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Land, where the conquering Saracen made Tower and palace arise from the glade, Giving records sublime of the day of his power— Land, where the temple and minaret smiled Mid gardens with purple and ruby buds piled, The haunt of dark beauties in youth's freshest hour.

Land, where the Moor proudly rode o'er the plain With pomp and with cymbal and drum in his train, To the tilt, where the knighthood of Christendom flung Their pennons on high, and each chieftain's advance Was marked by the shock of the broad-sword and lance, While the lists, far and wide, with their martial deeds rung.

Land, where love's influence strongly displayed, The youth of Castile and the dark Arab maid Were oft linked in soft bands only broken by death— Land, where the Moor in captivity sweet Sighed his fond vows at some fair Spaniard's feet, As she bent o'er his forehead her rose-scented breath.