THE ABENCERRAGE.
75
Far o'er the Alpuxarras;–wild its tone,
And rocks and caverns echo "Thou art gone!"
Daughter of heroes! thou art gone
To share his tomb who gave thee birth;
Peace to the lovely spirit flown!
It was not form'd for earth.
Thou wert a sunbeam in thy race,
Which brightly past, and left no trace.
But calmly sleep!—for thou art free,
And hands unchain'd thy tomb shall raise.
Sleep! they are closed at length for thee,
Life's few and evil days!
Nor shalt thou watch, with tearful eye,
The lingering death of liberty.
Flower of the desert! thou thy bloom
Didst early to the storm resign:
We bear it still—and dark their doom
Who cannot weep for thine!
For us, whose every hope is fled,
The time is past to mourn the dead.
