Thy beauty's sway should be unchecked as death's prevailing might,
But, ah, how many worlds would then sink into endless night!
But come, fair Zaida, quickly come to these expectant arms,
And let me win at last the prize of victory o'er thy charms.
It is a debt thou owest me, oh, let the debt be paid."
Then Zaida rose and showed herself in beauty's robe arrayed,
And the Moor cried: "May Allah grant thy sun may ever shine,
To light with its full splendor this lonely life of mine!
And tho' my stammering tongue be dumb, and like a broken lute,
And in its loudest efforts to speak thy praise be mute,
It can at least announce to thee, loud as the thunder's peal,
The service that I owe to thee, the passion that I feel."
The Moorish lady smiled at this, and spake in tender tone;
"If all this silent tongue of thine has said be loyal shown,
If all thy vows be from thy heart, and all thy heavy sighs
From out a breast unchanging, a constant spirit rise,
I swear that I would grant thy wish and follow thy behest;
But, ah, I fear lest thy fierce love should bring to me no rest,
I fear these honeyed words that from thy lips so lightly fly
At last should prove a serpent's fang to sting me till I die.
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