The Crusader's Farewell
The banners rustle in the breeze,The angry trumpets swell;
They call me, lady, from thy arms,
They bid me sigh farewell!
They call me to a heathen land,
To quell a heathen foe;
To leave love's blandishments, and court
Rude dangers, strife, and wo.
Yet deem not, lady, though afar
It be my hap to roam,
That this right loyal heart can stray
From love, from thee, and home.
No! in the tumult of the fight,
Midst Salem's chivalrie,
The thought that arms this hand with death
Shall be the thought of thee.English
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