Azarco on his balcony
With humble Cegri stood.
He talked, and Cegri listened
In a sad and listless mood;
For of his own exploits he read,
Writ in an open scroll,
But envious Cegri heard the tale
With rage and bitter dole.
And thro' Elvira's gate, where spreads
A prospect wide and free,
He marked how Phoebus shot his rays
Upon the Spanish sea;
And bending to the land his eye
To notice how the scene
Of summer had its color changed
To black from radiant green,
He saw that, thro' the gate there passed
A light that was not day's,
Whose splendor, like a dazzling cloud,
Eclipsed the solar rays.
That presence changed the tint of earth,
Drew off the dusky veil,
And turned to living verdure
The leafage of the dale.
"Till now," Azarco said, "the scene
Has filled my heart with pain;
'Tis freshened by Celinda's face,
Or passion turns my brain.
Ah, well may men her beauty praise,
For its transcendent might
Elates the human spirit,
And fills it with delight."
And as he saw her coming in,
The Moor his bonnet doffed,
And bowed to do her honor,
And spoke in accents soft.
Celinda court'sied to the ground,
Such favor was not slight,
Her kindly greeting gratified
The fond hopes of the knight.
And glad and gloomy, each in turn,
For such a quick success,
He checked a thousand words of love,
That might his joy express.
And following her with eager eyes--
"I owe thee much," said he,
"Who dost reward with such a boon
My merest courtesy.
That favor, tho' unmerited,
Sweet lady, shall remain
Counted among those choicest gifts
Our reckoning cannot gain.
Its memory shall suffice to chase
The grinding pangs of care;
And softening turn the ills of life
To glory's guerdon rare."
On this Celinda took her leave,
And vanished from his view,
And, thinking proudly of her smile,
Azarco straight withdrew.