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ZAYDE AND ZAYDA. 



{From Las Guerras Civiles de Granada.) 



Lo ! beneath yon haughty towers, 

 Where the young and gallant Zayde 



Fondly chides the lingering hours, 

 Till they bring his lovely maid. 



Evening shades are gathering round him ; 



Doubting fear his heart alarms ; 

 But nor doubt nor fear can wound him, 



If he views his lady's charms. 



Hark ! the window softly telling, 

 Zayda comes to bless his sight ; 



Bright as sun-beams clouds dispelling, 

 Mild as Cynthia's trembling light. 



" Dearest, say, to what I 'm fated ! " 



Cried the Moor, as near he drew: 

 " Is the tale my page related, 



Loveliest lady, is it true ? 



" To an ancient lord thy beauty 

 Does thy tyrant father doom ? 

 Must my love, the slave of duty, 

 Waste in age's arms her bloom ? 



" If my lot be still to languish, 

 Thine, another's bride to be, 

 Let thy lips pronounce my anguish ; 

 'Twill be bliss to die by thee ! " 



Rising sighs her grief discover ; 



Fast her tears, while speaking, pour — 

 " Zayde, my Zayde, our loves are over ! 

 Zayde, my Zayde, we meet no more ! 



