Page:Translations from Camoens; and Other Poets.pdf/79



HIEFTAINS, lead on! our hearts beat high, Lead on to Salem's towers! Who would not deem it bliss to die, Slain in a cause like ours? The brave, who sleep in soil of thine, Lie not entombed, but shrined, O Palestine!

Souls of the slain in holy war! Look from your sainted rest! Tell us ye rose in Glory's car, To mingle with the blest; Tell us how short the death-pang's power, How bright the joys of your immortal bower!

Strike the loud harp, ye minstrel train! Pour forth your loftiest lays; Each heart shall echo to the strain Breathed in the warrior's praise. Bid every string triumphant swell Th' inspiring sounds that heroes love so well.