« FöregåendeFortsätt »
Full many a melancholy night
And sought the powers of sleep
O'er his sad couch, and in the balm Of bland oblivion's dews his burning eyes to steep.
Full oft, unknowing and unknown,
Amid the autumnal wood :
Abrupt the social board to quit, And gaze with eager glance upon the tumbling flood.
Beckoning the wretch to torments new,
A spectre pale, appear'd;
And brought the day's unwelcome close,
• Is this, (mistaken Scorn will cry) Is this the youth whose genius high
Could build the genuine rhyme;
Had stored with all her ample views,
Ah! from the Muse that bosom mild
To strike the deathful blow :
To griefs congenial prone;
While Misery's form his fancy drew
Then wish not o'er his earthy tomb
To drop its deadly dew :
That rudely binds his turf forlorn,
What though no marble-piled bust
With speaking sculpture wrought?
[brought. Hung with unfading flowers, from fairy regions
What though refused each chanted rite ?
To touch the shadowy shell :
Of Laura, lost in early bloom,
To soothe a lone, unhallow'd shade,
Within an ivied nook .
More radiant shot its parting ray,
The wreath of glory twine:
[fine. Unless Truth's matron-hand the floating folds con
• Just Heaven, man's fortitude to prove,
The tribes of hell-born Woe:
Life's fiercest ills, indulgent lends
Her aid divine had lullid to rest.
And stay'd the rising storm;
To gild his darken'd hemisphere, And give the wonted bloom to Nature's blasted form.
“Vain man ! 'tis Heaven's prerogative
Thy tributary breath :
Await thy doom, nor impious haste
Bound for holy Palestine, Nimbly we brush'd the level brine, All in azure steel array'd; O'er the wave our weapons play'd, And made the dancing billows glow; High upon the trophied prow, Many a warrior-minstrel swung His sounding harp, and boldly sung :
Syrian virgins, wail and weep, English Richard ploughs the deep ! Tremble, watchmep, as ye spy From distant towers, with anxious eye, The radiant range of shield and lance Down Damascus' hills advance : From Sion's turrets as afar." Ye ken the march of Europe's war ! Saladin, thou paynim king,'' From Albion's isle revenge we bring ! On Acon's spiry citadel Though to the gale thy banners swell, Pictured with the silver moon, England shall end thy glory soon! In vain, to break our firm array, Thy brazen drums hoarse discord bray: Those sounds our rising fury fan : English Richard in the van, On to victory we go, . . A vaunting infidel the foe.'
Blondel led the tuneful band,
Soon we kissd the sacred earth
Lo, the toilsome voyage past, Heaven's favour'd hills appear at last ! Object of our holy vow, We tread the Tyrian valleys now. From Carmel's almond-shaded steep We feel the cheering fragrance creep: O'er Engaddi's shrubs of balm Waves the date-empurpled palm . See Lebanon's aspiring head Wide his immortal umbrage spread ! Hail, Calvary, thou mountain hoar, Wet with our Redeemer's gore ! Ye trampled tombs, ye faues forlorn ; Ye stones, by tears of pilgrims worn; Your ravish'd honours to restore, Fearless we climb this hostile shore ! And thou, the sepulchre of God! By mocking pagans rudely trod, Bereft of every awful rite, And quench'd thy lamps that beam'd so bright; For thee, froin Britain's distant coast, Lo, Richard leads his faithful host !