O’er fields of blood the zephyr freshly blows;
Bright shines the sun, though all be dark below,
And skies arch cloudless o’er a world of woe;
And flowers renew’d in spring’s green pathway bloom,
Alike to grace the banquet and the tomb.
Within Granada’s walls the funeral rite
Attends that day of loveliness and light;
And many a chief, with dirges and with tears,
Is gather’d to the brave of other years:
And Hamet, as beneath the cypress shade