VII.
Come, Magdalen, and bind my hair,
And put me on my sad array;
I to my father's house repair,
And hear his final doom to-day.
But wrap me in that cypress veil;
At first his eye I would not brave,
'Till he shall bid the mourner hail,
And knows I come from Edwin's grave.
I, late his boast, his heir, his pride,
Must like a guilty vassal kneel;
I, who was gallant Edwin's bride,
Must to my widow'd state appeal!
Closely within my heart must keep
His praise for whom that heart is riv'n,
And let each fond resentment sleep,
For I must die or be forgiven.
VIII.
_The Spanish Lady's Farewell_, 1809.
Manuel, I do not shed a tear,
Our parting to delay!
I dare not listen to my fear!
I dare not bid thee stay!
The heart may shrink, the spirit fail,
But Spaniards must be free;
And pride and duty shall prevail
O'er all my love for thee!
Then go! and round that gallant head,
Like banners in the air,
Shall float full many a daring hope,
And many a tender prayer!
Should freedom perish--at thy death,
'T'were folly to repine--
And I should every feeling lose,
Except the wish for mine!
But if the destiny of Spain,
Be once again to rise,
Oh! grant me heaven, to read the tale,
In Manuel's joyful eyes!
IX.
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