Page:National Lyrics.pdf/108

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summer leaves were sighing, Around the Zegri maid, To her low sad song replying As it fill'd the olive shade. "Alas! for her that loveth   Her land's, her kindred's foe! Where a Christian Spaniard roveth,    Should a Zegri's spirit go?

"From thy glance, my gentle mother!   I sink, with shame oppress'd, And the dark eye of my brother    Is an arrow to my breast."