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Scarlet robe broider'd with gold;
A turban's snowy, but gem-set fold,
And its heron plume fasten'd by diamond clasp;
Rubies red on his dagger-hasp;
Eyes dark as a midnight dream,
Yet flashing wild with starry beam;
Swarthy cheek untouch'd by red,
Told far had Clemenza's summons sped:

212

Since the Moorish bard had brought his claim,
Mid these Northern halls, to the meed of fame.