A Barbary carpet richly wove Upon the floor was laid, The gift or tribute which the Moor Granada’s king had paid; A silken curtain, bright with flowers, And ribbons curious wrought, With various eastern colours deck’d, Which to our Spain had brought Venetian galleys, as perchance Her Doge’s gift of state, Was thrown across the balcony, The light to moderate. In the recess in front, with woods Well carved, and richly graced With mother-o’-pearl inlayings, Was an Oratory placed; Where of the sovereign Virgin The image stood devout, The sculpture somewhat rude, but yet Attractions not without; Which with a plate of silver, For ornament was crown’d, Its rim reflecting amethysts, And emeralds around. A manuscript of holy prayers, Which miniatures adorn, Precious with gold and ivory Upon its coverings borne, Was seen there placed upon a stand, Form’d of an angel’s wings, The figure badly sculptured, But with neat finishings. And on the floor of gold brocade A cushion one might see, Which by its sunken pressure show’d The marks of bended knee. And on the pure white walls were hung Bright arms along the space, And interspersed were banners, And trophies of the chase. An ornamental table stood In the middle of the floor, On which a well-tuned lute was placed, Though partly covered o’er; A rich-cut board for game of draughts, And a coffer by its side Of silver filigree, and jars With chosen flowers supplied. The Lady near the balcony Sat very pensively, In a great gilded chair of state, Whose back was form’d to be A canopy, or cover o’er, And in gay curvings down Were lions, castles, and the whole Surmounted with a crown. Her dress a silken robe of green, Which show’d a various tinge, In twisted threads, with pearls and gold The embroidery and fringe. Her head-dress than the snow appear’d Ev’n whiter to behold, And covering o’er the fine clear lawn Her long dark tresses roll’d. Her face was heavenly, and her neck Divine, but in their hue Like wax, the colour which fear paints, And long-known sorrow too. Her eyes were like two beaming suns Beneath their lashes tall, Where shone two precious pearly drops As ready down to fall. She was a lily fair, whom death Was rudely threatening seen, For a corroding worm the heart Was tearing deep within. Now in her thin pale hands, convulsed It seems with fear or doubt, Her kerchief white, of border’d lace And points, she twists about; Or with absorb’d distracted mien She agitates the air, With fan, whose feathers Araby Had sent, the choicest there.