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Yet must my soul to thee unveil'd be shown, And all its dreams and all its passions known. Thou shalt not be deceived—for pure as heaven Is thy young love, in faith and fervor given. I said my heart was changed—and would thy thought Explore the ruin by thy kindred wrought, In fancy trace the land whose towers and fanes, Crush'd by the earthquake, strew its ravaged plains, And such that heart—where desolation's hand Hath blighted all that once was fair or grand! But Vengeance, fix'd upon her burning throne, Sits 'midst the wreck in silence and alone, And I, in stern devotion at her shrine, Each softer feeling, but my love, resign. —Yes! they whose spirits all my thoughts controul, Who hold dread converse with my thrilling soul; They, the betray'd, the sacrificed, the brave, Who fill a blood-stain'd and untimely grave, Must be avenged! and pity and remorse, In that stern cause, are banish'd from my course. Zayda, thou tremblest—and thy gentle breast Shrinks from the passions that destroy my rest; Yet shall thy form, in many a stormy hour, Pass brightly o'er my soul with softening power,