In this thought alone my spirit finds refreshment and delight;
This is sweeter than the struggle, than the glory of the fight;
And if e'er I could forget her heaving breast and laughing eye,
Tender word, and soft caresses--Vindaraja, I should die!
If the King should bid me hasten to release thee from thy chain,
Oh, believe me, dearest lady, he would never bid in vain;
Naught he could demand were greater than the price that I would pay,
If in high Alhambra's halls I once again could see thee gay!
None can say I am remiss, and heedless of thy dismal fate;
Love comes to prompt me every hour, he will not let my zeal abate.
If occasion call, I yield myself, my soul to set thee free;
Take this offering if thou wilt, I wait thy word on bended knee.
Dost thou suffer, noble lady, by these fancies overwrought?
Ah, my soul is filled with sorrow at the agonizing thought;
For to know that Vindaraja languishes, oppressed with care,
Is enough to make death welcome, if I could but rescue her.
Yes, the world shall know that I would die not only for the bliss
Of clasping thee in love's embrace and kindling at thy tender kiss.
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