And is the wound of that arrow still’d
When thy lone music the leaves hath fill’d?
—Bird of the midnight’s purple sky!
Teach me the spell of thy melody.
MOORISH GATHERING-SONG.
ZORZICO.[409]
Chains on the cities! gloom in the air!
Come to the hills! fresh breezes are there.
Silence and fear in the rich orange bowers!
Come to the rocks where freedom hath towers.