For all the truths he spake of thee--would God they were not true!
Who but can laugh to hear thee blame the whispers that reveal
Thy secret, though thy secret thyself couldst not conceal.
No words of thine can clear thy guilt nor pardon win from me,
For the last time my words, my glance, have been addressed to thee."
Thus to the lofty warrior of Abencerraje's race
The lady spoke in anger, and turned away her face:
"'Tis right," she said, "the Moor whose tongue has proved to me unkind
Should in the sentence of my tongue fit retribution find."