O Claribell! how troubled was thy sprite!
When Christ's own army was discomfited;
Thy glorious day how quickly chang'd to night!
And the bright sunshine of thy life how fled!
Yet, was thy soul withouten coward dread.
Fell Saladin in combat I withstood;
Tho' deadly terrours o'er his brow were spread,
His thigh I deep empierc'd, out spun the blood,
And stain'd his radiant armour with the rushing flood.