Page:Unpublished poems by Bryant and Thoreau.djvu/40

 Was wakened by his startled flocks,—

'T was Godfrey of Boulogne.

Night hung upon the Danube's stream,

Deep midnight on the vales;

Along the shore no beacons gleam,

No sound is on the gales;

The Turkish lord has banished care,

The harem sleeps profound,

Save one fair Georgian sitting there,

Upon the Moslem ground;

The lightning flashed a transient gleam,

A flaring banner shone,

A host swept swiftly down the stream,—

'T was Godfrey of Boulogne.

'T was noon upon Byzantium,

On street and tower and sea;

On Europe's edge a warlike hum,

Of gathered chivalry:

A troop went boldly through the throng

Of Ethiops, Arabs, Huns,

Jews, Greeks and Turks,—to right their wrong;

Their swords flashed thousand suns.

Their banner cleaved Byzantium's dust,

And like the sun it shone;

Their armor had acquired no rust,—

'T was Godfrey of Boulogne,