by Alfred Whitehead.
Originally published in Ainsworth's Magazine: A Miscellany of Romance (Chapman and Hall) vol.4 #18 (Jul 1843).
Oh, the days of Abdalrahman!
Merry, merry were they all;
Every hour was bright and glowing—
Every day a festival.
Praises, praises to our Caliph!
Minstrels, tell his noble story!
Mighty, mighty was the Moslem,
Radiant was his life with glory.
Gallant was the Moorish soldier,
When encamp'd in sight of foes;
Victory, his banner crowning,
Piled the slain in sanguine rows.
Palaces as by enchantment
Sprung from earth, like spirits' homes—
Towers that touch'd the azure welkin,
Turrets rich, and glittering domes.
Oh, the days of Abdalrahman!
Merry, merry were they all;
Every hour was bright and glowing—
Every day a festival.
Joyous danced the dusky maidens,
Bating time with castanets,
Lips all smiles, and black eyes beaming—
Ours the sun that never sets!—
Never sets!—ah me! 'tis vanish'd!
Sad my heart yields many a sigh;
Sorrow hath eclipsed the Crescent—
Fallen low our warriors lie.
Oh, the days of Abdalrahman!
Merry, merry were they all;
Every hour was bright and glowing—
Every day a festival.
See'st thou mirror'd in yon streamlet
Glistening skies, and willows fair,
Wild-flowers dipping in the current,
Sun-clouds sleeping on the air?
Summer like a syren seemeth,
Gazing on her own bewitching face
In the calm and waveless waters—
There was once my loving-place.
Oh, the days of Abdalrahman!
Merry, merry were they all;
Every hour was bright and glowing—
Every day a festival.
Memories come, and steep'd in sadness—
Oh, my soul doth wish to fly!
Froila and Christian horsemen
Stamp on our proud chivalry.
Where's my steed? Oh, let me wildly
Front the white-faced dogs once more!
Blest the blow that strikes me downward—
Blest the tomb when life is o'er!
Oh, the days of Abdalrahman!
Merry, merry were they all;
Every hour was bright and glowing—
Every day a festival.