If, as crusaders, they combined to wrest
From heathen lords the land they long possess'd,
Or were at first some harmless club, who made
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Their idle meetings solemn by parade,
Is but conjecture—for the task unfit,
Awe-struck and mute, the puzzling theme I quit.
Yet, if such blessings from their order flow,
We should be glad their moral code to know;
Trowels of silver are but simple things,