Oh, that it once were granted me
To mount my steed and follow thee;
How wouldst thou marvel then to see
That courage of true love in me,
Whose pulse so feebly throbs in thee."
Thus to see Arbolan depart
So fills with grief Guhala's heart.
The Moorish maid, while on he sped,
Lies sickening on her mournful bed.
Her Moorish damsels strive to know