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