To Meschid the Liberator

Valour not always is prop el'd by War;
Often he takes a seat
Under the influence of a milder star,
More happy and more great.
Foremost in every battle waved on high
The plume of Saladin;
He chased our northern meteors down the sky,
And shone in peace serene.
In vain two proud usurpers side by side,
Meschid! would shake thy throne:
Sit firm; these outlaws of the world deride,
And fear thy God alone.
No God who winks from canvas at the crowd,
No God who sweats from wood,
No God at whose high-cross priests chaffer loud,
No God who sells his blood;
But merciful and mighty, wise and just,
Who lays the proud man low,
Who raises up the fallen from the dust,
And bids the captive go.
In these thou followest Him, thou one sublime
Among the base who press
Man's heart, man's intellect; the wrongs their crime
Inflicts, thy laws redress.
Justice hath, rais'd thee higher than him whose blade
The Drave and Danube won,
Fastening the towers of Widdin and Belgrade
To his Byzantine throne.
Can Egypt, Syria, can the land of myrrh,
Can all thou rulest o'er,
Such glory on thy diadem confer?
. . Thy path leads on to more.
Meschid! I pick up paras in no court,
To none I bend the knee,
But, Virtue's friend! Misfortune's sole support!
I give my hand to thee.