Monday, May 01, 2006

Once Before When Islam Touched the Skirts of Europe


Was not the fight a mighty thing beheld
As Infidels fell lifeless on the field?
As Philistines of Holy Writ the same
With Baal murmured on dying lips betrayed.
Their hearts not insincere yet cursed on curse,
And Allah here, invoked in charge and death,
Remains at peace whither that deity dwells.
The peasant foot and knight alike lie dead,
An hour gone lay praying t’ward the Stone.
It heard them not at all, and Durendal
In Roland’s hand tore life and light from limb.

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