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“ 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,

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“ 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 !"

ODE IX.

DUNCAN's WARNING.

BY

J. AIKIN, M. D.

As o'er the heath, amid his steel-clad Thanes,

The royal DUNCAN rode in martial pride, Where, full to view, high-topp'd with glittering vanes, Macbeth's strong towers o'erhung the mountain's

side;

In dusky mantle wrapp'd, a grisly form

Rush'd with a giant's stride across his way ; And thus, while howlid around the rising storm,

In hollow thundering accents pour’d dismay.

Stop, O King! thy destin'd course,
Furl thy standard, turn thy horse,
Death besets this onward track,
Come no further,-quickly, back.

Hear'st thou not the raven's croak?
See'st thou not the blasted oak?

Feel'st thou not the loaded sky
Read thy danger, King, and fly.

Lo, yon' castle banners glare
Bloody through the troubled air;
Lo, what spectres on the roofs
Frowning bid thee stand aloof!

Murder, like an eagle waits
Perch'd above the gloomy gates,
Just in act to pounce his prey;
Come not near

-away! away!

Let not plighted faith beguile ;
Honour's semblance, Beauty's smile :
Fierce Ambition's venom'd dart
Rankles in the fest'ring heart.

Treason, arm'd against thy life,
Points his dagger, whets his knife,
Drugs his stupifying bowl,
Steels his unrelenting soul,

Now 'tis time; ere guilty night
Closes round thee, speed thy flight.
If the threshold once be crost,
DUNCAN! thou’rt for ever losta

.

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