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And as she went, she sang aloud a melancholy strain;
"And who would wish to die," she said, "though death be free from
pain?"
She came in sight of proud Seville; but the darkness bade her wait
Till dawn; when she alighted before a kinsman's gate.
Swift flew the days, and when at last the joyful truth she learned,
That she had been deceived; in joy to Xerez she returned.
And as she went, she sang aloud a melancholy strain;
"And who would wish to die," she said, "though death be free from
pain?"

ZAIDA'S CURSE
And Zaida Cegri, desolate,
Whom by the cruel cast of fate,
Within one hour, the brandished blade
From wife had mourning widow made,
On Albenzaide's corse was bowed,
Shedding hot tears, with weeping loud.
Bright as the gold of Araby
Shone out her locks unbound;
And while, as if to staunch the blood,
Her hand lay on the wound,
She fixed her glances on Gazul,
Still by his foes attacked.
"'Twas cruel rage, not jealous love,
That urged this wicked act.


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