Sail on! what power has our luckless bark

To this ominous realm betrayed,

Where Cava's rock, o'er the waters dark,

Points out where her bones are laid?
Away! away! though tempests sweep,

And waves rage loud and high,

Brave all the terrors of the deep—

But come not that haven nigh.

The spirit of the fatal fair

Hovers dimly over her grave;
'Tis her voice that rings through the troubled air,

'Tis her moan that awakes the wave!
Oh! dearly the sons of Spain can tell

The woes that her beauty cost,

When Roderick, won by that witching spell,

Fame—honour and country lost.

And ever her name is an evil sound,

And her memory hated shall be;

And woe and dangers that bark surround

That Cava's rock shall see.

Then hasten on for some happier shore;

Nor that Cape still linger near,

That the Spaniard true, and the infidel Moor,

Alike avoid with fear!