“That lot is fix’d--’twere fruitless to repine: Still must a gulf divide my fate from thine. I may forgive--but not at will the heart Can bid its dark remembrances depart. No, Hamet! no!--too deeply are these traced; Yet the hour comes when all shall be effaced! Not long on earth, not long, shall Zayda keep Her lonely vigils o’er the grave to weep. E’en now, prophetic of my early doom, Speaks to my soul a presage of the tomb; And ne’er in vain did hopeless mourner feel That deep foreboding o’er the bosom steal! Soon shall I slumber calmly by the side Of him for whom I lived, and would have died; Till then, one thought shall soothe my orphan lot, In pain and peril--I forsook him not. “And now, farewell!--behold the summer-day Is passing, like the dreams of life, away. Soon will the tribe of him who sleeps draw nigh, With the last rites his bier to sanctify. Oh, yet in time, away!--’twere not _my_ prayer Could move their hearts a foe like thee to spare! This hour they come--and dost thou scorn to fly? Save me that one last pang--to see thee die!” E’en while she speaks is heard their echoing tread; Onward they move, the kindred of the dead. They reach the cave--they enter--slow their pace, And calm deep sadness marks each mourner’s face; And all is hush’d, till he who seems to wait In silent stern devotedness his fate, Hath met their glance--then grief to fury turns: Each mien is changed, each eye indignant burns, And voices rise, and swords have left their sheath. Blood must atone for blood, and death for death! They close around him: lofty still his mien, His cheek unalter’d, and his brow serene. Unheard, or heard in vain, is Zayda’s cry; Fruitless her prayer, unmark’d her agony. But as his foremost foes their weapons bend Against the life he seeks not to defend, Wildly she darts between--each feeling past, Save strong affection, which prevails at last. Oh, not in vain its daring!--for the blow Aim’d at his heart hath bade her life-blood flow; And she hath sunk a martyr on the breast Where in that hour her head may calmly rest, For he is saved! Behold the Zegri band, Pale with dismay and grief, around her stand: While, every thought of hate and vengeance o’er, They weep for her who soon shall weep no more. She, she alone is calm:--a fading smile, Like sunset, passes o’er her cheek the while; And in her eye, ere yet it closes, dwell Those last faint rays, the parting soul’s farewell.