Aza! my dear Aza! the cries of the tender Zilia, like the morning vapour, are dissipated before they arrive in thy presence: Vainly I call thee to my aid; vainly I expect from thy love a redemption from my slavery. Alas! perhaps the misfortunes which are yet unknown to me, are the most terrible! perhaps your ills are greater even than mine.

The city of the Sun, given up to the fury of a barbarous nation, ought to fill my eyes with tears; but my grief, my fears, my despair, are only for you.

Dear soul of my life, what did you in that frightful tumult? was your courage only useless to you, or was it worse? was it fatal! cruel alternative! dreadful inquietude! O! my dear Aza, may you yet be preserved in safety, and may I sink, if it is necessary, under the evils that overwhelm me.

Since the terrible moment, (which should have been snatch'd out of the chain of time, and replunged into the everlasting abyss) since the moment of horror wherein these impious savages forced me away from the worship of the Sun, from myself, from your love; detained in close captivity, deprived of all communication, ignorant of the language of these fierce men, I feel only the effects of misery, without being able to discover the cause of it. Plunged in the darkest obscurity, my days resemble the most horrid nights.

Far from being affected with my complaints, my ravishers do not seem moved even with my tears, equally deaf to my language, and to the cries of my despair.

What people are there so savage as to be unmoved at the signs of woe? What dreary desert could produce human beings insensible to the voice of groaning Nature? Oh! the barbarians, cruel masters of the thunder, and of the power to extract it; cruelty is the only guide of their actions. Aza, how wilt thou escape their fury? where are you? in what situation? if my life is dear to you, find means to let me know your own destiny.