For me he lived, for me he fought, for me he mourned and wept,
When he saw me in this captive home like a ship to the breakers swept.
He called on heaven, and heaven was deaf to all his bitter cry,
For the victim of the strife of kings, of the bloody war, was I;
It was my father bade him first to seek our strong retreat.
Would God that he had never come to Baza's castle seat!
Would God that he had never come, an armored knight, to stand
Amid the soldiers that were ranked beneath my sire's command.
He came, he came, that valiant Moor, beneath our roof to rest.
His body served my father; his heart, my sole behest;
What perils did he face upon that castle's frowning height!
Winning my father's praise, he gained more favor in my sight.
And when the city by the bands of Christians was assailed,
My soul 'neath terrors fiercer still in lonely terror quailed.
For I have lost my sire, and I have lost my lover brave,
For here I languish all alone, a subject and a slave.
And yet the Moor, altho' he left with me his loving heart,
I fear may have forgotten that I own his better part.
And now the needle that I ply is witness to the state
Of bondage, which I feel to-day with heart disconsolate.
And here upon the web be writ, in the Arabian tongue,
The legend that shall tell the tale of how my heart is wrung.
Here read: 'If thou hast ta'en my heart when thou didst ride away,
Remember that myself, my living soul, behind thee stay.'
And on the other side these words embroidered would I place:
'The word shall never fail that once I spake before thy face.'
And on the border underneath this posy, written plain:
'The promise that I made to thee still constant shall remain.'
And last of all, this line I add, the last and yet the best:
'Thou ne'er shalt find inconstancy in this unchanging breast.'