No Moorish maid might hope to vie Or ever loved a lovelier youth. In fear they fled across the plain, In hope to Murcia on they flee, To Peace, and Love, and Liberty. And now they reach the mountain's height, She laid her head on Manuel's breast, But while she slept, the passing gale Young Manuel started from his sleep, They saw him raise his angry hand, Then Manuel's heart grew wild with woe, He loosen'd crags, for Manuel strove 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; And swore the offenders both should bleed. He bade the archers bend the bow, The archers aim'd their arrows there, 66 Death, Manuel, shall set us free! Then leap below and die with me." He clasp'd her close and cried farewell, They leapt adown the craggy side, And side by side they there are laid, Yet every Murcian maid can tell 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 He wedded the Lady Argentine, In an evil day and an hour of woe 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; |