The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 3.
John Greenleaf Whittier, Ed.

The gates of tower and castle
     Before him open flew,
The drawbridge at his coming fell,
     The door-bolt backward drew.

For all men owned his errand,
     And paid his righteous tax;
And the hearts of lord and peasant
     Were in his hands as wax.

At last, outbound from Tunis,
     His bark her anchor weighed,
Freighted with seven-score Christian souls
     Whose ransom he had paid.

But, torn by Paynim hatred,
     Her sails in tatters hung;
And on the wild waves, rudderless,
     A shattered hulk she swung.

‘ God save us! ’ cried the captain,
     “For naught can man avail;
Oh, woe betide the ship that lacks
     Her rudder and her sail!

Behind us are the Moormen;
     At sea we sink or strand:
There's death upon the water,
     There's death upon the land! “