Instead thereof, on her polluted towers,
Bidding the Moors to their unhallow’d prayer,
The cryer stood, and with his sonorous voice
Fill’d the delicious vale where Lena winds
Thro’ groves and pastoral meads. The sound, the sight
Of turban, girdle, robe, and scymitar,
And tawny skins, awoke contending thoughts
Of anger, shame, and anguish in the Goth;
The face of human-kind so long unseen
Confused him now, and through the streets he went