d she washed my wounds, and garments fresh she gave,
Far brighter than were fit to deck the body of a slave;
And love's delight we shared that night, for I grew gay and bold!
And in the morn she gave to me a hundred crowns of gold.
She oped the gates, she bade me, with smiles, once more be free;
We fled, for fear that Moorish hound would slay both her and me.
And so it pleased the God who rules the earth and heavens above,
To prove his deep compassion and the greatness of his love;
And thus my sad captivity, my days of wandering, o'er,
Florida, in thy loving arms I nestle as of yore!"

THE SPANIARD OF ORAN

Right gallant was that gentleman, the warlike knight of Spain,
Who served the King in Oran, with sword and lances twain;
But, with his heart's devotion and passion's ardent fire,
He served a gentle Afric maid of high and noble sire.
And she was fair as noble, and well could she requite
The devotion of a lover and the courage of a knight.
And when one summer evening they paid their vows again,
They heard the alarum ring to arms across the darkling plain;
For the foes' approach had roused the watch and caused the war-like
sound.
The silver moon had shed its ray upon their targes round,
The targes shot the message to the silent watch-towers by,
And watch-towers sent their tidings by flames that lit the sky;
And the fires had called the bells on high to ring their clear alarms--
That tocsin roused the lover locked in the lady's arms.
Ah, sorely felt he in his heart the spur of honor prick,
But love's appeal that held him, it pierced him to the quick.
'Twas cowardice to dally and shrink that foe to face,
But, ah, it was ingratitude to leave her in that case.
And hanging round her lover's neck, she saw that he turned pale,
And seized his sword and cast one glance upon his coat of mail;
And, with a burst of sighs and tears she bowed her beauteous head;
"Oh, rise, my lord, gird on thy arms, and join the fray," she said;
"Oh, let my tears this couch bedew; this couch of joy shall be
As dolorous as the dreary field of battle, without thee!
Arm, arm thyself and go to war! Hark, hark! the foes approach.
Thy general waits; oh, let him not thy knightliness reproach!
Oh, direly will he visit thee for cowardice to-day,
For dire the crime in any clime of soldiers who betray.
Well canst thou glide unnoticed to the camp, without thy swo