"Be praises mine to all praiseworthy Thee, * O Lord, who stinted not mine aid to be! Though was I lost abroad, Thou west to me * Strongest support which vouchsafed victory: Thou gav'st me wealth and reign and goodly gifts, * And slungest con quering sword of valiancy: Thou mad'st me blest beneath Thy kingly shade, * Engraced with generous boons dealt fain and free: Thou savedst *from every fear I feared, by aid * Of my Wazir, the Age's noblest he! Garred us Thy grace in fight to throw the Greek, * Who yet came back dight in War's cramoisie: Then made I feint to fly from out the fight; * But like grim lion turning made them flee, And left on valley sole my foemen, drunk * Not with old wine[FN441] but Death-cup's revelry: Then came the Saintly Hermit, and he showed * His marvels wrought for
