“That land must stoop beneath our conquering might.
Companions dear, this toil remains alone,
To win that region of unmatched delight.
“Oh faithful in a thousand labours known,
One toil remains, the noblest and the last;
Let us arise—and make that land our own.”
—Through realms of darkness, wildernesses vast,
All populous with sights and sounds of fear,
In heat and cold, by day and night, he past,
With trumpet clang, with banner and with spear,