ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS
XXXIV. CRUSADES
ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS
THE turbaned Race are poured in thickening swarms Along the west; though driven from Aquitaine, The Crescent glitters on the towers of Spain; And soft Italia feels renewed alarms; The scimitar, that yields not to the charms Of ease, the narrow Bosphorus will disdain; Nor long (that crossed) would Grecian hills detain Their tents, and check the current of their arms. Then blame not those who, by the mightiest lever Known to the moral world, Imagination, 10 Upheave, so seems it, from her natural station All Christendom:–they sweep along (was never So huge a host!)–to tear from the Unbeliever The precious Tomb, their haven of salvation.