X.
All still, all voiceless!—and the billow’s roar
Alone replies! Alike their soul is gone
Who shared the funeral-feast on Œta’s shore,
And theirs that o’er the field of Ascalon
Swell’d the crusaders’ hymn! Then gird thou on
Thine armour, Eastern Queen! and meet the hour
Which waits thee ere the day’s fierce work is done
With a strong heart: so may thy helmet tower
Unshiver’d through the storm, for generous hope is power!