And now they reach the mountain's height,
And she was weary with her flight,
She laid her head on Manuel's breast,
And pleasant was the maiden's rest.
But while she slept, the passing gale
Waved the maiden's flowing veil,
Her father, as he crost the height,
Saw the veil so long and white.
Young Manuel started from his sleep,
He saw them hastening up the steep,
And Laila shriek'd, and desperate now
They climb'd the precipice's brow.
They saw him raise his angry hand,
And follow with his ruffian band,
They saw them climbing up the steep,
And heard his curses loud and deep.
Then Manuel's heart grew wild with woe,
He loosen'd crags and roll'd below,
He loosen'd rocks, for Manuel strove
For life, and liberty, and love.
The ascent was steep, the rock was high,
The Moors they durst not venture nigh,
The fugitives stood safely there,
They stood in safety and despair.
The Moorish chief, unmoved could see
His daughter bend the suppliant knee;
He heard his child for pardon plead,
And swore the Christian slave should bleed.
He bade the archers bend the bow,
And make the Christian fall below,
He bade the archers aim the dart,
And pierce the maid's apostate heart.
The archers aim'd their arrows there,
She clasp'd young Manuel in despair,
"Death, Manuel, shall set us free!
Then leap below, and die with me.”
He clasp'd her close and groan'd farewell,
In one another's arms they fell;
They leapt adown the craggy side,
In one another's arms they died.
And side by side they there are laid,
The Christian youth and Moorish maid,
But never cross was planted there,
To mark the victims of despair.
Yet every Murcian maid can tell
Where Laila lies who loved so well,
And every youth who passes there,
Says for Manuel's soul a prayer.
It was a little island where he dwelt,
A solitary islet, bleak and bare,
Short scanty herbage spotting with dark spots
Its gray stone surface. Never mariner
Approach'd that rude and uninviting coast,
Nor ever fisherman his lonely bark
Anchored beside its shore. It was a place
Befitting well a rigid anchoret,
Dead to the hopes, and vanities, and joys,
And purposes of life; and he had dwelt
Many long years upon that lonely isle;
For in ripe manhood he abandoned arms,
Honours and friends and country and the world,
And had grown old in solitude. That isle
Some solitary man in other times
Had made his dwelling-place; and Henry found
The little chapel which his toil had built
Now by the storms unroofed; his bed of leaves
Wind-scattered; and his grave o'ergrown with grass,
And thistles, whose white seeds, winged in vain,
Withered on rocks, or in the waves were lost.
So he repaired the chapel's ruined roof,
Clear'd the grey lichens from the altar-stone,
And underneath a rock that shelter'd him
From the sea-blast, he built his hermitage.
Nivir mariner
de and walnyiting cast,
shers. It was a pinco
a right snoboset,
wa, pod vanition, and jore, of day and ho had dwelt
gs that lonely istep
ripe wanbood be abandoned arms.
and binds and country and the world, grown old la solitude. Thab isle
ade his derling, place, and Henry found
otod; his bed of leaves
vota, vbiged in vain,
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