Say, Love, and didst thou e'er behold
A maid more fair and knight more bold?
And if thou didst not see him die,
And Zaida's tears of agony,
The bandage on thine orbs draw tight--
That thou mayst never meet the sight!
Sadly we march along the crowded street,
While trumpets hoarsely blare and drums tempestuous beat.
Not only Zaida's eyes are wet,
For him her soul shall ne'er forget;