Am I not here thy foes to chase
As thus the tear from thy dear face?
Methinks the caitiff I could bless
Who drove thee thus to my caress;
Who quelled for me those vain alarms
Which held thee from my longing arms."
The dark blood mantling in her face,
The maiden flew to his embrace;
Her head upon his breast reclining,
Her swimming eyes the while declining,
She lent his tale a willing ear,
And sighed, assenting to his prayer.
The night-enamoured cuckoo's call3
Aroused them from their pleasing thrall,—
One raptured glance around he took.
Then silence thus Moyarra broke:—
"Such was the night, and such the hour
My country to defend I swore;
That oath I've sacred kept, and now
I pledge me to a tenderer vow.
By those all-hallowed rites I swear,
Whose mysteries not thyself may'st share,
While yet within these throbbing veins
One feeble pulse of life remains.