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Updated: May 28, 2025
'Tis for his absence that I mourn. I sicken, waiting his return!" Such were the words Guhala said. The love-lorn and afflicted maid Nor further power and utterance found, But, fainting, sank upon the ground; For strength of love had never art To fill with life a pining heart. Azarco left his heart behind When he from Seville passed, And winsome Celindaja As hostage held it fast.
These are but empty braggarts, but prowlers of the night, Cut-throats and needy idlers and so the tumult ends Azarque lies in prison, forsaken by his friends. For, ah, both arms and reason powerless prove To turn the purpose of a king in love. Alone does Celindaja the coward crowd implore, "Oh, save him, save him, generous friends, give back to me my Moor."
And as Azarque forward rides, as in retreat he flies, "Now, Allah guard thee, gallant knight," with shouts the people cries. "My curse upon him; he shall die," the jealous King replies. But Celindaja paid no heed to all that cavalcade; Her lips were parched, her throat was dry, her heart was sore dismayed.
Then Celindaja, white with rage: "Go to the King and say I choose to be my prison-house for many and many a day, The memory of Azarque, in which henceforth I live: But the treachery of a monarch my heart will not forgive. For the will of one weak woman shall never powerless prove To turn the foolish purpose of a king who is in love.
But others spread the news, that flew like fire from tongue to tongue, That the King was doting-mad with love, for then the King was young; And had given to Celindaja the ordering of the day. And there were knights beside the King she loved to see at play.
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