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VIII.
The hour of fear is over, and Zoraide
Has listened to the Christian warrior's tale,
And her young heart is won. Came there no thought
Of shame and sorrow, false one, when thy lip
Proffer'd again the vows of changeless faith?
Alas! alas! too often conscience sleeps,
When pleasure's syren numbers lull its rest.—
Oh, Love! when, as thy birthright, there was giv'n
To thee each fairest, each endearing gift,
What demon came, and hid amid thy wreath
The heart-consuming worm, Inconstancy?
'Tis well; for were thy blissfulness less fleet,
It were a joy to render life too dear.
Whoe'er could brook to leave their earthly home,
If it were love's unchangeable abode?
