He promised we should see the light, that cursèd Arabs could not fight, Counted them dead since we were "led by General Jesus," said the pope. Moreover we must win and use Christ, His true Cross, the Widow's cruse, All talismans that found no scope for miracles among the Jews. Upon the walls the veriest dolt and clown, arow like birds that moult, Chattered with one accord--or some small priestly prompting:-- "Diex el volt." No wonder that our heartstrings glowed within us like a smelted lode Whence Kobolds welded Durandal; and like one man we ran or rode Forth. Were we not enchanted? This was first among God's certainties. Even our steeds were like Shabdíz, the pride of King Khusraw Parvíz. We saw our path made plain, the hills removed by faith, whose foaming course Flooded the continents like flats. We saw the world made one--by force. In ecstasy our spirits soared. With beatific face toward My cloudland all the crowd shed tears, and vowed to serve and save the Lord. But cloudland, seeming to disdain such warmth, replied with slapping rain. Conjuring such black augury the monks recited formulæ. Besides, lest women, priests and traders should tempt the appetite of raiders, The Church proclaimed the Truce of God. Not all our barons were crusaders. Those who were frightened not to go sold all they had to make a show, Land, tool and ware to pay a fare. The panic made sly kings its heir. So much was sold by young and old, by fond, ambitious, hot and cold, That steel took sudden silver wings, then flew beyond the reach of gold. In such a gust my tender age availed not with the preaching sage, For I was born of fighting men; and one of them took me for page, Though I was loth to go, and prayed for mercy and a little maid Whose hair was shining sunflower brown. I thought of all the games we played