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The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore

Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes
  

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And now behold him, circled round
With beaming faces, at that board,

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While cups, with laurel foliage crown'd,
Are to the coming warriors pour'd—
Coming, as he, their herald, told,
With blades from victory scarce yet cold,
With hearts untouch'd by Moslem steel,
And wounds that home's sweet breath will heal.