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 Yet, though thy transient pageantries are gone, Like fairy visions, bright, yet swiftly flown; Genius of chivalry! thy noble train, Thy firm, exalted virtues yet remain! Fair truth, array'd in robes of spotless white, Her eye a sunbeam, and her zone of light; Warm emulation, with aspiring aim, Still darting forward to the wreath of fame; And purest love, that waves his torch divine, At awful honour's consecrated shrine; Ardour, with eagle-wing and fiery glance; And generous courage, resting on his lance; And loyalty, by perils unsubdued; Untainted faith, unshaken fortitude; And patriot energy, with heart of flame— These, in Iberia's sons are yet the same! These from remotest days their souls have fired, "Nerved every arm," and every breast inspired! When Moorish bands their suffering land possess'd, And fierce oppression rear'd her giant crest, The wealthy caliphs on Cordova's throne In eastern gems and purple splendour shone; Theirs was the proud magnificence that vied With stately Bagdat's oriental pride; Theirs were the courts in regal pomp array'd, Where arts and luxury their charms display'd; 'Twas theirs to rear the Zehrar's costly towers, Its fairy-palace and enchanted bowers; There all Arabian fiction e'er could tell Of potent genii or of wizard spell— All that a poet's dream could picture bright, One sweet Elysium, charm'd the wondering sight! Too fair, too rich, for work of mortal hand, It seem'd an Eden from Armida's wand!