In Support of the Proposed Crusade Against the Infidels

O spirit wish'd and waited for in heaven,That wearest gracefully our human clay,Not as with loading sin and earthly stain,Who lov'st our Lord's high bidding to obey,--Henceforth to thee the way is plain and evenBy which from hence to bliss we may attain.To waft o'er yonder mainThy bark, that bids the world adieu for ayeTo seek a better strand,The western winds their ready wings expand;Which, through the dangers of that dusky way,Where all deplore the first infringed command,Will guide her safe, from primal bondage free,Reckless to stop or stay,To that true East, where she desires to be.

Haply the faithful vows, and zealous prayers,And pious tears by holy mortals shed,Have come before the mercy-seat above:Yet vows of ours but little can bestead,Nor human orison such merit bearsAs heavenly justice from its course can move.But He, the King whom angels serve and love,His gracious eyes hath turn'd upon the landWhere on the cross He died;And a new Charlemagne hath qualifiedTo work the vengeance that on high was plann'd,For whose delay so long hath Europe sigh'd.Such mighty aid He brings his faithful spouse,That at its sound the prideOf Babylon with trembling terror bows.

All dwellers 'twixt the hills and wild Garonne,The Rhodanus, and Rhine, and briny wave,Are banded under red-cross banners brave;And all who honour'd guerdon fain would haveFrom Pyrenees to the utmost west, are gone,Leaving Iberia lorn of warriors keen,And Britain, with the islands that are seenBetween the columns and the starry wain,(Even to that land where shoneThe far-famed lore of sacred Helicon,)Diverse in language, weapon, garb and strain,Of valour true, with pious zeal rush on.What cause, what love, to this compared may be?What spouse, or infant trainE'er kindled such a righteous enmity?

There is a portion of the world that liesFar distant from the sun's all-cheering ray,For ever wrapt in ice and gelid snows;There under cloudy skies, in stinted day,A people dwell, whose heart their clime outviesBy nature framed stern foemen of repose.Now new devotion in their bosom glows,With Gothic fury now they grasp the sword.With all between us and that sanguine sea,Who trust in idol-gods, and slight the Lord,Thou know'st how soon their feeble strength would yield;A naked race, fearful and indolent,Unused the brand to wield,Whose distant aim upon the wind is sent.

Now is the time to shake the ancient yokeFrom off our necks, and rend the veil asideThat long in darkness hath involved our eyes;Let all whom Heaven with genius hath supplied,And all who great Apollo's name invoke,With fiery eloquence point out the prize,With tongue and pen call on the brave to rise;If Orpheus and Amphion, legends old,No marvel cause in thee,It were small wonder if Ausonia seeCollecting at thy call her children bold,Lifting the spear of Jesus joyfully.Nor, if our ancient mother judge aright,Doth her rich page unfoldSuch noble cause in any former fight.

Thou who hast scann'd, to heap a treasure fair,Story of ancient day and modern time,Soaring with earthly frame to heaven sublime,Thou know'st, from Mars' bold son, her ruler prime,To great Augustus, he whose waving hairWas thrice in triumph wreathed with laurel green,How Rome hath of her blood still lavish beenTo right the woes of many an injured land;And shall she now be slow,Her gratitude, her piety to show?In Christian zeal to buckle on the brand,For Mary's glorious Son to deal the blow?What ills the impious foeman must betideWho trust in mortal hand,If Christ himself lead on the adverse side!

And turn thy thoughts to Xerxes' rash emprize,Who dared, in haste to tread our Europe's shore,Insult the sea with bridge, and strange caprice;And thou shalt see for husbands then no moreThe Persian matrons robed in mournful guise,And dyed with blood the seas of Salamis,Nor sole example this:(The ruin of that Eastern king's design),That tells of victory nigh:See Marathon, and stern Thermopylae,Closed by those few, and chieftain leonine,And thousand deeds that blaze in history.Then bow in thankfulness both heart and kneeBefore his holy shrine,Who such bright guerdon hath reserved for thee.

Thou shalt see Italy and that honour'd shore,O song! a land debarr'd and hid from meBy neither flood nor hill!But love alone, whose power hath virtue stillTo witch, though all his wiles be vanity,Nor Nature to avoid the snare hath skill.Go, bid thy sisters hush their jealous fears,For other loves there beThan that blind boy, who causeth smiles and tears.