm afar,
That the Moors of town and plain
Might answer to the martial strain,
Woe is me, Alhama !

Then the Moors, by this aware
That bloody Mars recall’d them there,
One by one, and two by two,
To a mighty squadron grew.
Woe is me, Alhama !

Out then spake an aged Moor
In these words the king before:
“Wherefore call on us, oh King?
What may mean this gathering?”
Woe is me, Alhama !

“Friends!  Ye have, alas!  To know
Of a most disastrous blow,
That the Christians, stern and bold,
Have obtain’d Alhama’s hold.”
Woe is me, Alhama !

Out then spake old Alfaqui,
With his beard so white to see,
“Good King, thou are justly served,
Good King, this thou hast deserved.
Woe is me, Alhama !

“By thee were slain, in evil hour,
The Abecerrage, Granada’s flower;
And strangers were received by thee
Of Cordova the chivalry.
Woe is me, Alhama !

“And for this, oh King ! Is sent
On thee a double chastisement,
Thee and thine, thy crown and realm,
One last wreck shall overwhelm,
Woe is me, Alhama !