THE KEYS OF GRANADA.
’TIS centuries since they were torn away,
Those sad-faced Moors from their belovèd Spain;
In long procession to the wind-swept bay,
With sobs and muttered curses, fierce with pain,
They took their woful road and never came again.
Behind them lay the homes of their delight,
The marble courtyards and cool palaces,
Where fountains flashed and shimmered day and night