Come, my love, the twilight star
Glistens o’er yon chestnut grove,
And our swains, from toil at rest,
Fly to join the maids they love:
Then, Zorayda, haste away,
Without thee no scene is gay!
Hark, my love, what blithesome sounds
Float so sweetly on the air —
From the village green they come,
Where our nymphs and swains repair:
But, Zorayda, without thee
Dull are gayest strains to me!
See, my love, they take their stand
For the gay bolero’s dance,
Now they move with graceful bend,
Or with agile step advance:
But, Zorayda, who like thee
Glides in airy motion free?
Fleeting as the sunny gleam
Scudding o’er you mountain’s sides,
When the passing clouds fly fast,
Are the hours that pleasure guides:
Then, Zorayda, haste away!
Pleasure flies while you delay