When through exposure to days dark and grim

My hidden thoughts are paused by some cold chill

I try remem’bring brave men such as him

Who marched ‘cross Persia with an iron will.

Although with looks and gazes more than fair

She calls me forth to action, but still I

Am haunted by the myst’ry of the lair

In which her darkest secret hide and lie.

Oh! Curse my soul which knows not what to do

When her enchanting eyes upon me dance

My mind cannot forget her rosy rue;

so back and forth to itself my mind rants.

If I could be like him from Macedon

And be a king! Not one among her pawns.