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