Awoke his balmy rest! He dreamt such dreams His sinking weight. There was a pause, a hush So deep, that one could hear the forest leaves Flutter and drop between the war-gun's peal. Then forward stood that girl, young Mary Anna, The tear dried up upon her cheek, the sob Crush'd down, and in that high and lofty tone Which sometimes breathes of woman in the child, She said "He shall not die"-and turn'd alone. Alone? O gentle girlhood, not alone Clouds shrouded up the stars ;- And with a voice, whose low and tender tones "Please let me pass, and seek a child, Who, in my father's mansion has been left And barr'd her from the way. 66 "O, sirs," she cried, While from her upraised eyes the tears stream'd down, You will not? Then my strength and hope are gone, And then she press'd her brow, as if those hands Whose blades had toy'd with sorrow and made sport 66 Perchance you have a sister, sir, or you, "Go, girl-pass The soften'd voice of one replied, nor was The hall, and springing up the well known stairs on"' With such a flight as the young eagle takes She bore him onward, dreading now for him GILMAN 123. THE FIRST CRUSADERS BEFORE JERUSALEM. "JERUSALEM !-Jerusalem ?" The blessed goal was won, On Siloe's brook and Sion's mount as stream'd the setting sun, Uplighted in his mellow'd glow, far o'er Judea's plain, Slow winding toward the holy walls, appear'd a banner'd train. Forgot were want, disease and death, by that impassion'd throng, The weary leapt, the sad rejoiced, the wounded knight grew strong; One glance at holy Calvary outguerdon'd every pang, nas rang. But yet-and at that galling thought each brow was bent in gloom The cursed badge of Mahomet sway'd o'er the Saviour's tomb: Then from unnumber'd sheaths at once, the beaming blades upstream'd, Vowed scabbardless till waved the cross above that tomb redeem'd. But suddenly a holy awe the vengeful clamour still'd, As sinks the storm before his breath, whose word its rising will'd; For conscience whisper'd, the same soil where they so proudly stood, The Son of Man had trod abased, and wash'd with tears and blood. Then dropp'd the squire his master's shield, the serf dash'd down his bow, And, side by side with priest and peer, bent reverently and low, While sunk at once each pennon'd spear, plumed helm and flashing glaive, Like some wide waste of reeds bow'd down by Nilus' swollen wave. From eyes that never wept till then, the warm tears fell like rain, Proud Tancred's eagle glance was dimm'd, loud sobb'd the good Lorraine ; And 'twas a blessed sight to see each warrior fierce and wild Become before his God that hour e'en as a little child. With chasten'd souls and holier thoughts, the legions slowly rose Wrongs were forgot, and feuds were heal'd between the deadliest foes; Priests doff'd their sandals, harness'd knights their mailclad feet unshod, And like unshriven penitents that hallow'd soil they trod. But where were all that peerless host, the flower of every land, That late before Byzantium their giant conquests plann'd? The swarms of high soul'd chivalry that throng'd the Nis sian plain, The leagues of spears that quiver'd there, like fields of golden grain? Of that vast bounding human flood, this host was but a wave: Where were the burnish'd myriads gone? Go, ask the desert grave e! The Arab's creese, the Persian's lance, the Tartar's bow and sword Their edge and point perchance may tell where sleep that boasting horde ! Around the towers of Antioch, beneath Edessa's wall, The moving sands, for miles around, form'd one wide heaving pall: The spotted pestilence with war, awhile the feast had shared, And famine clung the drooping wreck that swift destruction spared. Yet were those visitations just: licentiousness and shame Had quench'd with steaming infamy the pure chivalric flame, And sin, and all to which it leads, had check'd their proud career, Far more than shaft of Tartar bow, or charge of Syrian spear. But death hath struck to purify: the stern, unwavering few Whose virtue pleasure could not tempt, nor avarice subdue. Escaped the Moslem cimeter, the toils of Grecian fraud, Spread on Judean winds at last the banner'd cross abroad What though the haughty Saracen now held each wall an tower: Soon to the symbol of their faith, the crescent flag would lower, Soon would the blades of Christendom within the barriers glance, And soon the blood of Moslem dogs course down the Latin lance. And so it was: the walls were won- -then murder bared his arm; From Omar's mosque to Herod's gate, red streams flow'd thick and warm ; And o'er a city drench'd in gore, ere massacre could cease, The holy standard they upraised of HIM the Prince of Peace. KNICKERBOCKER. |