Of Baza, Zelma’s son. 
  Almoralife, brave and wise,
    Full many a minstrel sings,
  A knight who in Granada
    Was counted with its kings. 
  And when they bring the boss of gold
    He heaves a thousand sighs
  O’er brave Adonis and his doom,
    Who by the wild boar dies. 
  “O Adelifa, soul of mine,
    Rejoice, and murmur not,
  Up to the end be merry,
    When worms shall be thy lot. 
  My day of life must needs be short,
    Thy firmness must be long;
  Although thou art a woman,
    Unlike thy sex, be strong. 
  Be not like Venus, tho’ in form
    Thou art indeed her peer,
  For she forgot in absence,
    And did to death her dear. 
  And when alone, upon my face
    And likeness fix thine eyes,
  And none admit to do me wrong,
    And thy soft heart surprise. 
  ’Twixt sadness and repining
    Love runs his changing way,
  The gay he oft makes sorrowful,
    The sorrowful makes gay. 
  Then, mark, love, in my portrait mark,
    The wide eyes’ mute appeal,
  For this enchanted painting
    Can speak and breathe and feel. 
  Think how those eyes shed many a tear,
    When for thy face they yearn;
  And let those tears thy patience win
    To tarry my return.” 
  At this Galvano came to say
    That ship and favoring gale
  Awaited him, and all his host
    Were eager to set sail. 
  The Moor went forth to victory,
    He was not pleasure’s slave;
  His gallant heart was ever prompt
    To keep the pledge he gave.

CELINDA’S COURTESY

  Azarco on his balcony
    With humble Cegri stood. 
  He talked, and Cegri listened
    In a sad and listless mood;
  For of his own exploits he read,
    Writ in an open scroll,
  But envious Cegri heard the tale
    With rage and bitter dole. 
  And thro’ Elvira’s gate, where spreads
    A prospect wide and free,
  He marked how Phoebus shot his rays
    Upon the Spanish sea;
  And bending to the land his eye
    To notice how the scene
  Of summer had its color changed
    To black from radiant green,
  He saw that, thro’ the gate there passed
    A light that was not day’s,
  Whose splendor, like a dazzling cloud,
    Eclipsed the solar rays. 
  That presence changed the tint of earth,
    Drew off the dusky veil,
  And turned to living verdure
    The leafage of the dale. 
  “Till now,” Azarco said, “the scene
    Has filled my heart with pain;
  ’Tis freshened by Celinda’s face,
    Or passion turns my brain. 
  Ah, well may men her beauty praise,
    For its transcendent might
  Elates the human spirit,
    And fills it with delight.” 
  And as he saw her coming in,
    The Moor his bonnet doffed,
  And bowed to do her honor,
    And spoke in accents soft.