. St. Nicholas [serial] . ard, Then cried, Your king s beleaguered: The game is mine, my lord ! But Yusef, shrewdly smiling, Declared, T is not yet won — The game is never over Until the play is done. But see, there s no escaping, Replied the Alcayde then ; You ve lost a rook, a knight, a pawn, And now a rook again! Low laughed the shrewd Alcayde, And moved his valiant mate, he cried, in three more moves, Whateer may intervene ! Just then a messenger arrived In haste, and from the King. Read, read, my lord Alcayde, For tidings sore I bring! He seized the royal mandate, And broke the sc
. St. Nicholas [serial] . ard, Then cried, Your king s beleaguered: The game is mine, my lord ! But Yusef, shrewdly smiling, Declared, T is not yet won — The game is never over Until the play is done. But see, there s no escaping, Replied the Alcayde then ; You ve lost a rook, a knight, a pawn, And now a rook again! Low laughed the shrewd Alcayde, And moved his valiant mate, he cried, in three more moves, Whateer may intervene ! Just then a messenger arrived In haste, and from the King. Read, read, my lord Alcayde, For tidings sore I bring! He seized the royal mandate, And broke the scarlet seal. He read and paled with horror, Nor could his grief conceal. A STORY OF OLD SPAIN. 571 Oh, well-beloved Yusef,He gasped, put by thy chess!For here are cruel words indeed,Of deepest bitterness ! Nay, nay ! spake kindly Yusef, Let me thy trouble share. It ran : High-born Alcayde,When this thy warrant s read,Slay me my brother send the traitors turning to the messenger,Said Yusef: I must die*. FOR HERE ARE CRIEL WORDS INDEED, OF DEEPEST BITTERNESS. The things that never happenThe hardest are to bear!The King has sent his warrantTo slay me ? Be it , let me see the letter,That I the worst may know. I ask but proper respiteTo bid my friends good-by.■ Delay, the messenger not within my can but do the Kings commandYou die within the hour ! 572 A STORY OF OLD SPAIN. [June, T is well, said tranquil Yusef. Until the hour is done The time is mine. On with the game, Till it be lost or won. But now the poor Alcayde In vain his skill he tries. He cannot see the pieces, For tears so dim his eyes. Checkmate ! at last cries Yusef. And when before the headsmanThe youthful Prince was placed,Behold! another messengerCame riding in hot haste. Put by the sword! and harkenUnto the news I bring:The King Muhammad is no more!-Long live Yusef, our King! Up sprang the smiling Yusef, ., t . jk i. V i ,. <**•
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, bookidstnicholasserial192dodg
