For freedom once was mine, and I was happy day and night.
Yes, happy, for I knew that thou hadst given me thy love,
Precious the gift to lonely hearts all other gifts above.
Well mightest thou forget me, though 'twere treachery to say
The flame that filled thy royal heart as yet had passed away.
Still, though too oft do lovers' hearts in absent hours repine.
I know if there are faithful vows, then faithful will be thine!
'Tis hard, indeed, for lovers to crush the doubting thought
Which to the brooding bosom some lonely hour has brought.
There is no safety for the love, when languish out of sight
The form, the smile, the flashing eyes that once were love's delight;
Nor can I, I confess it, feel certain of thy vow!
How many Moorish ladies are gathered round thee now!
How many fairer, brighter forms are clustered at thy throne,
Whose power might change to very wax the heart of steel or stone!
And if, indeed, there be a cause why I should blame thy heart,
'Tis the delay that thou hast shown in taking here my part.
Why are not armies sent to break these prison bars, and bring
Back to her home the Moorish maid, the favorite of the King?
A maid whose eyes are changed to springs whence flow the flood of tears,
For she thinks of thee and weeps for thee through all these absent years.
Believe me, if 'twere thou, who lay a captive in his chain,
My life of joy, to rescue thee, my heart of blood I'd drain!
O King and master, if, indeed, I am thy loved one still,
As in those days when I was first upon Alhambra's hill,
Send rescue for thy darling, or fear her love may fade,
For love that needs the sunlight must wither in the shade.
And yet I cannot doubt thee; if e'er suspicion's breath
Should chill my heart, that moment would be Vindaraja's death.
Nor think should you forget me or spurn me from your arms,