The ladies who are tenderest and given most to sleep
Awaken at the hubbub and from their windows peep.
And there are seen dishevelled locks clasped by the lily hand;
And snowy throat and bosom bare, revealed in public, stand;
And in their drowsy disarray, and in their anxious fear,
Each Moorish lady is surprised with many a sudden tear;
And many a heart was filled that night with feverish unrest,
As one tall maid looked through the pane with white and heaving breast.
And many a Moorish girl was seen by revellers that night
Or running in confusion or halting from affright;
But no one saw fair Zaida, except by memory's sight;
And Zaide in the darkness, with Muza as his guide,
Hurried about the city; what a crowd was at their side!
What racket, and what riot, what shout and prank and play!
It would have had no end unless the sun had brought the day,
And now the leading revellers mustered their ranks once more;
To close the frolic with one word; "Go home; the game is o'er."
ZAIDE'S COMPLAINT
Brave Zaide paces up and down impatiently the street
Where his lady from the balcony is wont her knight to greet,
And he anxiously awaits the hour when she her face will show
Before the open lattice and speak to him below.
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