What time thy neck and shoulders thou didst place,
Submissive, 'neath the Saracenic yoke,
And didst uphold, with constancy unbroke
Amidst thy bonds, thy faith in God's own grace,
Heaven rejoiced, but earth was for a space,
Without thee, well-nigh widowed: desolate,
Filled with lament and sadness for thy state,
Was left the Muses' royal dwelling-place.
But since that, from amidst the heathen host,
Which kept thee close, thy manly soul and tongue