The courser of Selim flies wild o’er the plain,
His flag on the seas shall ne’er flutter again;
The reign of the son of Mohammed is o’er,
And thine eyes shall delight in his presence no more!
Then bind up thy tresses and dash from thine eyes
The tear that betokens distrust of the skies;
Nor deem that around thee one spirit’s so poor
As to bend to a sceptre not swayed by a Moor.
Away with thy watching! the son of thy lord
Of the chiefs of Morocco is monarch and ward!