Prince Yousuf And The Alcayde
A Moorish Ballad
IN Grenada reigned Mohammed,
Sixth who bore the name was he;
But the rightful king, Prince Yousuf,
Pined in long captivity:
Yousuf, brother to Mohammed.
Him the king had seized and sent
Prisoner to a Moorish castle,
Where ten years his life was spent.
Ill and feeble, now the usurper
Felt his death was hastening on,
And would fain bequeath his kingdom
And his title to his son.
Calling then a trusty servant,
He to him a letter gave —
'Take my fleetest horse, and hasten,
If my life you wish to save.
'Hie thee to the brave Alcayde
Of my castle by the sea;
To his hands give thou this letter,
And his physician bring to me.'
Then in haste his servant mounted,
And for many a league he rode,
Till he reached the court and castle
Where the captive prince abode.
There sat Yousuf and the Alcayde
In the castle, playing chess.
'What is this?'
the keeper muttered.
'Some bad tidings, as I guess.'
Pale he grew, and sat and trembled,
While his eye the letter scanned;
And his voice was choked and speechless,
As he dropped it from his hand.
'Now what ails thee?'
cried Prince Yousuf.
'Doth the king demand my head?'
'Read it!'
gasps the good Alcayde.
'Ah, my lord — would I were dead!'
Yousuf read: 'When this shall reach you,
Slay my brother, and his head
Straightway by the bearer send me;,,
So I may be sure he's dead.'
'So' — cried Yousuf. 'This I looked for.
Now let us play out our game.
I was losing — you were winning
When this ugly message came.'
All confused, the poor Alcayde
Played his knights and bishops wrong;
And the prince his moves corrected.
So in silence sat they long.
In his mind Prince Yousuf pondered,
'Why this hasty message send,
If my kind and thoughtful brother
Were not hastening to his end?
'Surely he is ill or dying.
And if I must lose my head,
My young nephew will succeed him
O'er Grenada in my stead.
'Though my keeper still is friendly,
I must gain some hours' delay.
He is poor: the king may bribe him.
He may change ere close of day.'
Then aloud — 'Come, good Alcayde —
One more game before I die.
And be sure you make no blunders —
I may beat you yet. I'll try.'
In his lonely life the keeper
Dearly loved his game of chess;
Therefore needs he little urging,
Though sad thoughts his soul oppress.
For an hour or two they battled,
And the Alcayde gained amain;
For the prince with restless glances
Gazed beyond the window-pane.
Still the chess-board lay between them;
And the Alcayde played his best;
Took no note of gliding hours,
Till the sunset fired the west.
Yet he gained not, for Prince Yousuf
With a sudden checkmate sprang
Unforeseen — and that same moment —
Hark — was that a bugle rang?
Through the western windows gazing
Far across the dusty plain,
Yousuf saw the flash of lances —
And the bugle rang again.
And two knights appeared advancing
Like two eagles on the wing.
Allah Akbar! From Grenada
Faces flushed with joy they bring.
The king is dead! Long live King Yousuf!
Long lost lord — our rightful king!
poem by Christopher Pearse Cranch
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Related quotes
Princess And The Black Horse(Final Fight-I)
And they decided to start the fight at midnight,
as the wand would work then with brilliant spark.
To unriddle the mystery of dark reign of magician,
they had to kindle the light, to annihilate power dark.
Evening called night, and night sat with blackness,
and darkest became the kingdom of prince's father.
The princess, promised to call him, prince of light,
as dark denotes, night, blackness, evil power, rather.
The King opened a box of story, which told princess,
theirs was the kingdom of Light, full of peace, gay.
It was said, the sun never sets in his happy kingdom.
But, a magician came to that king's court one day.
He played trick of black magic, and covered the sun,
blocking the rays of the sun, he set his own reign.
By his power of witchery, he made the king a lion,
turning queen, to lioness, the prince a horse in chain.
Insidious was he, sold the prince in a witch-fair.
Sordid was his mind, without hesitation he became king.
In the unknown realm the prince as a dark horse,
was bought from the fair, and in king's stable did bring.
poem by Nilakshi Das
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There is a brief moment when all there is in a man's mind and soul and spirit is reflected through his eyes, his hands, his attitude. This is the moment to record.
quote by Yousuf Karsh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Character, like a photograph, develops in darkness.
quote by Yousuf Karsh
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Look and think before opening the shutter. The heart and mind are the true lens of the camera.
quote by Yousuf Karsh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If there is a single quality that is shared by all great men, it is vanity.
quote by Yousuf Karsh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Within every man and woman a secret is hidden, and as a photographer it is my task to reveal it if I can.
quote by Yousuf Karsh
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The trouble with photographing beautiful women is that you never get into the dark room until after they've gone.
quote by Yousuf Karsh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Welcome to the Prince of Wales
Lines written when the Prince of Wales
was about embarking for Canada, May, 1860.
