CRUSADERS

Furl we the sails, and pass with tardy oars

Through these bright regions, casting many a glance

Upon the dream-like issues — the romance

Of many-coloured life thatFortune pours

Round the Crusaders, till on distant shores

Their labours end; or they return to lie,

The vow performed, in cross-legged effigy,

Devoutly stretched upon their chancel floors.

Am I deceived? Or is their requiem chanted

By voices never mute when Heaven unties

Her inmost, softest, tenderest harmonies;

Requiem which Earth takes up with voice undaunted,

When she would tell how Brave, and Good, and Wise,

For their high guerdon not in vain have panted!