Altho’ a thousand times had death dissolved this mortal frame,
  Soon as thy form before me in radiant beauty came,
  A thousand times one look of thine had given me back my breath,
  And called thy lover to thy side even from the gate of death. 
  What boots it, Lindaraja, that I, at Jaen’s gate,
  That unsurrendered city, have met my final fate? 
  What boots it, that this city proud will ne’er the Soldan own,
  For thee and not for Jaen this hour I make my moan;
  I weep for Lindaraja, I weep to think that she
  May mourn a hostage and a slave in long captivity. 
  But worse than this that some proud Moor will take thee to his heart,
  And all thy thoughts of Reduan new love may bid depart. 
  And dwelling on thy beauty he will deem it better far,
  To win fair Lindaraja than all the spoils of war,
  Yet would I pray if Mahomet, whose servant I have been,
  Should ever from the throne of God look on this bloody scene,
  And deem it right to all my vows requital fit to make,
  And for my valor who attacked the town I could not take,
  That he would make thy constancy as steadfast as the tower
  Of Jaen’s mighty fortress, that withstood the Moorish power;
  Now as my life be ebbing fast, my spirit is oppressed,
  And Reduan the warrior bold is sinking to his rest,
  Oh, may my prayers be answered, if so kind heaven allow,
  And may the King forgive me for the failure of my vow,
  And, Lindaraja, may my soul, when it has taken its flight,
  And for the sweet Elysian fields exchange these realms of night,
  Contented in the joys and peace of that celestial seat,
  Await the happy moment when we once more shall meet.”

THE AGED LOVER

  ’Twas from a lofty balcony Arselia looked down
  On golden Tagus’ crystal stream that hemmed Toledo’s town;
  And now she watched the eddies that dimpled in the flood
  And now she landward turned her eye to gaze on waste and wood,
  But in all that lay around her she sought for rest in vain,
  For her heart, her heart was aching, and she could not heal the pain. 
  ’Tis of no courtly gallant the Moorish damsel dreams,
  No lordly emir who commands the fort by Tagus’ streams,
  ’Twas on the banks of Tornes stood the haughty towers of note
  Where the young alcayde loved by the maid from cities dwelt remote. 
  And never at Almanzor’s court had he for honor sought,
  Though he dwelt in high Toledo in fair Arselia’s thought;
  And now she dreams of love’s great gift, of passion’s deep delight,
  When far away from her palace walls a stranger came in sight. 
  It was no gallant lovelorn youth she saw approaching fast,
  It was the hero Reduan whose vernal years were past. 
  He rode upon a sorrel horse and swiftly he came nigh,
  And stood where the dazzling sun beat down upon her balcony;