Ten thousand golden lamps are lit on high, Making this chilly night Rival the noon-day's light; Look, Clement, on yon star-bespangled sky, And in that image see, If so divine thy fancy be, That lovely radiant face, Where centres all of beauty and of grace.
Where centres all of beauty and of grace, And where in concord sweet Goodness and beauty meet, And purity hath fixed its dwelling-place. Creature so heavenly fair, May any mortal genius dare, Or less than tongue divine, To praise in lofty, rare, and sounding line?
To praise in lofty, rare, and sounding line Thy name, gitana bright! Earth's wonder and delight, Worthy above the empyrean vault to shine; Fain would I snatch from Fame The trump and voice, whose loud acclaim Should startle every ear, And lift Preciosa's name to the eighth sphere.
To lift Preciosa's fame to the eighth sphere Were meet and fit, that so The heavens new joy might know Through all their shining courts that name to hear, Which on this earth doth sound Like music spreading gladness round, Breathing with charm intense Peace to the soul and rapture to the sense.
It seemed as though the freeman and the captive were in no haste to bring their tuneful contest to conclusion, had not the voice of Preciosa, who had overheard them, sounded from behind in response to theirs. They stopped instantly, and remained listening to her in breathless attention. Whether her words were delivered impromptu, or had been composed some time before, I know not; however that may be, she sang the following lines with infinite grace, as though they were made for the occasion.
While in this amorous emprise An equal conflict I maintain, 'Tis higher glory to remain Pure maid, than boast the brightest eyes.
The humblest plant on which we tread, If sound and straight it grows apace, By aid of nature or of grace May rear aloft towards heaven its head.
In this my lowly poor estate, By maiden honour dignified, No good wish rests unsatisfied; Their wealth I envy not the great.
I find not any grief or pain In lack of love or of esteem; For I myself can shape, I deem, My fortunes happy in the main.
Let me but do what in me lies The path of rectitude to tread; And then be welcomed on this head Whatever fate may please the skies.