Thus the foreboding of my soul I see at last come true; Shame that a janizary vile, Of Christian creed and race, A butt of bright Alhambra's feasts, Has taken now my place.

"An outcast vile and lost," you say, yes, she went astray, Astray, when the crimson wine of life ran fresh and wild, With mother's tender hand no more on her brow, put away The grasses beneath, and she was alone and almost a child.

But I want to see thosethose vile" "Listen, Mis' Phut."