The Writings of George Eliot (Volume 18)

Book may have numerous typos, missing text, images, or index. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1908. Excerpt: ... THE SPANISH GYPSY BOOK I Tis the warm South, where Europe spreads her lands Like fretted leaflets, breathing on the deep: Broad-breasted Spain, leaning with equal love On the Mid Sea that moans with memories, And on the untravelled Ocean's restless tides. This river, shadowed by the battlements And gleaming silvery towards the northern sky, Feeds the famed stream that waters Andalus And loiters, amorous of the fragrant air, By Cordova and Seville to the bay Fronting Algarva and the wandering flood Of Guadiana. This deep mountain gorge Slopes widening on the olive-plumed plains Of fair Granada: one far-stretching arm Points to Elvira, one to eastward heights Of Alpujarras where the new-bathed Day With oriflamme uplifted o'er the peaks Saddens the breasts of northward-looking snows That loved the night, and soared with soaring stars; Flashing the signals of his nearing swiftness From Almeria's purple-shadowed bay On to the far-off rocks that gaze and glow -- On to Alhambra, strong and ruddy heart Of glorious Morisma, gasping now, A maiinrd giant in his agony. This town that dips its feet within the stream, And seems to sit a tower-crowned Cybele, Spreading her ample robe adown the rocks, Is rich Bedmar: 't was Moorish long ago, But now the Cross is sparkling on the Mosque, And bells make Catholic the trembling air. The fortress gleams in Spanish sunshine now ('Tis south a mile before the rays are Moorish) -- Hereditary jewel, agraffe bright On all the many-titled privilege Of young Duke Silva. No Castilian knight That serves Queen Isabel has higher charge; For near this frontier sits the Moorish king, Not Boabdil the waverer, who usurps A throne he trembles in, and fawning licks The feet of conquerors, but that lion fierce Grisly El Zagal, who has made his lair In Guadix* fort, and ru...