end. 
  For seems to me the hours that pass, without thy presence dear,
  Wear the dark robe of sorrow, that orphaned children wear. 
  I seek to have thee with me, for it is only to the weak
  That the happiness is wanting that they do not dare to seek. 
  And if the doom of death is ours, it will not haste the more
  Because we scorn to think of it upon this happy shore. 
  But ere it come, that doom of death which fills us with alarms,
  May Allah grant to me the boon of resting in thine arms! 
  And if, in that supremest bliss, fate favors my design,
  And love is crowned, the lot of life contented I resign. 
  O darling Zaida, blest is he, ’mid thousands, who can say
  That on that bosom, in those arms he for one moment lay! 
  Come, darling, to thy Zaide’s side, and yield to him thy love;
  Thou knowest him brave and good and kind, all other knights above;
  In owning him thy lover true, thou wilt a partner count
  Who above all in valor’s list is champion paramount. 
  Thy beauty’s sway should be unchecked as death’s prevailing might,
  But, ah, how many worlds would then sink into endless night! 
  But come, fair Zaida, quickly come to these expectant arms,
  And let me win at last the prize of victory o’er thy charms. 
  It is a debt thou owest me, oh, let the debt be paid.” 
  Then Zaida rose and showed herself in beauty’s robe arrayed,
  And the Moor cried:  “May Allah grant thy sun may ever shine,
  To light with its full splendor this lonely life of mine! 
  And tho’ my stammering tongue be dumb, and like a broken lute,
  And in its loudest efforts to speak thy praise be mute,
  It can at least announce to thee, loud as the thunder’s peal,
  The service that I owe to thee, the passion that I feel.” 
  The Moorish lady smiled at this, and spake in tender tone;
  “If all this silent tongue of thine has said be loyal shown,
  If all thy vows be from thy heart, and all thy heavy sighs
  From out a breast unchanging, a constant spirit rise,
  I swear that I would grant thy wish and follow thy behest;
  But, ah, I fear lest thy fierce love should bring to me no rest,
  I fear these honeyed words that from thy lips so lightly fly
  At last should prove a serpent’s fang to sting me till I die.” 
  Then swore to her the Moor:  “If this the end should ever be,
  May the firm earth beneath my feet yawn wide and swallow me! 
  And may the blessed sunlight, the symbol of my hope,
  Wither these orbs and leave me in eternal night to grope!”
  At this the lovers joined their hands and hearts, and, with a kiss,
  Sealed all their vows of friendship and promises of bliss—­
  Their love was strong and solid and constant should remain,
  Till death should end their bondage and break the golden chain.

ZAIDA’S JEALOUSY.