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Lo, near Trafalgar's shore the Heroes meet
The circling crescent of Iberia's fleet;
Loud thunders from the fearless van provoke
The work of death: th'appalling line is broke.
Ah, surely then, (if spirits departed know
Aught of what once engaged their cares below,)
'Twas then thy Moorish Sons, Iberia, driv'n
From seats, which erst thy sordid love had giv'n;

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Defenceless driv'n from an adopted soil,
(Oh, thankless meed of meritorious toil,)
Unfetter'd now, yet true to Nature's law,
In Nelson's arm their own Avenger saw:
Then too, (what veils the ken of spirits unseen,
Tho' mountains rise, and oceans heave between?)
Then murder'd Incas (unappeas'd their blood)
Hied them in vengeance to the redd'ning flood;
From either continent many an airy host
Clash'd their dread pinions o'er Trafalgar's coast;
So from the Libyan crags, or Andes' height,
The famish'd vultures eye some marshall'd fight,
Now hover near, now wheel their circling way,
And scream impatient for their falling prey:
 

In the beginning of the Seventeenth Century Spain expelled near a million of her Moorish Subjects (Morescoes), in the industrious supporters of her internal wealth, chiefly, it is supposed, at the instigation of the Inquisition, because they were suspected of being sincere Mahometans! This makes an Infidel heard.

Tantum Relligio potruit suadere malorum Lucret.

Geddes on the Moriscoes.