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FROM THE FRENCH.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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65

FROM THE FRENCH.

1

Know ye in Barcelona,
An Andalusian Doña,
Brown as a Moor of Barbary,
But beautiful as an autumn night?
She is my mistress, my delight,
The Marquesa D'Amaguei!

2

I have made for her many a rhyme;
I have fought for her many a time;
Stood sentinel many a day,
From morn till eve, through storm and shine,
To catch but a glimpse of her form divine,
As the wind blew her curtain away.

3

And now she is mine and mine alone!
Those arched brows are mine own,
Black as the raven's wing.

66

And those tresses, that when unbound
Fall about her to the ground
Like the mantle of a king!

4

From her eyes, when the swift light flashes
Through the fringe of the silken lashes,—
By our Lady of Sevilla!
Old age would fling aside his crutch
And leap like lusty youth, to touch
But the hem of her mantilla!

5

And shall I forego my serenade?
Shall my song of triumphant love be stayed?
The God of love forbid!
Let them threaten again, and a din I'll pour,
Shall startle each cursed Corregidor,
From Gerona to Madrid!