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"Oh! Gerald," cried the lady fair,
Now backward o'er his shoulder gazing,
"I see Red Raymond, in our rear,
And Owen, Darcy's banner raising--
Mother of Mercy! now I see
My father, in their company;
Oh! Gerald, leave me here, and fly,
Enough! enough! for one to die!"
"My own dear love; my own dear love!"
Kildare cried to the lovely lady,
"Fear not, black Memnon yet shall prove,
Than all their steeds, more swift and steady:
But to guide well my gallant horse,
Tasks eye, and hand, and utmost force;
Then look for me, my love, and tell,
What see'st thou now at Tenachelle?"
"I see, I see," the lady cried,
"Now bursting o'er its green banks narrow,
And through the valley spreading wide,
In one vast flood, the Barrow!
The bridge of Tenachelle now seems,
A dark stripe o'er the rushing streams;
For nought above the flood is shown,
Except its parapet alone.


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