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Like a lion turns the warrior,

Back he sends an angry glare;
Whizzing came the Moorish javelin,
Vainly whizzing thro' the air.
Back the hero full of fury

Sent a deep and mortal wound :
Instant sunk the renegado

Mute and lifeless on the ground.
With a thousand Moors surrounded,
Brave Saavedra stands at bay;
Wearied out but never daunted,

Cold at length the warrior lay.
Near him fighting great Alonzo
Stout resists the paynim bands;

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From his slaughter'd steed dismounted
Firm intrench'd behind him stands.

Furious press the hostile squadron,

Furious he repels their rage;

Loss of blood at length enfeebles:
Who can war with thousands wage!

Where yon rock the plain o'ershadows,
Close beneath its foot retir'd,
Fainting sunk the bleeding hero,
And without a groan expir'd.

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In the Spanish original of the foregoing ballad follow a few more stanzas, but being of inferior merit were not translated.

Renegado properly signifies an apostate, but it is sometimes used to express an infidel in general; as it seems to do above in ver. 21, &c. The image of the lion, &c., in ver. 37, is taken from the other Spanish copy, the rhymes of which end in ia, viz.

"Sayavedra, que lo oyera,

Como un leon rebolbia."

VOL. I.

B

{XVII.

Alcanzor and Zayda.

A MOORISH TALE.

IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH.

The foregoing version was rendered as literal as the nature of the two languages would admit. In the following a wider compass hath been taken. The Spanish poem that was chiefly had in view, is preserved in the same history of the civil wars of Granada, f. 22, and begins with these lines,

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Sometimes quick and sometimes slow.

Hope and fear alternate teaze him,
Öft he sighs with heartfelt care.
See, fond youth, to yonder window
Softly steps the timorous fair.

Lovely seems the moon's fair lustre
To the lost, benighted swain,

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When all silvery bright she rises,

Gilding mountain, grove, and plain.

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Lovely seems the sun's full glory
To the fainting seaman's eyes,
When some horrid storm dispersing,

O'er the wave his radiance flies.

But a thousand times more lovely
To her longing lover's sight,
Steals half-seen the beauteous maiden
Thro' the glimmerings of the night.
Tip-toe stands the anxious lover,
Whispering forth a gentle sigh:
"Alla 1 keep thee, lovely lady:

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Tell me, am I doom'd to die? "Is it true, the dreadful story

Which thy damsel tells my page, That, seduc'd by sordid riches,

Thou wilt sell thy bloom to age? "An old lord from Antiquera

Thy stern father brings along; But canst thou, inconstant Zaida,

Thus consent my love to wrong? "If 'tis true now plainly tell me, Nor thus trifle with my woes; Hide not then from me the secret, Which the world so clearly knows Deeply sighed the conscious maiden,

While the pearly tears descend : "Ah! my Lord, too true the story; Here our tender loves must end. "Our fond friendship is discover'd,

Well are known our mutual vows; All my friends are full of fury:

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Storms of passion shake the house.

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Threats, reproaches, fears surround me;
My stern father breaks my heart;

Alla knows how dear it costs me,
Generous youth, from thee to part.

Alla is the Mahometan name of God.

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"Ancient wounds of hostile fury

Long have rent our house and thine; Why then did thy shining merit

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"Canst thou think I thus will lose thee?

Canst thou hold my love so small?

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No! a thousand times I'll perish!—

My curst rival too shall fall.

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