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" For three long days, and for three long night,

“ Must they tremble with guilty fear, « Till the whirlwind cease, and all be peace,

“ And I no longer there."

He spoke and clasp'd his arms to grasp

The form of that lady fair ;
But she breath'd a groan, and her spirit alone

Now wanders with his thro' the air.


The maiden, thro' the favouring night;
From Granada took her flight,
She bade her father's huuse farewell
And fled away with Manuel.

No moorish maid might hope to vie
With Laila's cheek or Laila's eye,
No maiden lov'd with purer truth
Or ever lov'd a lovlier youth.

In fear they fied across the plain,
The father's wrath, the captive's chain;
In hope to Murcia on they flee,
To peace, and love, and liberty,

And now they reach the mountain's height,
And she was weary with her flight,
She laid her head on Manuel's breast,
And pleasant was the maiden's rest.

But while she slept, the passing gale
Waved the maiden's flowing veil;
Her father as he cross'd the height,
Saw the veil so long and white.

Young Manuel started from his sleep,
He saw them hastening up the steep,
And Laila shriek'd, and desperate now,
They climb'd the precipice's brow.

They saw him raise his angry hand
And follow with his ruffian band,
They saw them climbing up the steep,
And heard his curses loud and deep.

Then Manuel's heart grew wild with woey
He loosen'd crags and roll'd below,
He loosen'd rock's, for Manuel strove
For life, and liberty, and love.

The ascent was steep, the rock was high,
The Moors they durst not venture nigh,
The fugitives stood safely there,
They stood in safety and despair.

The moorish chief unmov'd could see
His daughter bend the suppliant knee,
He heard his child for pardon plead,
And swore the christian slave should bleed.

He bade the archers bend the how,
And make the christian fall below,
He bade the archers aim the dart,
And pierce the maid's apostate heart.

The archers aim'd their arrows there,
She clasp'd young Manuel in despair,

Death, Manuel, shall set us free!
“ Then leap below, and die with me.”

He clasp'd her close, and groan'd farewell,
In one another's arms they fell;
They leapt adowu the craggy side,
In one another's arms they died.

And side by side they there are laid,
The christian youth and moorish maid,
But never cross was planted there,
To mark the victims of despair.

Yet every murcian maid can tell
Where Laila lies who lov'd so well;
And every youth who passes there,
Says for Manuel's soul a prayer.



Of Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair,

Bright Lucy was the grace;
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream

Reflect so sweet a face:
Till luckless love and pining care,

Impair’d her rosy hue,
Her coral lips, and damask cheeks,

And eyes of glossy blue.

Oh! have you seen a lily pale;

When beating rains descend? So droop'd the slow-consuming maid,

Her life now near its end.
By Lucy warn’d, of flattering swains

Take heed, ye easy fair:
Of vengeance due to broken vows,

Ye perjur'd swains, beware.

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Three times all in the dead of night,

A bell was heard to ring;
And shrieking at her window thrice,

The raven clap'd his wing.

Too well the love-lorn maiden knew

The solemn boding sound:
And thus, in dying words bespoke,

The virgins weeping round:

“ I hear a voice, you cannot hear,

“ Which says, I must not stay; I see a hand, you cannot see,

“ Which beckons me away. “ By a false heart, and broken vows,

“ In early youth I die: " Was I to blame, because his bride

“ Was thrice as rich as I ?

Ah, Colin! give not her thy vows,

“ Vows, due to me alone: “ Nor thou fond maid receive his kiss,

“ Nor think him all thy own. “ Tomorrow, in the church to wed,

“ Impatient, both prepare ! * But know, fond maid; and know false man,

" That Lucy will be there!

Then bear my corse, my comrades, bear,

“ This bridegroom blithe to meet, “ He in his wedding trim so gay,

“ I in my winding sheet. She spoke, she dy'd, her corse was borne

The bride-groom blithe to meet;

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