In his long voyage o'er the sea,
To where doth grow the maple tree,
May he be blest with pleasant gales-
The coming man, the Prince of Wales.
The Maple grows but in good soil,
Where nature doth reward for toil.
The farmer, splitting his fence rails,
He welcome bids the Prince of Wales.
In the woods the axe is ringing,
And the yeoman merry singing ;
The song resounds o'er hills and dales -
Our future king, the Prince of Wales.
'Round the brow of our future chief
We'll weave a wreath of maple leaf,
For o'er broad Canada prevails
Kind feelings to the Prince of Wales.
When in this land the Prince arrives
May he have many pleasant drives,
And on our lakes have merry sails-
Great king of princes, Prince of Wales.
poem by James McIntyre
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I've also seen that great men are often lonely. This is understandable, because they have built such high standards for themselves that they often feel alone. But that same loneliness is part of their ability to create.
quote by Yousuf Karsh
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King Claudius
My mind now moves to distant places.
I'm walking the streets of Elsinore,
through its squares, and I recall
the very sad story-
that unfortunate king
killed by his nephew
because of some fanciful suspicions.
In all the homes of the poor
he was mourned secretly
(they were afraid of Fortinbras).
A quiet, gentle man,
a man who loved peace
(his country had suffered much
from the wars of his predecessor),
he behaved graciously toward everyone,
humble and great alike.
Never high-handed, he always sought advice
in the kingdom's affairs
from serious, experienced people.
Just why his nephew killed him
was never actually explained.
The prince suspected him of murder,
and the basis of his suspicion was this:
walking one night along an ancient battlement
he thought he saw a ghost
and he had a conversation with this ghost;
what he supposedly heard from the ghost
were certain accusations against the king.
It must have been a fit of fancy,
an optical illusion
(the prince was nervous in the extreme;
while he was studying at Wittenberg,
many of his fellow students thought him a maniac).
A few days later he went
to his mother's room to discuss
certain family affairs. And suddenly,
while he was talking, he lost his self-control,
started shouting, screaming
that the ghost was there in front of him.
But his mother saw nothing at all.
And that same day, for no apparent reason,
he killed an old gentleman of the court.
Since the prince was due to sail for England
in a day or two,
the king hustled him off post-haste
in order to save him.
But the people were so outraged
by the monstrous murder
that rebels rose up
and tried to storm the palace gates,
led by the dead man's son,
the noble lord Laertes
(a brave young man, also ambitious;
in the confusion, some of his friends called out:
'Long live King Laertes!').
Later, once the kingdom had calmed down
and the king was lying in his grave-
he was killed by his nephew, the prince,
who never went to England
but escaped from the ship on his way there-
a certain Horatio came forward
and tried to exonerate the prince
by telling some stories of his own.
He said that the voyage to England
had been a secret plot, and orders
had been given to kill the prince there
(but this was never clearly ascertained).
He also spoke of poisoned wine-
wine poisoned by the king.
It's true that Laertes spoke of this too.
But couldn't he have been lying?
Couldn't he have been mistaken?
And when did he say all this?
While dying of his wounds, his mind reeling,
his talk seemingly delirious.
As for the poisoned weapons,
it was shown later that the poisoning
hadn't been done by the king at all:
Laertes himself had done it.
But Horatio, whenever pressed,
would produce even the ghost as a witness:
the ghost said this and that,
the ghost did this and that!
Because of all this, though letting Horatio talk,
most people in their hearts
pitied the poor king,
who, with all these ghosts and fairy tales,
was unjustly killed and disposed of.
Yet Fortinbras, who profited
by winning the throne so easily,
gave full attention and weight
to every word Horatio said.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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A Fairytale
Once upon a time, there was a prince
Groomed, grand, and great than the younger prince
Like a fairy tale, a lovely maid!
A pariah! On mats with rats she laid
Like a fairy tale the prince and maid met
Surely, their hearts thundered aloud; I bet
But the young envied the elder so much
He snitched to the king the prince with no match
Wretched was the young, the king abstained him!
So, the younger raised his wit with grim
To an apple! The young thawed a bane,
For through it, the maiden he will gain!
The prince took the fruit and was ill and died!
King, queen, and maid mourned the prince side by side
Nearby, the younger was laughing so loud1
Flaunting his lunacy behind the crowd
Like a fairy tale, burial day's come
The day was dusk, bewailing, and calm
The grave blocked with florets, men, and bells
Day died, men mourned and death sings with bells
Like a fairy tale, the maid kissed the prince
But behold! He moved! Alive is the prince!
