Be thy best suit of mail,
  In lonely hours of absence,
    When faith is like to fail. 
  The Moorish girls whom thou shalt meet
    Are dazzling in their grace,
  Of peerless wit and generous heart,
    And beautiful of face. 
  These in the dance may lure thy heart
    To think of me no more,
  But none will e’er adore thee
    As I, thy slave, adore. 
  For to live lonely without thee
    Untouched by jealous fear,
  Is more than my poor heart can brook,
    Thou art to me so dear. 
  If e’er in festal halls thou meet
    Some peril to my peace,
  Azarco, turn thy look away,
    And check thine eyes’ caprice. 
  For ’tis by wandering eyes the foes
    Of constancy increase. 
  May Allah and the prophet
    Make thy pathway safe and clear;
  And may one thought be thine abroad
    And Celindaja’s here.”

AZARCO REBUKED

  “Draw rein, draw rein one moment,
    And calm thy hurrying steed,
  Who bounds beneath the furious spur
    That makes his flank to bleed. 
  Here would I, by my grief distraught,
    Upon the very spot,
  Remind thee of the happy hours
    Thou, faithless, hast forgot. 
  When thou, upon thy prancing barb,
    Adown this street would pace,
  And only at my window pause
    To gaze into my face. 
  At thought of all thy cruelty
    A stricken slave I pine;
  My heart is burning since it touched
    That frozen breast of thine. 
  How many pledges didst thou give,
    To win me for thine own! 
  Our oaths were mutual; I am true,
    Whilst thou art recreant grown. 
  My eyes, they thrilled thee yesterday,
    To-day thou hast no fears;
  For love is not alike two days
    Within a thousand years. 
  I thought thy name a pledge to me
    Of fondest hope; no less
  That thou wouldst take as pledges true
    My kiss and soft caress. 
  What were thy glowing words but lures
    Thy victim’s eyes to blind? 
  Now safe from treachery’s hour I bear
    No rancor in my mind. 
  But better had I known the truth,
    When I desired to know,
  And listened to thy pleading words,
    And read thy written vow. 
  Nay, give me no excuses vain,
    For none of them I ask,
  Plead truth to her thou cozenest now—­
    They’ll serve thee in the task. 
  And if my counsel thou wilt take,
    Forget these eyes, this heart,
  Forget my grief at thy neglect—­
    Forget me—­and depart.” 
  Thus to the Moor, Azarco,
    The lovely Zaida cried,
  And closed her lattice, overwhelmed
    With sorrow’s rising tide. 
  He spurred his barb and rode away,
    Scattering the dust behind,
  And cursed the star that made his heart
    Inconstant as the wind.

ADELIFA’S FAREWELL