92
NATIONAL LYRICS.
II.
THE ZEGRI MAID.
The summer leaves were sighing,
Around the Zegri maid,
To her low sad song replying
As it fill'd the olive shade.
"Alas! for her that loveth
Her land's, her kindred's foe!
Where a Christian Spaniard roveth,
Should a Zegri's spirit go?
"From thy glance, my gentle mother!
I sink, with shame oppress'd,
And the dark eye of my brother
Is an arrow to my breast."
