There fell Durandarte; never Verse a nobler chieftain named: He, before his lips forever Closed in silence thus exclaimed.

“Oh! Belerma! Oh! my dear-one! For my pain and pleasure born! Seven long years I served thee, fair-one, Seven long years my fee was scorn:

“And when now thy heart replying To my wishes, burns like mine, Cruel fate my bliss denying Bids me every hope resign.

“Ah! Though young I fall, believe me, Death would never claim a sigh; ’Tis to lose thee, ’tis to leave thee, Makes me think it hard to die!

“Oh! my cousin Montesinos, By that friendship firm and dear Which from youth has lived between us, Now my last petition hear!