Second Chorus (BOHEMUND).

Hate fires their souls--we ask not why;--
At honor's call to fight and die,
Boast of the true and brave!
Unworthy of a soldier's name
Who burns not for his chieftain's fame!

The whole Chorus.

Unworthy of a soldier's name
Who burns not for his chieftain's fame!

One of the Chorus (BERENGAR).

Thus spoke within my bosom's core
The thought--as hitherward I strayed;
And pensive 'mid the waving store,
I mused, of autumn's yellow glade:--
These gifts of nature's bounteous reign,--
The teeming earth, and golden grain,
Yon elms, among whose leaves entwine
The tendrils of the clustering vine;--
Gay children of our sunny clime,--
Region of spring's eternal prime!
Each charm should woo to love and joy,
No cares the dream of bliss annoy,
And pleasure through life's summer day
Speed every laughing hour away.
We rage in blood,--oh, dire disgrace!