Page:Pictures In Rhyme.djvu/74



city of waters, and thus must I leave thee? Thou once wast the pride of the faithful on earth: From mine arms the mail-grasp of the Christian doth reve thee; Ah! would I had died in thee, land of my birth!

'Twere better by far that in one common downfall, O'erwhelmed, we had perish'd, Granada, than thou Should'st linger in beauty, priest-govern'd, a thrall, A jewel in the crown on King Ferdinand's brow.

Ayesha, my mother, thou need'st not remind me Of all the fair realm I for ever have lost; The Vega smiles mockingly, stretch'd far behind me, Bestrewn with the tents of the Cross-serving host.

O mother, my mother, now cease to upbraid me, Though womanly tears for an instant should flow! Forget and forgive if my weakness betray'd me— My chill heart is failing like sun-melted snow.