own!
O Zaida, tell me, how was this? for oft I heard thee say
That thou wert mine and 'twas to me thy heart was given away.
Hast thou more hearts than one, false girl, or is it changefulness
That makes thee give that stranger guest the heart that I possess?
One heart alone is mine, and that to thee did I resign.
If thou hast many, is my love inadequate to thine?
O Zaida, how I fear for thee, my veins with anger glow;
O Zaida, turn once more to me, and let the stranger go.
As soon as he hath left thy side his pledges, thou wilt find,
Were hollow and his promises all scattered to the wind.
And if thou sayst thou canst not feel the pains that absence brings,
'Tis that thy heart has never known love's gentle whisperings.
'Tis that thy fickle mind has me relinquished here to pine,
Like some old slave forgotten in this palace court of thine.
Ah, little dost thou reck of me, of all my pleasures flown,
But in thy pride dost only think, false lady, of thine own.
And is it weakness bids me still to all thy faults be blind
And bear thy lovely image thus stamped upon my mind?
For when I love, the slight offence, though fleeting may be the smart,
Is heinous as the treacherous stroke that stabs a faithful heart.
And woman by one look unkind, one frown, can bring despair
Upon the bosom of the man whose spirit worships her.
Take, then, this counsel, 'tis the last that I shall breathe to thee,
Though on the winds I know these words of mine will wasted be:
I was the first on whom thou didst bestow the fond caress,
And gave those pledges of thy soul, that hour of happiness;
Oh, keep the faith of those young days! Thy honor and renown
Thou must not blight by love unkind, by treachery's heartless frown.
For naught in life is safe and sure if faith thou shouldst discard,
And the sunlight of the fairest soul is oft the swiftest marred.
I will not sign this letter nor set to it my name;
For I am not that happy man to whom love's message came,
Who in thy bower thy accents sweet enraptured heard that day,
When on thy heaving bosom, thy chosen love, I lay.
Yet well thou'lt know the hand that wrote this letter for thine eye,
For conscience will remind thee of thy fickle treachery.
Dissemble as thou wilt, and play with woman's skill thy part,
Thou knowest there is but one who bears for thee a broken heart."
Thus read the valiant castellan of Baza's castle tower,
Then