Where the banner-spear is gleaming,
And the battle’s red wine streaming,
Till the Paynim quail before thee,
Till the cross wave proudly o’er thee.
—Dreams! the falling of a leaf
Wins me from their splendours brief;
Dreams, yet bright ones! scorn them not,
Thou that seek’st the holy spot;
Nor, amidst its lone domain,
Call the faith in relics vain!