LXXVIII.
I to the German neighbour of thy lair
Say what I say to thee; the wealth o’ the west,
Which Constantine brought off from Rome, is there—
Brought off the choicest, gave away the rest[12]—
There golden Hermus and Pactolus are,
Mygdonia and Lydia: nor that country blest,
Which many tales for many praises note,
If thou wouldst thither wend, is too remote[13].
LXXIX.
Thou mighty Lion[14], that art charged to keep
The keys of Paradise, a weighty care,
Oh! let not Italy lie plunged in sleep,
If thy strong hand is planted in her hair.
To thee, his shepherd, God, to guide his sheep,
Has given that wand and furious name to bear;
That thou may’st roar, and wide thine arms extend,
And so from greedy wolves thy flock defend.
LXXX.
But whither have I roved! who evermore
So from one topic to the other stray?
Yet think not I the road I kept before
To have missed so far, but I can find my way.
I said, the Syrians then observed the lore
Of arming like the Christians of that day.
So that Damascus’ crowded square was bright
With corslet, plate, and helm of belted knight.
