X.

All still, all voiceless!--and the billow’s roar Alone replies! Alike _their_ soul is gone Who shared the funeral-feast on Œta’s shore, And _theirs_ that o’er the field of Ascalon Swell’d the crusaders’ hymn! Then gird thou on Thine armour, Eastern Queen! and meet the hour Which waits thee ere the day’s fierce work is done With a strong heart: so may thy helmet tower Unshiver’d through the storm, for generous hope is power!