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"Now scour for me my coat of mail, Without delay, my page, For, so grief's fire consumes me, Thy haste will be an age; And take from out my bonnet The verdant plumes of pride, Which once Azarco gave me, When he took to him his bride.
On this Celinda took her leave, And vanished from his view, And, thinking proudly of her smile, Azarco straight withdrew. Scarce half a league from Gelva the knight dismounted stood, Leaning upon his upright spear, and bitter was his mood. He thought upon Celinda's curse, and Zaida's fickle mind, "Ah, Fortune, thou to me," he cried, "hast ever proved unkind."
Nay, give me no excuses vain, For none of them I ask, Plead truth to her thou cozenest now They'll serve thee in the task. And if my counsel thou wilt take, Forget these eyes, this heart, Forget my grief at thy neglect Forget me and depart." Thus to the Moor, Azarco, The lovely Zaida cried, And closed her lattice, overwhelmed With sorrow's rising tide.
To war thou farest, but I fear Another war awaits thee here. Thou thinkest in some rural nest Thou'lt set me to be safe at rest. Ah, if my absence cause thee pain, My love attend thee on yon plain. Thy valiant arms' unaided might Shall win thee victory in the fight. My faith, Azarco, is thy shield; It will protect thee in the field. Thou shalt return with victory, For victory embarks with thee.
But thou wilt say, Azarco dear, That women's lightness is to fear. As with armed soldiers, so you find, Each woman has a different mind. And none shall ever, without thee, Me in the dance or revel see; Nor to the concert will I roam, But stay in solitude at home. The Moorish girls shall never say I dress in robes of holiday; 'Twere vain to make the body fine Whose soul is on the sea with thine."
That presence changed the tint of earth, Drew off the dusky veil, And turned to living verdure The leafage of the dale. "Till now," Azarco said, "the scene Has filled my heart with pain; 'Tis freshened by Celinda's face, Or passion turns my brain. Ah, well may men her beauty praise, For its transcendent might Elates the human spirit, And fills it with delight."
He spurred his barb and rode away, Scattering the dust behind, And cursed the star that made his heart Inconstant as the wind. Fair Adelifa tore her hair, Her cheeks were furrowed o'er with care, When brave Azarco she descried Ascending the tall galley's side.
The Moor went forth to victory, He was not pleasure's slave; His gallant heart was ever prompt To keep the pledge he gave. Azarco on his balcony With humble Cegri stood. He talked, and Cegri listened In a sad and listless mood; For of his own exploits he read, Writ in an open scroll, But envious Cegri heard the tale With rage and bitter dole.
Adonis, hastening to the hunt, His heavenly mistress shuns, The mountain boars before him flee, And, 'Die, the motto runs." 'Twas thus the Moor Azarco spoke, Just as the war begun, To stout Almoralife Of Baza, Zelma's son. Almoralife, brave and wise, Full many a minstrel sings, A knight who in Granada Was counted with its kings.
If e'er in festal halls thou meet Some peril to my peace, Azarco, turn thy look away, And check thine eyes' caprice. For 'tis by wandering eyes the foes Of constancy increase. May Allah and the prophet Make thy pathway safe and clear; And may one thought be thine abroad And Celindaja's here."
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