THE CRUSADE. King Richard the First, celebrated for his achievements in the Crusades, was no less distinguished for his patronage of the Provencial minstrels, and his own compositions in their species of poetry. Returning from one of his expeditions in the Holy Land, in disguise, he was imprisoned in a castle of Leopold Duke of Austria. His favourite minstrel, Blondel de Nesle, having traversed all Germany in search of his master, at length came to a castle, in which he found there was only one prisoner, and whose name was unknown. Suspecting that he had made the desired discovery, he seated himself under a window of the prisoner's apartment, and began a song, or ode, which the king and himself had formerly composed together. When the prisoner, who was King Richard, heard the song, he knew that Blondel must be the singer; and when Blondel paused about the middle, the king began the remainder and completed it. The fol lowing Ode is supposed to be this joint composition of the Minstrel and King Richard. W. BOUND for holy Palestine, Nimbly we brush'd the level brine, 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! From Albion's isle revenge we bring! * Though to the gale thy banners swell, On to victory we go, A vaunting infidel the foe.' Blondel led the tuneful band, And swept the wire with glowing hand. And Crete, with piny verdure crown'd, Soon we kiss'd the sacred earth 'Lo, the toilsome voyage pass'd, Heaven's favour'd hills appear at last! Object of our holy vow, We tread the Tyrian valleys now. A city and fortress of Syria, now called St. John d'Acre. See Lebanon's aspiring head Wide his immortal umbrage spread!" 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, The shrines by martyrs built of yore! From each wild mountain's trackless crown In vain thy gloomy castles frown: Thy battering engines, huge and high, On giant wheels harsh thunders grate. *Kaliburn is the sword of King Arthur; which, as the monkish historians say, came into the possession of Richard the First; and was given by that monarch, in the crusades, to Tancred, King of Sicily, as a royal present of inestimable value, about the year 1190. See Ode, 'The Grave of King Arthur.' W. Thy necromantic forms in vain Arise, and lift thee to the sky! Ye Barons, to the sun unfold Our Cross with crimson wove and gold!' T. WARTON. A NAVAL ODE. YE mariners of England! That guard our native seas: Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, The battle and the breeze! Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe! And sweep through the deep, While the stormy tempests blow; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy tempests blow. The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave! For the deck it was their field of fame, And Ocean was their grave : Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell Britannia needs no bulwark, No towers along the steep; Her march is on the mountain waves, With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below As they roar on the shore, When the stormy tempests blow; The meteor flag of England Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return. Then, then, ye Ocean Warriors! Our song and feast shall flow When the storm has ceased to blow; When the fiery fight is heard no more, CAMPBELL. |