Fair Christian! baleful is my star;
⁠What values it this life to me,
If I must bear it from thee far?
⁠Nor in Granada's bowers may be,
⁠Nor, my fair Cordova, with thee?

Today's bright sun to me will seem
⁠A lamp unseasonably by:
Daughter of Spain, thy beauties gleam
⁠Alone my sun and moon on high,
⁠The dawn and brightness of my sky.

Since then I lose thy light today,
⁠Without that light I cannot live!
To Cordova I take my way;
⁠But in the doom my fortunes give,
⁠Alas! 't is death that I receive.

A paradise and houri fair
⁠Has Mahomet promised we shall prove:
Aye, thou wilt be an angel there,
⁠And in that blissful realm above
⁠We meet again, and there to love.