Him, whose sole thought resembling bliss, must be,
He hath been loved, once fondly loved, by thee!”
And is the warrior gone?—doth Zayda hear
His parting footstep, and without a tear?
Thou weep’st not, lofty maid!—yet who can tell
What secret pangs within thy heart may dwell?
They feel not least, the firm, the high in soul,
Who best each feeling’s agony control.
Yes! we may judge the measure of the grief
Which finds in misery’s eloquence relief;