Feeling that he himself must ere long fall,
With none to save him, none to hear his call,
Or wrest him from the agonizing thrall?
And yet it is but sleep we look upon!
But in that sleep from which the life is gone
Sinks the proud Saladin, Egyptia's lord.
His faith's firm champion, and his Prophet's sword;
Not e'en the red cross knights withstand his pow'r,
But, sorrowing, mark the Moslem's triumph hour,
And the pale crescent float from Salem's tow'r.