From the bright vision’s head
  A careless veil of lawn was loosely spread:
  From her white temples fell her shaded hair
  Like cloudy sunshine, not too brown nor fair;
  Her hands, her lips, did love inspire;
  Her every grace my heart did fire: 
  But most her eyes, which languished with desire.

        III.

    Ah, charming fair, said I,
  How long can you my bliss and yours deny? 
  By nature and by love, this lonely shade
  Was for revenge of suffering lovers made. 
  Silence and shades with love agree;
  Both shelter you and favour me: 
  You cannot blush, because I cannot see.

        IV.

    No, let me die, she said,
  Rather than lose the spotless name of maid!—­
  Faintly, methought, she spoke; for all the while
  She bid me not believe her, with a smile. 
  Then die, said I:  She still denied;
  And is it thus, thus, thus, she cried,
  You use a harmless maid?—­and so she died!

V.

I waked, and straight I knew,
I loved so well, it made my dream prove true: 
Fancy, the kinder mistress of the two,
Fancy had done what Phyllis would not do! 
Ah, cruel nymph, cease your disdain,
While, I can dream you scorn in vain,—­
Asleep or waking you must ease my pain.
[After the dance, a tumultuous noise of drums
and trumpets.

To them OZMYN; his sword drawn.

Ozm. Arm, quickly arm; yet all, I fear, too late; The enemy’s already at the gate.

Boab. The Christians are dislodged; what foe is near?

Ozm. The Zegrys are in arms, and almost here: 
The streets with torches shine, with shoutings ring,
And Prince Abdalla is proclaimed the king. 
What man could do, I have already done,
But bold Almanzor fiercely leads them on.

Aben. The Alhambra yet is safe in my command; [To the King. Retreat you thither, while their shock we stand.

Boab. I cannot meanly for my life provide; I’ll either perish in’t, or stem this tide.  To guard the palace, Ozmyn, be your care:  If they o’ercome, no sword will hurt the fair.

Ozm. I’ll either die; or I’ll make good the place.

Abdelm. And I with these will bold Almanzor face.
                       [Exeunt all but the Ladies.  An alarum within.

Almah. What dismal planet did my triumphs light!  Discord the day, and death does rule the night:  The noise my soul does through my senses wound.