69
A moment gazed the stern old Moor,
A scant tear in his eye did gather,
For as he gazed, she muttered o'er
A blessing on her cruel father.
The hand that grasped the crooked blade,
Relaxed its gripe, then clutched it stronger;
The tear that that dark eye hath shed
On the swart cheek, is seen no longer.
'Tis past!—the bloody deed is done,
A father's hand hath sealed the slaughter!
Yet in Grenada many a one
Bewails the fate of Selim's daughter.
And many a Moorish damsel hath
Made pilgrimage to Alpuxara;
And breathed her vows where Selim's wrath
O'ertook the Spanish youth and Zara.
