Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/171

Rh Through these halls that people stepped Who through darkling centuries Held the keys Of all wisdom, truth, and art, In a Paradise apart, Lapped in ease, Sagely pondering deathless themes, While, befooled with monkish dreams, Europe slept. Where shall they be found to-day? Yonder hill that frets the sky &quot; The Last Sigh Of the Moor &quot; is named still. There the ill-starred Boabdil Bade good-by To Granada and to Spain, Where the Crescent ne’er again Holdeth sway. Vanished like the wind that blows, Whither shall we seek their trace On earth s face? The gigantic wheel of fate, Crushing all things soon or late, Now a race, Now a single life o erruns, Now a universe of suns, Now a rose.