Sears with excess of light;
Or through dun sand-clouds the blue scimitar's edge
Slopes down like fire from heaven,
Mowing them as the thatcher mows the sedge.

Then many a heart remember'd, as the skies
Grew dark on dying eyes,
Sweet England; her fresh fields and gardens trim;
Her tree-embower'd halls;
And the one face that was the world to him.

--And one who fought his fight and held his way,
Through life's long latter day
Moving among the green, green English meads,
Ere in this niche he took
His rest, oft 'mid his kinsfolk told the deeds

Of that gay passage through the Midland sea;
Cyprus and Sicily;
And how the Lion-Heart o'er the Moslem host
Triumph'd in Ascalon
Or Acre, by the tideless Tyrian coast,

Yet never saw the vast Imperial dome,
Nor the thrice-holy Tomb:--
--As that great vision of the hidden Grail
By bravest knights of old
Unseen:--seen only of pure Parcivale.

The 'Thud Crusade,' 1189-1193, is the subject of this poem. Richard