Then said the Moor, "Why give me now love's sweetest paths to trace,
Who in thy absence only live on memories of thy face?
If thou should speak of Xerez," he said with kindling eye,
"Now take my lance, like Zaida's spouse this moment let me die,
And may I some day find thee in a rival's arms at rest,
And he by all thy arts of love be tenderly caressed;
Unless the Moor whose slander made me odious in thy eyes
In caitiff fraud and treachery abuse thine ear with lies."
The lady smiled, her heart was light, she felt a rapture new;
And like each flower that filled their bower the love between them grew,