They told him that the words were true; and without further speech
The glory of his lady's eyes he sallied forth to reach.
He met her in a garden where sweet marjoram combined
With azure violets a scent that ravished every wind.
The musk and jasmine mingled in leaf and branch and flower,
Building about the lovers a cool and scented bower.
The white leaf matched her lily skin, the red his bounding heart.
For she was beauty's spotless queen, he valor's counterpart.
For when the Moor approached her he scarcely raised his eye,
Dazed by the expectation that she had raised so high.
Celinda with a trembling blush came forth and grasped his hand;
They talked of love like travellers lost in a foreign land.
Then said the Moor, "Why give me now love's sweetest paths to trace,
Who in thy absence only live on memories of thy face?
If thou should speak of Xerez," he said with kindling eye,
"Now take my lance, like Zaida's spouse this moment let me die,
And may I some day find thee in a rival's arms at rest,
And he by all thy arts of love be tenderly caressed;
Unless the Moor whose slander made me odious in thy eyes
In caitiff fraud and treachery abuse thine ear with lies.
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