Ballad XVII: Imitated from the Spanish

"Por la calle de su dama"Passeando se anda," &c.

Softly blow the evening breezes,Softly fall the dews of night;Yonder walks the Moor Alcanzor,Shunning every glare of light.

In yon palace lives fair Zaida,Whom he loves with flame so pure:Loveliest she of Moorish ladies;He a young and noble Moor.

Waiting for the appointed minute,Oft he paces to and fro;Stopping now, now moving forwards,Sometimes quick, and sometimes slow.

Hope and fear alternate teize him,Oft he sighs with heart-felt care.----See, fond youth, to yonder windowSoftly steps the timorous fair.

Lovely seems the moon's fair lustreTo the lost benighted swain,When all silvery bright she rises,Gilding mountain, grove, and plain.

Lovely seems the sun's full gloryTo the fainting seaman's eyes,When some horrid storm dispersingO'er the wave his radiance flies.

But a thousand times more lovelyTo her longing lover's sightSteals half-seen the beauteous maidenThro' the glimmerings of the night.

Tip-toe stands the anxious lover,Whispering forth a gentle sigh:Alla keep thee, lovely lady;Tell me, am I doom'd to die?

Is it true the dreadful story,Which thy damsel tells my page,That seduc'd by sordid richesThou wilt sell thy bloom to age?

An old lord from AntiqueraThy stern father brings along;But canst thou, inconstant Zaida,Thus consent my love to wrong?

If 'tis true now plainly tell me,Nor thus trifle with my woes;Hide not then from me the secret,Which the world so clearly knows.

Deeply sigh'd the conscious maiden,While the pearly tears descend:Ah! my lord, too true the story;Here our tender loves must end.

Our fond friendship is discover'd,Well are known our mutual vows:All my friends are full of fury;Storms of passion shake the house.

Threats, reproaches, fears surround me;My stern father breaks my heart:Alla knows how dear it costs me,Generous youth, from thee to part.

Ancient wounds of hostile furyLong have rent our house and thine;Why then did thy shining meritWin this tender heart of mine?

Well thou know'st how dear I lov'd theeSpite of all their hateful pride,Tho' I fear'd my haughty fatherNe'er would let me be thy bride.

Well thou know'st what cruel chidingsOft I've from my mother borne;What I've suffered here to meet theeStill at eve and early morn.

I no longer may resist them;All, to force my hand combine;And to-morrow to thy rivalThis weak frame I must resign.

Yet think not thy faithful ZaidaCan survive so great a wrong;Well my breaking heart assures meThat my woes will not be long.

Farewell then, my dear Alcanzor!Farewell too my life with thee!Take this scarf a parting token;When thou wear'st it think on me.

Soon, lov'd youth, some worthier maidenShall reward thy generous truth;Sometimes tell her how thy ZaidaDied for thee in prime of youth.

--To him all amaz'd, confounded,Thus she did her woes impart:Deep he sigh'd, then cry'd,--O Zaida!Do not, do not break my heart.

Canst thou think I thus will lose thee?Canst thou hold my love so small?No! a thousand times I'll perish!----My curst rival too shall fall.

Canst thou, wilt thou yield thus to them?O break forth, and fly to me!This fond heart shall bleed to save thee,These fond arms shall shelter thee.

'Tis in vain, in vain, Alcanzor,Spies surround me, bars secure:Scarce I steal this last dear moment,While my damsel keeps the door.

Hark, I hear my father storming!Hark, I hear my mother chide!I must go: farewell for ever!Gracious Alla be thy guide!