Zaida's Jealousy

Kind friend of Bencerraje's line, what judgment dost thou hold
Of all that Zaida's changeful moods before thine eyes unfold?
Now by my life I swear that she to all would yield her will;
Yet by my death I swear that she to all is recreant still.
Come near, my friend, and listen while I show to you this note,
Which to the lovely lady in bitter grief I wrote;
Repeat not what I read to thee, for 'twere a deadly shame,
Since thou her face admirest, should slander smirch her name:
"O Moorish maiden, who like time, forever on the wing,
Dost smiles and tears, with changing charm, to every bosom bring,
Thy love is but a masquerade, and thou with grudging hand
Scatterest the crumbs of hope on all the crowds that round thee stand.
With thee there is no other law of love and kindliness
But what alone may give thee joy and garland of success.
With each new plume thy maidens in thy dark locks arrange,
With each new tinted garment thy thoughts, thy fancies change.
I own that thou art fairer than even the fairest flower
That at the flush of early dawn bedecks the summer's bower.
But, ah, the flowers in summer hours change even till they fade,
And thou art changeful as the rose that withers in the shade.
And though thou art the mirror of beauty's glittering train,
Thy bosom has one blemish, thy mind one deadly stain;
For upon all alike thou shed'st the radiance of thy smile,
And this the treachery by which thou dost the world beguile.
I do not plead in my complaint thy loveliness is marred,
Because thy words are cruel, because thy heart is hard;
Would God that thou wert insensible as is the ocean wild
And not to all who meet thee so affable and mild;
Ah, sweetest is the lingering fruit that latest comes in time,
Ah, sweetest is the palm-tree's nut that those who reach must climb.
Alas! 'twas only yesterday a stranger reached the town--
Thou offeredst him thy heart and bade him keep it for his own!
O Zaida, tell me, how was this? for oft I heard thee say
That thou wert mine and 'twas to me thy heart was given away.
Hast thou more hearts than one, false girl, or is it changefulness
That makes thee give that stranger guest the heart that I possess?
One heart alone is mine, and that to thee did I resign.
If thou hast many, is my love inadequate to thine?
O Zaida, how I fear for thee, my veins with anger glow;
O Zaida, turn once more to me, and let the stranger go.
As soon as he hath left thy side his pledges, thou wilt find,
Were hollow and his promises all scattered to the wind.
And if thou sayst thou canst not feel the pains that absence brings,
'Tis that thy heart has never known love's gentle whisperings.
'Tis that thy fickle mind has me relinquished here to pine,
Like some old slave forgotten in this palace court of thine.
Ah, little dost thou reck of me, of all my pleasures flown,
But in thy pride dost only think, false lady, of thine own.
And is it weakness bids me still to all thy faults be blind
And bear thy lovely image thus stamped upon my mind?
For when I love, the slight offence, though fleeting may be the smart,
Is heinous as the treacherous stroke that stabs a faithful heart.
And woman by one look unkind, one frown, can bring despair
Upon the bosom of the man whose spirit worships her.
Take, then, this counsel, 'tis the last that I shall breathe to thee,
Though on the winds I know these words of mine will wasted be:
I was the first on whom thou didst bestow the fond caress,
And gave those pledges of thy soul, that hour of happiness;
Oh, keep the faith of those young days! Thy honor and renown
Thou must not blight by love unkind, by treachery's heartless frown.
For naught in life is safe and sure if faith thou shouldst discard,
And the sunlight of the fairest soul is oft the swiftest marred.
I will not sign this letter nor set to it my name;
For I am not that happy man to whom love's message came,
Who in thy bower thy accents sweet enraptured heard that day,
When on thy heaving bosom, thy chosen love, I lay.
Yet well thou'lt know the hand that wrote this letter for thine eye,
For conscience will remind thee of thy fickle treachery.
Dissemble as thou wilt, and play with woman's skill thy part,
Thou knowest there is but one who bears for thee a broken heart."
Thus read the valiant castellan of Baza's castle tower,
Then sealed the scrip and sent it to the Moorish maiden's bower.