Each softer feeling, but my love, resign.
Yes! they whose spirits all my thoughts control,
Who hold dread converse with my thrilling soul;
They, the betray’d, the sacrificed, the brave,
Who fill a blood-stain’d and untimely grave,
Must be avenged! and pity and remorse
In that stem cause are banish’d from my course.
Zayda! thou tremblest—and thy gentle breast
Shrinks from the passions that destroy my rest;
Yet shall thy form, in many a stormy hour,