Crusaders

  FURL we the sails, and pass with tardy oars
  Through these bright regions, casting many a glance
  Upon the dream-like issues--the romance
  Of many-coloured life that Fortune pours
  Round the Crusaders, till on distant shores
  Their labours end; or they return to lie,
  The vow performed, in cross-legged effigy,
  Devoutly stretched upon their chancel floors.
  Am I deceived? Or is their requiem chanted
  By voices never mute when Heaven unties 
  Her inmost, softest, tenderest harmonies;
  Requiem which Earth takes up with voice undaunted,
  When she would tell how Brave, and Good, and Wise,
  For their high guerdon not in vain have panted!