The walls that held the fair. 
  And for an hour, which seemed like years,
    He watched impatient there;
  But when he saw the lady mount
    Her balcony, he thought,
  That the long hour of waiting
    That vision rendered short. 
  Dismounting from his patient steed,
    In presence of his flame,
  He fell upon his knees and kissed
    The pavement in her name. 
  With trembling voice he spoke to her,
    “I cannot, cannot meet,
  In any joust where you are near,
    Disaster and defeat. 
  Of yore I lived without a heart,
    Kinsmen, or pedigree;
  But all of these are mine, if thou
    Hast any thought of me. 
  Give me some badge, if not that thou
    Mayst recognize thy knight,
  At least to deck him, give him strength,
    And succor in the fight.” 
  Celinda heard in jealous doubt;
    For some, with envious art,
  Had told her that fair Zaida still
    Ruled o’er the warrior’s heart. 
  She answered him in stormy rage: 
    “If in the joust thou dost engage
  With such success as I desire,
    And all thy broken oaths require,
  Thou wilt not reach Sanlucar’s square
    So proud as when thou last wert there. 
  But there shalt meet, disconsolate,
    Eyes bright with love and dark with hate. 
  God grant that in the deadly joust
    The enemies that thou hast roused,
  May hurl at thee the unparried dart
    And pierce thee, liar, to the heart. 
  Thy corpse within thy mantle bound
    May horses trail along the ground. 
  Thou comest thy revenge to seek,
    But small the vengeance thou shalt wreak. 
  Thy friends shall no assistance yield;
    Thy foes shall tread thee in the field;
  For thou the woman-slayer, then,
    Shall meet thy final fate from men. 
  Those damsels whom thou hast deceived
    Shall feel no pang of grief;
  Their aid was malediction,
    Thy death is their relief. 
  The Moor was true in heart and soul,
    He thought she spake in jest. 
  He stood up in his stirrups,
    Her hand he would have pressed. 
  “Lady,” he said, “remember well
  That Moor of purpose fierce and fell
  On whom my vengeance I did wreak
  Hast felt the curse that now you speak. 
  And as for Zaida, I repent
  That love of mine on her was spent. 
  Disdain of her and love of thee
  Now rule my soul in company. 
  The flame in which for her I burned
  To frost her cruelty has turned. 
  Three cursed years, to win her smile,
    In knightly deeds I wrought,
  And nothing but her treachery
    My faithful service brought,
  She flung me off without a qualm,
    Because my lot was poor,
  And gave, because the wretch was rich,
    Her favor to a Moor.” 
  Celinda as these words she heard
  Impatiently the lattice barred,
  And to the lover’s ardent sight