I strangle, in the sudden thrall
  Of this sharp pang of agony,
    Oh, hold me, Tarfe, lest I fall.” 
  Thus Adelifa weeping cried
    At thought of Abenamar’s quest: 
  In Moorish Tarfe’s arms she fell,
    And panting lay upon his breast.

THE CAPTIVE OF TOLEDO

  Upon the loftiest mountain height
    That rises in its pride,
  And sees its summits mirrored
    In Tagus’ crystal tide,
  The banished Abenamar,
    Bound by a captive chain,
  Looks on the high-road to Madrid
    That seams the dusty plain. 
  He measures, with his pining eyes,
    The stretching hills that stand
  Between his place of banishment
    And his sweet native land. 
  His sighs and tears of sorrow
    No longer bear restraint,
  And thus in words of anguish
    He utters his complaint: 
  “Oh, dismal is the exile
    That wrings the heart with woes
  And locks the lips in silence,
    Amid unfeeling foes.

  O road of high adventure,
    That leadest many a band
  To yon ungrateful country where
    My native turrets stand,
  The country that my valor
    Did oft with glory crown,
  The land that lets me languish here,
    Who won for her renown. 
  Thou who hast succored many a knight,
    Hast thou no help for me,
  Who languish on Toledo’s height
    In captive misery? 
  ’Tis on thy world-wide chivalry
    I base my word of blame,
  ’Tis that I love thee most of all,
    Thy coldness brings me shame. 
  Oh, dismal is the exile,
    That wrings my heart with woes,
  And locks my lips in silence
    Among unfeeling foes.

  The warden of fierce Reduan
    With cruelty more deep
  That that of a hidalgo,
    Has locked this prison keep;
  And on this frontier set me,
    To pine without repose,
  To watch, from dawn to sunset,
    Over his Christian foes. 
  Here like a watch-tower am I set
    For Santiago’s lord,
  And for a royal mistress
    Who breaks her plighted word. 
  And when I cry with anguish
    And seek in song relief,
  With threats my life is threatened,
    Till silence cloak my grief. 
  Oh, dismal is the exile,
    That wrings my heart with woes,
  And locks my lips in silence
    Among unfeeling foes.

  And when I stand in silence,
    Me dumb my jailers deem,
  And if I speak, in gentle words,
    They say that I blaspheme. 
  Thus grievously perverting
    The sense of all I say,
  Upon my lips the raging crowd
    The gag of silence lay. 
  Thus heaping wrong on wrong my foes
    Their prisoner impeach,
  Until the outrage of my heart
    Deprives my tongue of speech. 
  And while my word the passion
    Of my sad heart betrays,
  My foes are all unconscious
    Of what my silence says.