May, since they think me wanton, their treacherous measures take That I should be a Christian and my former faith forsake. But I tell them, and I weep to tell, that I will ne'er forego The creed my fathers fought for in centuries long ago! And yet I might forswear it, but that that creed divine 'Tis vain I struggle to deny, for, ah, that creed is thine!" King Chico read his lady's note and silent laid it down; Then to the window he drew nigh, and gazed upon the town; And lost in thought he pondered upon each tender line, And sudden tears and a sigh of grief were his inward sorrow's sign. And he called for ink and paper, that Vindaraja's heart Might know that he remembered her and sought to heal its smart. He would tell her that the absence which caused to her those fears Had only made her dearer still, through all those mournful years. He would tell her that his heart was sad, because she was not near-- Yes, far more sad than Moorish slave chained on the south frontier. And then he wrote the letter to the darling Moorish slave, And this is the tender message that royal Chico gave: THE LETTER OF THE KING "Thy words have done me grievous wrong, for, lovely Mooress, couldst thou think That he who loves thee more than life could e'er to such a treachery sink? His life is naught without the thought that thou art happy in thy lot; And while the red blood at his heart is beating thou art ne'er forgot! Thou woundest me because thy heart mistrusts me as a fickle fool; Thou dost not know when passion true has one apt pupil taken to school. Oblivion could not, could not cloud the image on his soul impressed, Unless dark treachery from the first had been the monarch of his breast And if perhaps some weary hours I thought that Vindaraja's mind Might in some happier cavalier the solace of her slavery find, I checked the thought; I drove away the vision that with death was rife, For e'er my trust in thee I lost, in battle I'd forego my life! Yet even the doubt that thou hast breathed gives me no franchise to forget, And were I willing that thy face should cease to fill my vision, yet 'Tis separation's self that binds us closer though the centuries roll, And forges that eternal chain that binds together soul and soul! And even were this thought no more than the wild vision of my mind, Yet in a thousand worlds no face to change for thine this heart could find. Thro' life, thro' death 'twere all the same, and when to heaven our glance we raise, Full in the very heart of bliss thine eyes shall meet my ardent gaze. For eyes that have beheld thy face, full readily the truth will own That God exhausted, when he made thee, all the treasures of his throne! And my trusting heart will answer while it fills my veins with fire That to hear of, is to see thee; and to see, is to desire!