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THE CRUSADES.

BY MR. JOHN MITFORD,

OF ORIEL COLLEGE, OXFORD.

SPIRIT, who sitt'st in solitude, unseen,
Watching the change of nations, as they roll
Their fated round, beneath the wing of Time,
That ever with it's swift and ceaseless strokes
Brings manifest alteration; now a gleam
Of joyous sun-shine pouring, and e'en now
Plunging in total darkness man and all
His vaunted powers: Spirit, who hast seen
This awful change, as down oblivion's gulf
With swelling sail, full tide, and surges high
We fated speed, give ear unto my song!
Meanwhile, if strength possessing, from the grasp
Of dire Oppression it essays to sing

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Man's proud deliverance, when the' assembled chiefs
Woke Europe into arms, and pour'd their might
Upon the Asian Continent, as thick

As are the locust-armies in the breeze;
What time Christ's Sepulchre from Paynim hands
They strove to liberate, and their toilsome way
Unto the Holy Land fervid they bent.

Time was, o'er Europe's desolated plain

Her ebon wand and cowl of sable hue

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Grim Superstition spread. Oppression then
Frown'd from his feudal castle, and with heel
Contemptuous spurn'd the vassal croud below.
Oh, 'twas a time of darkness! for the spirit
Of man was humbled, and he plenteous drank
The bitter draught of slavery: he had not
A pleasant home of quietude and rest,
A peaceful dwelling in the tufted woods
And vocal waters bosom'd; but he heard
Instead of the soft music of the vale,
Soft music from oat-pipe, or pastoral reed,
Far other notes, and sounds of sadder tone.
Unceasing gall'd the fetter, and the scourge
Tore every throbbing vein: then, quite subdue'd
And plung'd in such calamitous constraint,
Himself of heaven descended, and of earth
A freeman, he forgot ;-till his mind sunk,
And with the body's bondage felt it's own.
-So was it darkness in the land, and all
Lay wrapt in lethargy: blind Ignorance wav'd
His leaden sceptre, and with cold, dull touch
Spread wide his clustering mildew. Spring arose
And op'd her flowers in vain; in vain around
Her roses Summer strew'd;-for none were there
To taste their breathing sweet: the purple brow
Of Autumn glow'd; and not a cheerful sound,
And not a merry carol hail'd him in.
Seasons return'd; but not to man return'd
Hope or deliverance; with the herds he held
Sad, painful sojourn, and his lapsed powers
Almost forgot:-so farewell hope! farewell
All noble enterprize! on every gale

The shrieks of anguish came; unceasing howl'd
The fiends of famine, and the dogs of death.

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But who is he?-yon Eremite ?-that cries To all the sons of Europe," Rouse to war?" Bare is his head, and with unshrinking foot He mocks the pointed flint; while on his cheek Glows love of enterprize, and his quick eye Darts forth unusual fervour. Bolder now Blows he the blast of terror: at the sound The Soldan sinks recoiling, and in vain To Alla weeps. Obedient Europe hears The call; the fetters from her armed hands Drop; and in adamant and complete steel She waves the crimson banner. Thither flock Myriads of gathering people; for, all lov'd The pleasing sorcery, and could not choose But join the throng. Forth from his midnight cave, Where late the secret work of death he ply'd, The daring robber creeps; the peasant wields The scythe, now raging in the ranks of war. Here croud the knights, their rich retinue led, Their grooms and coursers; here the baron waves His gorgeous Oriflamme; kings, prelates, here Pour to the holy standard: thick they seem'd As those embodied forces which at Thebes Or Ilium conquer'd, or those numerous bands Headed by Charlemagne. Ambition's sons Came flocking here, and here the scoundrel train Of Avarice, all their bestial views conceal'd Under Religion's garb for, Fancy play'd In thousand orient hues, and lov❜d to build Her gorgeous imagery, their fond hopes belying With sweet delusion. Thus, not few entic'd The mines of gold and jasper, the sweet groves Of balm and myrrh and nard, where every gale Drops perfume from it's wings; and not a few

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The black-eye'd Maids of Paradise, who wave
Amid the myrtle bowers their raven locks,
And, as they weave the choral dance, instruct
The look to languish, and the breath to sigh.

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Now was it busy in the land; now glow'd
The martial phrenzy: (as the ceaseless hum
Of the home-coming bees at even-tide,
When the sun sinks, and from the quiet cot
The light blue smoke ascends :) in every gale
Bray'd the loud clarion, to the noon-day sun
Emblazon'd armour flash'd, the pennons broad
Flutter'd their streaming points, and wav'd traverse
On their high standard glittering: to the Cross
All bow'd in adoration, and all call'd
Upon the living God to lead them on.

-And on they went, panting with eager hope,
Ill-starr'd and ill-conducted, on they went.

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Yet were they flush'd with slaughter, yet they were
Laden with booty large of gold and gem
And radiant purple, till they' almost forgot
God's business, and with paramount step and pride
Their haughty rod of desolation shook
On every foe. They went like the tall ship
Of some rich burgher, to the Venetian bound
Beyond the Southern Cape, in proud career
Above the green wave tilting. Yet their pomp,
Their pride, and all their garniture of war,
And gay habiliments, (vain hopes and weak !)
Their coursers champing the rich curb, and swift
Their hawks that mock'd the winds, and dogs that

woke

The Echo sleeping on the breast of Morn,

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All could not save. Alas! how chang'd, how fallen From former pomp and pride.-So was that change

In Eden, when his form of cherub grace,
His orient hues, and wings bedropt with gold,
Satan had doff'd, and bade each nobler limb
Shrink in the reptile's form: oh! such a sight
War now appear'd; and as he sail'd aloof,
With talon sheath'd, his long expected feast
The famish'd raven snuff'd. While on they mov'd, 130
With difficulty and labour, cursing oft
Their journey unfortunate: for, not now
O'er sunny uplands pass'd they, or rich vales,
Or flowery meadows; but the hot, hot sand
Stretch'd like the ocean's line, and not a breeze
Play'd on their throbbing temples, but they drank
The simoom's purple breath, and every plague
Infectious. Shadowing o'er the fainting van
Pale Famine rear'd his hideous form, and howl'd
Unto his brother Thirst, who vampire-like
Sate panting in the rear, with iron gripe
His daily victim seizing, and each fount,

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Each chrystal spring, that might have slak'd the lip
Of parched myriads, and the blood-shot eye
Reviv'd, drove deep into their gelid beds.
Oh, it was foul to see them! for, they lay
Lean skeletons along, dug here and there
By the wild vulture, and their bones were strewn
Upon the shore, and whiten'd all the plain.

Sons of Ambition, how your crest is fallen!
Was this your pomp? was this, that to the sun
The flashing cymbal play'd, the clarion blew.
It's clear, full swell, and streaming in the breeze
The crimson banner wav'd? Those mighty shouts,
The preparation, and the pomp of war,
Taunts of the tongue, and menace of the eye,
Was it for this? Alas, I know you not!

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