No Moorish maid might hope to vie
With Laila's cheek or Laila's eye,
No maiden loved with purer truth,

Or ever loved a lovelier youth.

In fear they fled 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 crost 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 armed band,
They saw them climbing up the steep,
And heard his curses loud and deep.

Then Manuel's heart grew wild with woe,
He loosen'd stones and roll'd below,

He loosen'd crags, 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 unmoved could see

His daughter bend the suppliant knee;
He heard his child for pardon plead,

And swore the offenders both should bleed.

He bade the archers bend the bow,
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,

66

Death, Manuel, shall set us free!

Then leap below and die with me."

He clasp'd her close and cried farewell,
In one another's arms they fell;

They leapt adown 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,
Because they perish'd for despair.

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

1798.

GARCI FERRANDEZ.

This story, which later historians have taken some pains to disprove, may be found in the Coronica General de Espana.

1.

In an evil day and an hour of woe
Did Garci Ferrandez wed!

He wedded the Lady Argentine,
He loved the Lady Argentine,
The Lady Argentine hath fled;

In an evil day and an hour of woe
She hath left the husband who loved her so,
To go to Count Aymerique's bed.

Garci Ferrandez was brave and young,

The comeliest of the land;

There was never a knight of Leon in fight

Who could meet the force of his matchless might, There was never a foe in the infidel band

Who against his dreadful sword could stand;