The day is glowing, rejoicing, and tense!
Truth spilled! King arrested the younger prince!
Truly wild is the manor! All rejoiced! From serf to the crown!
Like a fairy tale, there was a wedding! Happy night was clown!
Sweet kiss! Love filled the air with madrigal of a nightingale
And they live happily ever after-like a fairy tale!
poem by Mark Joseph Canoy
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New World Order
Broken down, feeling naked
Leaving me unfulfilled
Promising compromise
Championing mediocrity
Time and time again
What you said ain't what you mean
Even if all my bones are broken
I will drag myself back from the edge to
Kill the King, The King is dead, Long live the King
Kill the King, The King is dead, Long live the
King,
I am the King, God save the King
Kill the King, The King is dead
I am the King, Long live the King
Kill the King, The King is dead
I am the King, Long live the King
I reveal a deceiver
In the highest seat in the land
His idle hands the Devil's workshop
Generate more smoke than heat
Time and time again
What you said ain't what you mean
Even if all my bones are broken
I will drag myself back from the edge to
Kill the King, The King is dead, Long live the King
Kill the King, The King is dead, Long live the
King,
I am the King, God save the King
Kill the King, The King is dead
I am the King, Long live the King
Kill the King, The King is dead
I am the King, Long live the King
A new precedent in pain, a new precedent in pain
Mankind is blown to dust, mankind is blown to dust
An explosion of the Brain, an explosion of the
Brain
Spontaneously combust, spontaneously combust
Kill the King, The King is dead, Long live the
King,
I am the King
Kill the King, I, The King is dead, I am, Long live
the King,
I am the King
Kill the King, I, The King is dead, I am, Long live
the King,
I am the King
Kill the King, I, The King is dead, I am, Long live
the King,
I am the King
song performed by by Megadeth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life is Chess
Lets play a game of chess
A game that could bring about stress
A game that could also depress
If you strive to win without success
Chess is life Kasporov said
Thats what l thought off when l went to bed
Its funny you have a king and a queen
That represents a whole lot of things
Marriage, Politics, love and dont forget natures law
While the bishop goes with religion
The knights go to war to represent the nation
And the pawns march on like soldiers without a choice
But to defend our lives
The castle a wall around our thoughts
A protector for what our identity is worth
Who is behind the strategy
Does the player represent leadership
Are the pieces part of the world
If l draw a game what do l define myself
And if l win am l the supreme
Or is this thought merely too extreme
To play chess better
One has to constantly work harder
Recently l have acquired a bag of tricks
Which comes with experience
And while l play
I sometimes pray for luck
Which sometimes works
Such is the representation of real life
A queen so strong is sometimes sacrificed
While a king with only one move to his name
Is always the last to stay in the game
Thats goes to show that life is unfair
With all the pain and suffering that women bear
Life is Chess
I have to confess
© Sylvia Chidi- 17 October 2005
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Gates of Riches
Open the gates of riches
To the beloved prince of kindness,
Who waited for ever with abacuses
And counted the coins with adeptness.
I am the king whose prince was bold,
And I coveted his prize, the very same as gold;
He owns everything now, the whole land of royalty,
He owns all the plants and animals - absurdity!
I am a king who needs a queen to rule all,
And the man my prince is owning the kingdom therewithal.
His thief is me and my wife, the queen of great health,
The prince is executed and I am left with the commonwealth.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The mystic rose
In ancient times
a warrior prince travelled to the East
to find the wisest man on earth.
Stars guided him
over uncharted terrain
to the court of Enoch
who counselled with the Almighty God.
Great and knowledgeable king,
point me the way
to find the most beautiful flower of all,
it’s called the mystic rose,
and like crystal its leaves glitters
in colours of blue, violet and ruby red
and its odour is more divine
than that of any other bloom.
Why do you need this spectre flower
the great wise king asked?
To win the heart of the girl that I desire
the prince proclaimed.
Where will I find the mystic rose?
The rich prince asked again
while his servants
brought great gifts to the wise king.
Enoch looked the prince in the eye
and said:
Somewhere in the depths
of your inner soul
lies the flower that you seek.
Without words the prince
studied the wise king
and thought about his words
without really comprehending.
The words were perplexing to the prince.
What is the mystic rose,
the prince asked at last
Its unconditional, self-sacrificing
and called perfect love
the wisest man said to him.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Queen of tango
I swap ten of my stories for one letter from you.
Letter and gingerbread heart with a mirror in it.
I want to do the tango, I'm tired of chess.
We can: Hidalgo, guitar and Argentina are close
for the souls that fly across the ocean.
