“High-minded maid! the time admits not now To plead my cause, to vindicate my vow. That vow, too dread, too solemn, to recall, Hath urged me onward, haply to my fall. Yet this believe--no meaner aim inspires My soul, no dream of power ambition fires. No! every hope of power, of triumph, fled, Behold me but th’ avenger of the dead! One whose changed heart no tie, no kindred knows, And in thy love alone hath sought repose. Zayda! wilt _thou_ his stern accuser be? False to his country, he is true to thee! Oh, hear me yet!--if Hamet e’er was dear, By our first vows, our young affection, hear! Soon must this fair and royal city fall, Soon shall the cross be planted on her wall; Then who can tell what tides of blood may flow, While her fanes echo to the shrieks of woe? Fly, fly with me, and let me bear thee far From horrors thronging in the path of war: Fly, and repose in safety--till the blast Hath made a desert in its course--and pass’d!” “Thou that wilt triumph when the hour is come Hasten’d by thee, to seal thy country’s doom, With _thee_ from scenes of death shall Zayda fly To peace and safety?--Woman, too, can die! And die exulting, though unknown to fame, In all the stainless beauty of her name! Be mine, unmurmuring, undismay’d, to share The fate my kindred and my sire must bear. And deem thou not my feeble heart shall fail, When the clouds gather and the blasts assail. Thou hast but known me ere the trying hour Call’d into life my spirit’s latent power; But I have energies that idly slept, While withering o’er my silent woes I wept; And now, when hope and happiness are fled, My soul is firm--for what remains to dread? Who shall have power to suffer and to bear If strength and courage dwell not with Despair? “Hamet! farewell--retrace thy path again, To join thy brethren on the tented plain. There wave and wood in mingling murmurs tell How, in far other cause, thy fathers fell! Yes! on that soil hath Glory’s footstep been, Names unforgotten consecrate the scene! Dwell not the souls of heroes round thee there, Whose voices call thee in the whispering air? Unheard, in vain they call--their fallen son Hath stain’d the name those mighty spirits won, And to the hatred of the brave and free Bequeath’d his own through ages yet to be!”