For 'tis longing for her presence makes the spring of life to me,
And allays the secret suffering none except her eye can see.
In this thought alone my spirit finds refreshment and delight;
This is sweeter than the struggle, than the glory of the fight;
And if e'er I could forget her heaving breast and laughing eye,
Tender word, and soft caresses--Vindaraja, I should die!
If the King should bid me hasten to release thee from thy chain,
Oh, believe me, dearest lady, he would never bid in vain;
Naught he could demand were greater than the price that I would pay,
If in high Alhambra's halls I once again could see thee gay!