The hubbub of the busy crowd ceased at that dulcet sound,
In which one moment high and low peace and refreshment found.
The hoot of the nocturnal owl alone the silence broke,
While from the distance could be heard the din of waking folk;
And, in the midst of silence, came the sound as Zaida wept,
For all night long in fear of death she waked while others slept.
And as she sighed, she sang aloud a melancholy strain;
"And who would wish to die," she said, "though death be free from pain?"
For evil tongues, who thought to win her favor with a lie,
Had told her that the bold Gazul ordained that she should die;
And so she donned a Moor's attire, and put her own away,
And on the stroke of midnight from Xerez took her way.
And as she sighed, she sang aloud a melancholy strain;
"And who would wish to die," she said, "though death be free from
pain?"
She rode a nimble palfrey and scarce could great Gazul
Excel the ardent spirit with which her heart was full.
Yet at every step her palfrey took, she turned her head for fear,
To see if following on her track some enemy were near.
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