Rough with the gore of Pictish kings :
Ev'n now fond hope his fancy wings,
To poise the monarch's massy blade,
Of magic-temper'd metal made ;
And drag to day the dinted shield
That felt the storm of Camlan's field..
O'er the sepulchre profound
Ev'n now, with arching sculpture crown'd,
He plans the chantry's choral shrine,
The daily dirge, and rites divine.

ODE VIII.

THE

CRUSADE.

By the Same.

Bound for holy Palestine,
Nimbly we brush'd the level brine,
All in azure steel array'd;
O’er the wave our weapons play'd,
And made the dancing billows glow;
High upon the trophied prow,
Many a warrior-minstrel swung
His sounding harp, and boldly sung:

“ Syrian virgins, wail and weep, “ English Richard ploughs the deep! “ Tremble, watchmen, as ye spy, " From distant towers, with anxious eye, “ The radiant range of shield and lance “ Down Damascus' hills advance : « From Sion's turrets as afar “ Ye ken the march of Europe's war! “ Saladin, thou paynim king “ From Albion's isle revenge we bring!

“ On Acon's spiry citadel,
“ Though to the gale thy banners swell,
« Pictur'd with the silver moon;
“ England shall end thy glory soon!
“ In vain, to break our firm array,
“ Thy brazen drums hoarse discord bray :
“ Those sounds our rising fury fan :
“ English Richard in the van.
“ On to victory we go,
“ A vaunting infidel the foe.”

Blondel led the tuneful band,
And swept the wire with glowing hand,
Cyprus, from her rocky mound,
And Crete, with piny verdure crown'd,
Far along the smiling main
Echoed the prophetic strain.

Soon we kiss'd the sacred earth
That gave a murther'd Saviour birth :
Then with ardour fresh endu’d,
Thus the solemn song

renew'd : “ Lo, the toilsome voyage past, “ Heaven's favour'd hills appear at last !. “ Object of our holy vow, “ We tread the Tyrian vallies now. " From Carmel's almond-shaded steep “ We feel the cheering fragrance creep: “ O’er Engaddi's shrubs of balm “ Waves the date-empurpled palm ; “ See, Lebanon's aspiring head “ Wide his immortal umbrage spread!

“ Hail Cavalry, thou mountain hoar,
“ Wet with our Redeemer's gore !
“ Ye trampled tombs, ye fanes forlorn,
“ Ye stones, by tears of pilgrims worn;
“ Your ravish'd honours to restore,
“ Fearless we climb this hostile shore !
" And thou, the sepulchre of god !

By mocking pagans rudely trod,
“ Bereft of every awful rite,
“ 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, “ O'er the far-affrighted fields, " Resistless Kaliburn he wields. “ Proud Saracen, pollute no more “ The shrines by martyrs built of yore! " From each wild mountain's trackless crown “ In vain the gloomy castles frown: “ Thy battering engines, huge and high, “ In vain our steel-clad steeds defy; “ And rolling in terrific state, “ On giant-wheels harsh thunders grate. “ When eve has hush'd the buzzing camp, “ Amid the moon-light vapours damp, “ Thy necromantic forms, in vain, “ Haunt us on the tented plain,

“ We bid those spectre-shapes avaunt,
“ Ashtaroth, and Termagaunt !
“ With many a demon, pale of hue,
“ Doom'd to drink the bitter dew
“ That drops from Macon's sooty tree,
“ Mid the dread grove of ebony.
“ Nor magic charms, nor fiends of hell,
“ The Christian's holy courage quell,

“ Salem, in antient majesty « Arise, and lift thee to the sky! “ Soon on thy battlements divine “ Shall wave the badge of Constantine. “ Ye Barons, to the sun unfold “ Our Cross with crimson wove and gold !"