ZAIDE'S DESOLATION
It was the hour when Titan from Aurora's couch awoke,
And on the world her radiant face in wonted beauty broke,
When a Moor came by in sad array, and Zaide was his name.
Disguised, because his heart was sad with love's consuming flame;
No shield he bore, he couched no lance, he rode no warrior steed;
No plume nor mantle he assumed, motto or blazon screed;
Still on the flank of his mantle blank one word was written plain,
In the Moorish of the people, "I languish through disdain."
A flimsy cape his shoulders clad, for, when the garb is poor,
Nobility is honored most because 'tis most obscure.
If he in poverty appeared, 'twas love that made him so;
Till love might give the wealth he sought thus mourning would he go.
And still he journeys through the hills and shuns the haunts of men;
None look upon his misery in field or lonely fen.
Fair Zaida ne'er forgets that he is prince of all the land,
And ruler of the castles that at Granada stand;
But gold or silver or brocade can ne'er supply the lack
Of honor in a noble line whose crimes have stained it black;
For sunlight never clears the sky when night has spread her cloak,
But only when the glory of the morning has awoke.
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