 | Rhymes of travel, ballads and poems |  |
29
THE CRUSADES.
The red-cross banners moulder here to ashes,
And Godfrey's falchion rusts in dull repose,
That pierced the war-cloud with its crimson flashes,
And clove the helmets of his swarthy foes;
These standards once led Europe's knights undaunted,
Their folds upon the winds of Syria flung,
As over plains by holy memories haunted
Their hymns of faith the pilgrim-warriors sung.
In the Imperial Armory at Vienna, are still to be seen the hat, sword, and breast-plate of Godfrey of Bouillon, the Crusader-king of Jerusalem, and the tattered fragments of the banners planted by his knights on the walls of the Holy City. Some of the shreds, cut by lances and mouldering away by age, retain outlines of the Red Cross and the Virgin and Child.
And Godfrey's falchion rusts in dull repose,
That pierced the war-cloud with its crimson flashes,
And clove the helmets of his swarthy foes;
These standards once led Europe's knights undaunted,
Their folds upon the winds of Syria flung,
As over plains by holy memories haunted
Their hymns of faith the pilgrim-warriors sung.
That breastplate once, on Hermon's hallowed mountain,
With dews from soft Judean skies was wet;
Those plumes have waved beside Bethesda's fountain,
And stood with Godfrey on Mount Olivet!
And once the banners, now all rent and shivered,
Waved on the holy walls from Moslems won,
Or by the Lion-hearted king have quivered,
Upon the sands of fated Ascalon!
With dews from soft Judean skies was wet;
Those plumes have waved beside Bethesda's fountain,
And stood with Godfrey on Mount Olivet!
And once the banners, now all rent and shivered,
Waved on the holy walls from Moslems won,
Or by the Lion-hearted king have quivered,
Upon the sands of fated Ascalon!
30
The dreams of Romance, that in days departed
Thrilled through my boyish soul, come back again,
As when the blood unto my brow hath started
At thought of battle on the Syrian plain—
When Richard's glory fired my young ambition,
In sweeping charge to break th' embattled line,
And oft I saw, in dream-enraptured vision,
The deep-blue heaven that burns o'er Palestine!
Thrilled through my boyish soul, come back again,
As when the blood unto my brow hath started
At thought of battle on the Syrian plain—
When Richard's glory fired my young ambition,
In sweeping charge to break th' embattled line,
And oft I saw, in dream-enraptured vision,
The deep-blue heaven that burns o'er Palestine!
They were but dreams; yet this old blade has broken
The spell that bound them in the wondrous Past,
For, long ere this, had other voices spoken,
Nor leaped my heart unto that clarion-blast.
All dust and ruin, let those ages moulder
Like these rent banners crumbling on the wall;
The Earth learns wisdom as she waxes older—
The proudest glory of the Past shall fall!
The spell that bound them in the wondrous Past,
For, long ere this, had other voices spoken,
Nor leaped my heart unto that clarion-blast.
All dust and ruin, let those ages moulder
Like these rent banners crumbling on the wall;
The Earth learns wisdom as she waxes older—
The proudest glory of the Past shall fall!
Not for the land, where dwelt the Meek and Lowly,
Shall knights anointed crowd the battle-sod,
But Earth itself, which God created holy,
And now so long by unbelievers trod!
For Earth, where, Freedom's sepulchre profaning,
A brood of tyrants laugh at Mankind's loss,
They vow to fight, till Wrong's pale crescent, waning,
Forever yield to Freedom's hallowed cross!
Shall knights anointed crowd the battle-sod,
But Earth itself, which God created holy,
And now so long by unbelievers trod!
For Earth, where, Freedom's sepulchre profaning,
A brood of tyrants laugh at Mankind's loss,
They vow to fight, till Wrong's pale crescent, waning,
Forever yield to Freedom's hallowed cross!
31
No more regret o'er chivalry departed—
No dreams of battles on Judea's strand!
The world has need of many a Lion-hearted,
And Truth is gathering her Crusader-band.
I seize the blade the lofty cause will hallow,
And swing the banner in the light of morn,
Through the long march of Life the cross to follow,
Which martyred Freedom's holy hands have borne!
No dreams of battles on Judea's strand!
The world has need of many a Lion-hearted,
And Truth is gathering her Crusader-band.
I seize the blade the lofty cause will hallow,
And swing the banner in the light of morn,
Through the long march of Life the cross to follow,
Which martyred Freedom's holy hands have borne!
Oh! when for ages her Crusade has breasted
Oppression's armies o'er the groaning Earth,
When from the foe her sepulchre is wrested,
And the raised tombstone lets the captive forth,
Will she arise, in beauty such as never
Dawned on the Poet's most ecstatic dream—
A blessing that the soul will clasp forever—
A world renewed in God's eternal beam!
Oppression's armies o'er the groaning Earth,
When from the foe her sepulchre is wrested,
And the raised tombstone lets the captive forth,
Will she arise, in beauty such as never
Dawned on the Poet's most ecstatic dream—
A blessing that the soul will clasp forever—
A world renewed in God's eternal beam!
Vienna, 1845.
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