More wounds than nature gave he knew, Then wish not o'er his earthy tomb Nor oh! forbid the twisted thorn, That rudely binds his turf forlorn, With spring's green-swelling buds to vegetate anew. What though no marble-piled bust With speaking sculpture wrought? Hung with unfading flowers, from fairy regions brought. What though refus'd each chanted rite? To touch the shadowy shell: And Petrarch's harp, that wept the doom Of Laura, lost in early bloom, In many a pensive pause shall seem to ring his knell. To sooth a lone, unhallow'd shade, Within an ivied nook: Sudden the half-sunk orb of day More radiant shot its parting ray, And thus a cherub-voice my charm'd attention took. "Forbear, fond bard, thy partial praise; Nor thus for guilt in specious lays The wreath of glory twine: In vain with hues of gorgeous glow Gay Fancy gives her vest to flow, Unless Truth's matron-hand the floating folds confine. "Just heaven, man's fortitude to prove, Permits through life at large to rove The tribes of hell-born Woe: Yet the same power that wisely sends Religion's golden shield to break th' embattled foe. "Her aid divine had lull'd to rest Yon foul self-murderer's throbbing breast, And stay'd the rising storm: Had bade the sun of hope appear To gild his darken'd hemisphere, And give the wonted bloom to nature's blasted form. "Vain man! 'tis heaven's prerogative To take, what first it deign'd to give, Thy tributary breath: In awful expectation plac'd, Await thy doom, nor impious haste To pluck from God's right hand his instruments of death." THE CRUSADE. AN ODE. BOUND for holy Palestine, O'er the wave our weapons play'd, "From distant towers, with anxious eye, "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 Açon's spiry citadel, "Though to the gale thy banners swell, "Pictur'd 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: 66 English Richard in the van, "On to victory we go, “A vaunting infidel the foe." Blondel led the tuneful band, And swept the wire with glowing hand. Cyprus, from her rocky mound, And Crete, with piny verdure crown'd, Far along the smiling main Echoed the prophetic strain. Soon we kiss'd the sacred earth That gave a murder'd Saviour birth; Thus the solemn song renew'd. "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 fanes forlorn, By mocking pagans rudely trod, "Bereft of every awful rite, "And quench'd thy lamps that beam'd so bright; "For thee, from Britain's distant coast, "Lo, Richard leads his faithful host! “Aloft in his heroic hand, "Blazing, like the beacon's brand, "O'er the far-affrighted fields, "Resistless Kaliburn he wields. "Proud Saracen, pollute no more "The shrines by martyrs built of yore! "On giant-wheels harsh thunders grate. |