"Yet stay, fair lady, turn again,
And dry those pearly tears;
For see beneath this gown of gray
Thy owne true-love appears.

"Here, forc'd by grief, and hopeless love,

These holy weeds I sought; And here amid these lonely walls To end my days I thought.

"But haply, for my year of grace
Is not yet pass'd away,

Might I still hope to win thy love,
No longer would I stay."

"Now farewell grief, and welcome joy Once more unto my heart;

For since I've found thee, lovely youth, We never more will part."

GENTLE RIVER.

GENTLE river, gentle river,

Lo, thy streams are stain'd with gore,

Many a brave and noble captain

Floats along thy willow'd shore.

All beside thy limpid waters,

All beside thy sands so bright,

Moorish Chiefs and Christian Warriors Join'd in fierce and mortal fight.

Lords, and dukes, and noble princes,
On thy fatal banks were slain :
Fatal banks, that gave to slaughter
All the pride and flower of Spain.

There the hero, brave Alonzo,

Full of wounds and glory, died: There the fearless Urdiales

Fell a victim by his side.

Lo! where yonder Don Saavedra

Through their squadrons slow retires;

Proud Seville, his native city,

Proud Seville his worth admires.

Close behind, a renegado

Loudly shouts with taunting cry: "Yield thee, yield thee, Don Saavedra; Dost thou from the battle fly?

"Well I know thee, haughty Christian, Long I liv'd beneath thy roof;

Oft I've in the lists of glory

Seen thee win the prize of proof.

"Well I know thy aged parents,

Well thy blooming bride I know;

Seven years I was thy captive,
Seven years of pain and woe.

"May our Prophet grant my wishes, Haughty Chief, thou shalt be mine; Thou shalt drink that cup of sorrow, Which I drank when I was thine."

Back the hero, full of fury,

Sent a deep and mortal wound : Instant sunk the Renegado,

Mute and lifeless on the ground.

With a thousand Moors surrounded,
Brave Saavedra stands at bay:
Wearied out, but never daunted,

Cold at length the warrior lay.

Near him fighting, great Alonzo
Stout resists the Paynim bands;
From his slaughter'd steed dismounted
Firm intrench'd behind him stands.

Furious press the hostile squadron,
Furious he repels their rage:
Loss of blood at length enfeebles:

Who can war with thousands wage!

Where yon rock the plain o'ershadows,
Close beneath its foot retir'd,
Fainting, sunk the bleeding hero,
And without a groan expir'd.

AGAIN, the country was enclosed, a wide
And sandy road has banks on either side;
Where, lo! a hollow on the left appear'd,
And there a Gipsy tribe their tent had rear'd;