Where the sweet music of the leaves shall lull thee to repose.
Hence in Zenia's watchful love, from harmful beast, or foes,
And when the spirit of the storm, in wild tornades rides by,
She'll hide thee in a cave, beneath a rocky panoply.
Look, Zenia look, the fleecy clouds move on the western gales,
And see the white men's moving home, unfurls her swelling sails,
So farewell India's spicy groves, farewell its burning clime,
And farewell Zenia, but to love, no farewell can be mine;
Not for the brightest Spanish maid, shall Diez' vow be riven,
So if we meet no more on earth, I will be thine in heaven.