Count Albert has arm'd him the Paynim among, Though his heart it was false, yet his arm it was strong; And the Red-cross wax'd faint, and the Crescent came on, From the day he commanded on Mount Lebanon. From Lebanon's forests to Gallilee's wave, The sands of Samaar drank the blood of the brave; Till the Knights of the Temple, and Knights of Saint John, With Salem's King Baldwin, against him came on. The war-cymbals clatter'd, the trumpets replied, Against the charm'd blade which Count Albert did wield, So fell was the dint, that Count Albert stoop'd low Sore sigh'd the charm'd sword, for its virtue was o'er, He clench'd his set teeth, and his gauntletted hand; Short time had Count Albert in horror to stare On those death-swimming eye-balls, and blood-clotted hair; The Saracens, Curdmans, and Ishmaelites yield The battle is over on Bethsaida's plain. Oh, who is yon Paynim lies stretch'd mid the slain ? The Lady was buried in Salem's bless'd bound, Yet many a minstrel, in harping, can tell, How the Red Cross it conquer'd, the Crescent it fell; And lords and gay ladies have sigh'd, 'mid their glee, At the tale of Count Albert and fair Rosalie. FREDERICK AND ALICE. This tale is imitated, rather than translated, from a fragment introduced in Goethe's "Claudina von Villa Bella," where it is sung by a member of a gang of banditti, to engage the attention of the family, while his companions break into the castle. It owes any little merit it may possess to my friend MR LEWIS, to whom it was sent in an extremely rude state; and who, after some material improvements, published it in his "Tales of Wonder." FREDERICK leaves the land of France, Homeward hastes his steps to measure; Careless casts the parting glance On the scene of former pleasure. Joying in his prancing steed, Keen to prove his untried blade, Over mountain, moor, and glade. Helpless, ruin'd, left forlorn, Lovely Alice wept alone; Mourn'd o'er love's fond contract torn, Hope, and peace, and honour flown. Mark her breast's convulsive throbs! See, the tear of anguish flows!Mingling soon with bursting sobs, Loud the laugh of frenzy rose. Wild she cursed, and wild she pray'd; Far from her, and far from France, Faithless Frederick onward rides ; Marking, blithe, the morning's glance Mantling o'er the mountain's sides. |