Are graven in all foreign hearts ; but she

His mother, England, slow and last to wake,
Needs raise the votive shaft for her fame’s sake:
Hers is the shame if such forgotten be!
May, 1875.

On a background of pale gold
I would trace with quaint design,
Penciled fine,
Brilliant-colored, Moorish scenes,
Mosques and crescents, pages, queens,
Line on line,
That the prose-world of to-day
Might the gorgeous Past’s array
Once behold.

On the magic painted shield
Rich Granada s Vega green
Should be seen ;
Crystal fountains, coolness flinging,
Hanging gardens skyward springing
Emerald sheen ;
Ruddy when the daylight falls,
Crowned Alhambra s beetling walls
Stand revealed ;