in Antequera her body lingers still,
Her heart is in Granada upon Alhambra's hill.
There, while the Moorish monarch longs to have her at his side,
More keen is Vindaraja's wish to be a monarch's bride.
Ah! long delays the moment that shall bring her liberty,
A thousand thousand years in every second seem to fly!
For she thinks of royal Chico, and her face with tears is wet,
For she knows that absence oft will make the fondest heart forget.
And the lover who is truest may yet suspicion feel,
For the loved one in some distant land whose heart is firm as steel.
And now to solve her anxious doubts, she takes the pen one day
And writes to royal Chico, in Granada far away.
Ah! long the letter that she wrote to tell him of her state,
In lonely prison cell confined, a captive desolate!
She sent it by a Moorish knight, and sealed it with her ring;
He was warden of Alhambra and stood beside the King,
And he had come sent by the King to Antequera's tower,
To learn how Vindaraja fared within that prison bower.
The Moor was faithful to his charge, a warrior stout and leal,
And Chico took the note of love and trembling broke the seal;
And when the open page he saw and read what it contained,
These were the words in which the maid of her hard lot complained:

THE LETTER OF VINDARAJA

"Ah, hapless is the love-lorn maid like me in captive plight,
For freedom once was mine, and I was happy day and night.
Yes, happy, for I knew that thou hadst given me thy love,
Precious the gift to lonely hearts all other gifts above.
Well mightest thou forget me, though 'twere treachery to say
The flame that filled thy royal heart as yet had passed away.
Still, though too oft do lovers' hearts in absent hours repine.
I know if there are faithful vows, then faithful will be thine!
'Tis hard, indeed, for lovers to crush the doubting thought
Which to the brooding bosom some lonely hour has brought.
There is no safety for the love, when languish out of sight
The form, the smile, the flashing eyes that once were love's delight;
Nor can I, I confess it, feel certain of thy vow!
How many Moorish ladies are gathered round thee now!
How many fairer, brighter forms are clustered at thy throne,
Whose power might change to very wax the heart of steel or stone!
And if, indeed, there be a cause why I should blame thy heart,
'Tis the delay that thou hast shown in taking here my part