XVII.

ALCANZOR AND ZAYDA,

A MOORISH Tale,

IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH.

The foregoing verfion was rendered as literal as the nature of the two languages would admit. In the following a wider compass hath been taken. The Spanish poem that was chiefly had in view, is preserved in the fame biftory of the Civil wars of Granada, f. 22, and begins with thefe lines:

• Por la calle de fu dama

• Paffeando se anda, &c.

SOFTLY

OFTLY blow the evening breezes,
Softly fall the dews of night;

Yonder walks the Moor Alcanzor,
Shunning every glare of light.

In yon place lives fair Zaida,

Whom he loves with flame fo pure:

Lovelieft fhe of Moorish ladies;

He a young and noble Moor.

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Waiting

Waiting for the appointed minute,

Oft he paces to and fro;
Stopping now, now moving forwards,
Sometimes quick, and fometimes flow.

Hope and fear alternate teize him,

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Oft he fighs with heart-felt care.-

See, fond youth, to yonder window
Softly steps the timorous fair.

Is it true the dreadful story,

Which thy damfel tells my page,

That feduc'd by fordid riches

Thou wilt fell thy bloom to age?

An old lord from Antiquera

Thy ftern father brings along; But canft thou, inconftant Zaida, Thus confent my love to wrong?

If 'tis true now plainly tell me,

Nor thus trifle with my woes; Hide not then from me the fecret, Which the world fo clearly knows.

Deeply figh'd the confcious maiden,
While the pearly tears descend:
Ah! my lord, too true the story ;
Here our tender loves must end.

Our fond friendship is discover'd,

Well are known our mutual vows:

All my friends are full of fury;

Storms of paffion shake the house.

Threats, reproaches, fears furround me;
My ftern father breaks my heart:
Alla knows how dear it cofts me,

Generous youth, from thee to part.

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Ancient

Ancient wounds of hostile fury

Long have rent our house and thine; Why then did thy fhining merit

Win this tender heart of mine?

Well thou know'ft how dear I lov'd thee

Spite of all their hateful pride,

Tho' I fear'd my haughty father

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Ne'er would let me be thy bride.

Well thou know'ft what cruel chidings
Oft I've from my mother borne ;
What I've fuffered here to meet thee
Still at eve and early morn.

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Soon, lov'd youth, fome worthier maiden
Shall reward thy generous truth;
Sometimes tell her how thy Zaida
Died for thee in prime of youth.

-To him all amaz'd, confounded,
Thus the did her woes impart :
Deep he figh'd, then cry'd,-O Zaida!
Do not, do not break my heart.

Canft thou think I thus will lofe thee?

Canft thou hold my love so small? No! a thousand times I'll perifh!

My curft rival too shall fall.

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Canft thou, wilt thou yield thus to them?

O break forth, and fly to me!

This fond heart fhall bleed to fave thee,

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Thefe fond arms fhall fhelter thee.

'Tis in vain, in vain, Alcanzor,
Spies furround me, bars secure:
Scarce I fteal this laft dear moment,
While my damfel keeps the door.

Hark, I hear my father storming!

Hark, I hear my mother chide! I must go farewell for ever!

Gracious Alla be thy guide!

THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK.

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A GLOS