And emblems of the Holy Land
Were carved by some forgotten hand.
But the helm was broke, the shield defaced,
And the crest through weeds might scarce be traced;
And the scatter’d leaves of the northern pine
Half hid the palm of Palestine.
So slept the glorious—lowly laid,
As the peasant in his native shade;
Some hermit’s tale, some shepherd’s rhyme,
All that high deeds could win from time!