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'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.
All hope at last had fled; And, standing at the window, With sighing voice he said: "Guhala, Guhala, My longing heart must cry; This mournful vow I utter now To see thee or to die."
And yet his mantle was of blue, And tinged with sorrow's violet hue; For fair Guhala, Moorish maid, Her spell upon his heart had laid; And thus his cape of saffron bare The color emblem of despair; On turban and on tassel lie The tints that yield an August sky; For anxious love was in his mind; And anxious love is ever blind.
He turned his eyes to where the banks Of Guadalquivir lay; "Inhuman King!" in grief he cried, "Thy mandates I obey; Thou bidst them load my limbs with steel; Thy cruel sentinel Keeps watch beside my prison door; Yet who my crime can tell? "Guhala, Guhala, My longing heart must cry; This mournful vow I utter now To see thee or to die."
'Twas not because against his King He played a treacherous part; But only that Guhala's charms Had won the captive's heart. "Guhala, Guhala, My longing heart must cry; This mournful vow I utter now To see thee or to die." No longer free those sturdy limbs! Revenge had bid them bind The iron chain on hands and feet; They could not chain his mind! How dolorous was the warrior's lot!
With scarce a word did he forsake The lady pining for his sake; For, when the festal robe he wore, Her soul the pall of sorrow wore. And now he journeyed on his way To Jaen, for the jousting day, And to Guhala, left alone, All relic of delight was gone. Tho' the proud maid of matchless face A thousand hearts would fain embrace, She loved but one, and swiftly ran And spake her mind to Arbolan.
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