The poor deplore, with hearts that bleed,
Their shelter in the time of need.
Sadly we march along the crowded street,
While trumpets hoarsely blare and drums tempestuous beat.
THE SHIP OF ZARA
It was the Moorish maiden, the fairest of the fair,
Whose name amid the Moorish knights was worshipped everywhere.
And she was wise and modest, as her race has ever been,
And in Alhambra's palace courts she waited on the Queen,