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And welcome be the trumpet's sound, the war-steed's tramp and neigh,
And death, for Palestina's cause, in the battle's hot mellay!'
O never for that love-lorn youth did vessel cleave the seas!
The hand of death was on the lips that wooed the ocean breeze;
They bare him to the damoisel, they laid him at her knee,
Though knight and pilgrim wept aloud—no tear dropt that ladye—
Three times she kissed the clay-cold brow of her unbidden guest,
Then took the vows at Mary's shrine, and there her ashes rest.
