As David of old, when he played before Saul,
Could banish the demon of woe at his call.
O King of the lion-heart, oft hath thy sword
Gleamed bright in the fight, for the cause of the Lord:
How the Saracens trembled, and Saladin fled!
How thy pathway was cumbered with dying and dead!
The plume on thy helmet flew on like a bird,
Where, as by the simoon, the Moslems were stirred.
Or when, in the tourney, thy long lance in rest,
Thy spurs, all of gold, to thy charger's flank pressed;