have an early end;
  If all, indeed, these tidings know, as you yourself declare,
  Pray tell me who of all the town first laid this secret bare. 
  For if the life that now I lead continue, I shall die. 
  ’Tis cheered by love, but tortured by hopeless agony. 
  God only knows why I the sport of cruel fate should be. 
  God only knows the man who says that I am false to thee. 
  Thou knowest well that Zaida has loved thee long and true,
  Tho’ her ancient lineage, Moorish knight, is more than is thy due,
  And thou knowest well the loud expostulations of my sire. 
  Thou knowest how my mother curses me with curses dire
  Because I wait for thee by day, for thee by night I wait. 
  Tho’ far thou comest in the eve, yet dost thou tarry late. 
  They say to hush the common talk ’tis time that I be wed,
  And to his home by some fond Moor in bridal veil be led. 
  Ah! many are the lovely dames, tall and of beauteous face,
  Who are burning in Granada to take my envied place. 
  They look at thee with loving eyes and from the window call;
  And, Zaide, thou deservest well the brightest of them all,
  For thou thyself thine amorous eyes have turned and yet will turn
  Upon the Moorish maidens who for thy embraces burn.” 
  Then with dejected visage the Moor this answer made,
  While a thousand thoughts of sorrow his valorous breast invade: 
  “Ah, little did I think,” he said, “and little did I know
  That thou, my lovely Zaida, would ever treat me so;
  And little did I think thou wouldst have done this cruel deed
  And by thy changeful heart would thus have made my heart to bleed. 
  And this for one unworthy, a man who could not claim
  That thou should sacrifice to him thy love, thy life, thy name. 
  And art thou she who long ago, when evening veiled the sky,
  Didst say to me with tender smile from the lofty balcony,
  ’Zaide, I am thine own, thine own, thine own I still shall be,
  And thou the darling of my soul art life itself to me’?”

GUHALA’S LOVE

  The bravest youth that e’er drew rein
  Upon Granada’s flowery plain,
  A courteous knight, of gentle heart,
  Accomplished in the jouster’s art;
  Well skilled to guide the flying steed,
  And noted for each warlike deed;
  And while his heart like steel was set
  When foeman in the battle met,
  ’Twas wax before his lady’s eyes
  And melted at her amorous sighs;
  And he was like a diamond bright
  Amid the sword-thrusts of the fight,
  And in the zambra’s festive hour
  Was gracious as the summer’s flower. 
  In speech he showed the generous mind,
  Where wit and wisdom were combined;
  And, while his words no envy woke,
  He weighed each sentence that he spoke. 
  And yet his mantle was of blue,
  And tinged with sorrow’s violet