In summer time, at close of day, When mid the light cloud’s fold, The sun declines, encircling them With scarlet and with gold, That bright transparent heaven above, With purple mists o’erspread, Cut in a thousand varied hues, By softest zephyrs led, That glowing atmosphere, in which One seems to breathe of fire, How temper they the languid frame, And soul divine inspire! The view too of those baths, that gain From all who know them praise, And that proud edifice which Moors And Goths combined to raise, In some parts harsh, in some more light, Here ruins, there repair’d, The different dominations pass’d Are thus by each declared; With records, and remembrances Of ages long pass’d by, And of more modern years alike To arrest the fantasy. The lemon’s and the jasmine’s flowers, While they the eyes enchant, Embalm the circumambient air With sweets they lavish grant. The fountains’ murmurs, and afar The city’s varied cries, With those that from the river near, Or Alameda rise, From Triana, and from the bridge, All lost, confused amain, With sound of bells vibrating loud In high Hiralda’s fane;-- A scene that never is forgot Enchanted forms the whole, The thoughts of which unceasing cause To beat my heart and soul. Many delicious nights, when yet My now all-frozen breast Beat warmly, have I seen those halls By youthful footsteps press’d; Fill’d with a chosen concourse gay In country dance to meet, Or light quadrille, while festive sounds The orchestras repeat: And from the gilded roofs rebound The steps, the laugh perchance And talk of happy pairs, by love United in the dance; With sound of music mix’d the while, Confused and blended o’er, As sent according echos forth From the enamell’d floor.