A patriot race to disinherit Of all that made their stormy wilds so dear, [taineer!To taint the bloodless freedom of the mounO France! that mockest Heaven, adulterous, blind, And patriot only in pernicious toils! Are these thy boasts, champion of humankind: To mix with kings in the low lust of sway, Yell in the hunt, and share the murderous prey; To' insult the shrine of liberty with spoils From freemen torn; to tempt and to betray! The sensual and the dark rebel in vain, Slaves by their own compulsion! In mad game They burst their manacles, and wear the name Of Freedom graven on a heavier chain! O Liberty! with profitless endeavour Have I pursued thee many a weary hour: But thou nor swell'st the victor's strain, nor ever Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human power. Alike from all, howe'er they praise thee (Nor prayer nor boastful name delays thee), Alike from Priestcraft's harpy minions, And factious Blasphemy's obscener slaves, Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions, [waves ! The guide of homeless winds and playmate of the And there I felt thee-on that seacliff's verge Whose pines,scarce travel'd by the breeze above, Had made one murmur with the distant surge! Yes! while I stood and gazed, my temples bare, And shot my being through earth, sea, and air, Possessing all things with intensest love, O Liberty, my spirit felt thee there! COLERIDGE. 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. Soon we kiss'd the sacred earth 'Lo, the toilsome voyage pass'd, 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! 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 With many a demon, pale of hue, 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: |