Fair Adelifa tore her hair,
  Her cheeks were furrowed o’er with care,
  When brave Azarco she descried
  Ascending the tall galley’s side. 
  She flung the dust upon her head,
  She wrung her lily hands and shed
  Hot tears, and cursed the bitter day
  That bore her heart’s delight away. 
  “Thou, who my glory’s captain art,
  And general of my bleeding heart,
  Guardian of every thought I know,
  And sharer of my lot of woe;
  Light that illumes my happy face,
  The bliss of my soul’s dwelling-place;
  Why must thou disappear from me,
  Thou glass wherein myself I see? 
  Azarco, bid me understand
  What is it thou dost command—­
  Must I remain and wait for thee? 
  Ah, tedious will that waiting be. 
  To war thou farest, but I fear
  Another war awaits thee here. 
  Thou thinkest in some rural nest
  Thou’lt set me to be safe at rest. 
  Ah, if my absence cause thee pain,
  My love attend thee on yon plain. 
  Thy valiant arms’ unaided might
  Shall win thee victory in the fight. 
  My faith, Azarco, is thy shield;
  It will protect thee in the field. 
  Thou shalt return with victory,
  For victory embarks with thee. 
  But thou wilt say, Azarco dear,
  That women’s lightness is to fear. 
  As with armed soldiers, so you find,
  Each woman has a different mind. 
  And none shall ever, without thee,
  Me in the dance or revel see;
  Nor to the concert will I roam,
  But stay in solitude at home. 
  The Moorish girls shall never say
  I dress in robes of holiday;
  ’Twere vain to make the body fine
  Whose soul is on the sea with thine.” 
  With this Celinda came in sight,
  Bahata’s sister tall and bright;
  This to an end her farewell brought,
  But not her dark and anxious thought.

AZARCO’S FAREWELL

  “Now saddle me the silver gray,
    The steed of noble race,
  And give to me the shield of Fez,
    And my strong corslet lace;
  Give me a double-headed lance,
    With points of temper fine;
  And, with the casque of stubborn steel,
    That purple cap of mine. 
  Its plumes unite the saffron’s tint
    With heron’s crest of snow,
  And one long spray of fluttering gray. 
    Then give it e’er I go,
  And I’ll put on the hood of blue
    That Celin’s daughter fair,
  My Adelifa, best-beloved,
    Once gave to me to wear. 
  And the square boss of metal bring,
    That circling boughs entwine
  With laurels, in whose leaves of gold
    The clustered emeralds shine. 
  Adonis, hastening to the hunt,
    His heavenly mistress shuns,
  The mountain boars before him flee,
    And, ‘Die,’ the motto runs.” 
  ’Twas thus the Moor Azarco spoke,
    Just as the war begun,
  To stout Almoralife