Chess is better: a game in which the queen checkmates the king.
But the queen wants to dance, not play.
Make a move and dance, and I'm going to watch.
The queen goes to the dance floor with a pawn.
Here is my castle shooting at your pawn.
The pawn falls; the queen is going for a new one.
The king resigns: Do not go for a new pawn, we will do the tango.
Renku poetry: Tanja Bulovic Johannesburg
Zoran Jankovic Beograd
poem by Jankovic Zoran
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The Broken Pitcher
It was a Moorish maiden was sitting by a well,
And what the maiden thought of, I cannot, cannot, tell,
When by there rode a valiant knight from the town of Oviedo,
Alphonso Guzman was he hight, the Count of Tololedo.
'Oh, maiden, Moorish maiden! why sitt'st thou by the spring?
Say, dost thou seek a lover, or any other thing?
Why dost thou look upon me, with eyes so dark and wide,
And wherefore doth the pitcher lie broken by thy side?'
'I do not seek a lover, thou Christian knight so gay,
Because an article like that hath never come my way;
And why I gaze upon you, I cannot, cannot tell,
Except that in your iron hose you look uncommon swell.
'My pitcher it is broken, and this the reason is -
A shepherd came behind me, and tried to snatch a kiss;
I would not stand his nonsense, so ne'er a word I spoke,
But scored him on the costard, and so the jug was broke.
'My uncle, the Alcaydé, he waits for me at home,
And will not take his tumbler, until Zorayda come:
I cannot bring him water - the pitcher is in pieces -
And so I'm sure to catch it, 'cos he wallops all his nieces'
'Oh maiden, Moorish maiden! Wilt thou be ruled by me?
Then wipe thine eyes and rosy lips, and give me kisses three;
And I'll give thee my helmet, thou kind and courteous lady,
To carry home the water to thy Uncle, the Alcaydé.'
He lighted down from off his steed line - he tied him to a tree -
He bent him to the maiden, and he took his kisses three;
'To wrong thee, sweet Zorayda, I swear would be a sin!'
And he knelt him at the fountain, and he dipped his helmet in.
Up rose the Moorish maiden - behind the Knight she steals,
And caught Alphonso Guzman in a twinkling by the heels:
She tipped him in and held him down beneath the bubbling water -
'Now, take thou that for venturing to kiss Al Hamet's daughter!'
A Christian maid is waiting in the town of Oviedo;
She waits the coming of her love, the Count of Tololedo;
I pray you all in charity, that you will never tell,
How he met the Moorish maiden beside the lonely well.
poem by William Edmondstoune Aytoun
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A Palindrome Dectina (Acrostic)
Prince
Had been
In Val-d'Oise
Louis King's first son.
In medieval time
Period, he married,
Once crowned to be a king, that
Elfin niece of Count of Flanders.
Philip, as King, went on Third Crusade.
Prince had been in Val-d'Oise Louis King's first son.
Prince had been in Val-d'Oise Louis King's first son.
Philip, as King, went on Third Crusade.
Elfin niece of Count of Flanders,
Once crowned to be a king that
Period, he married.
In medieval time,
Louis King's first son
In Val-d'Oise
Had been
Prince.
In declining health, Louis VII had him (Philip) crowned and anointed at Rheims by the Archbishop William Whitehands on 1 November in 1179. He was married on 28 April 1180 to Isabelle of Hainaut, who brought the County of Artois as her dowry..Isabella was crowned Queen of France at Saint Denis on 28 May 1180.-wikipedia
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Country Song
He made his way to the border
In the shadow under the trees
Down by a stream in a hollow
Turn your head feel the breeze
And the red Queen was waiting for the news
For the white King to move
And the balance hung upon the head of one who tried
To stay within the shadows
And keep his undercover secret tight
They let him in by a backway
Into a chamber reserved for the Queen
She took the note that he gave her
Opened it slowly and started to read
Run to the treasury and bring me back some gold
Give it to the pawn who came, she cried
He says the white King thinks the game of chess is wrong
And all the courtiers crowded her
and this is what she told the gathered round
Go to the store by the dungeon
Take all the red paint take all the white
Make up a newborn colour
Cover your neighbor we'll be all right
There will be no game today, she cried across the board
Everyday will be a holiday
And all the pieces cheered as tidings spread abroad
And the Pink Queen sat
and smiled at the cat who smiled back
song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Camp X-Ray
Kristen Stewart, Peyman Moaadi, Lane Garrison, Cory Michael Smith, John Carroll Lynch, Tara Holt, Julia Duffy, Yousuf Azami
by Peter Sattler from Camp X-Ray (2014)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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