Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

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,
The lances were couch'd, and they closed on each side;
And horsemen and horses Count Albert o'erthrew,
Till he pierced the thick tumult King Baldwin unto.

Against the charm'd blade which Count Albert did wield,
The fence had been vain of the King's Red-cross shield;
But a Page thrust him forward the monarch before,
And cleft the proud turban the renegade wore.

So fell was the dint, that Count Albert stoop'd low
Before the cross'd shield, to his steel saddle-bow ;
And scarce had he bent to the Red-cross his head,—
"Bonne grace, notre Dame !"he unwittingly said.

Sore sigh'd the charm'd sword, for its virtue was o'er,
It sprung from his grasp, and was never seen more;
But true men have said, that the lightning's red wing
Did waft back the brand to the dread Fire-King.

He clench'd his set teeth, and his gauntletted hand;
He stretch'd, with one buffet, that Page on the strand;
As back from the stripling the broken casque roll'd,
You might see the blue eyes, and the ringlets of gold.

Short time had Count Albert in horror to stare

On those death-swimming eye-balls, and blood-clotted hair;
For down came the Templars, like Cedron in flood,
And dyed their long lances in Saracen blood.

[blocks in formation]

The Saracens, Curdmans, and Ishmaelites yield
To the scallop, the saltier, and crosletted shield;
And the eagles were gorged with the infidel dead,
From Bethsaida's fountains to Naphthali's head.

The battle is over on Bethsaida's plain.

Oh, who is yon Paynim lies stretch'd mid the slain ?
And who is yon Page lying cold at his knee?—
Oh, who but Count Albert and fair Rosalie.

The Lady was buried in Salem's bless'd bound,
The Count he was left to the vulture and hound:
Her soul to high mercy Our Lady did bring;
His went on the blast to the dread Fire-King.

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,
Hope's gay dreams the soldier lead

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;
Seven long days and nights are o'er ;
Death in pity brought his aid,
As the village bell struck four.

Far from her, and far from France,

Faithless Frederick onward rides ;

Marking, blithe, the morning's glance Mantling o'er the mountain's sides.

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »