Matilda, a tale of the Crusades. A Poem, in six books

Front matter

MATILDA, A TALE OF THE CRUSADES. MATILDA, A TALE OF THE CRUSADES, A POEM, IN SIX BOOKS. BY HENRY INGRAM. LONDON I PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, AND GREEN. MDCCCXXX. K. WHITLEY, PRINTS*, HALIFAX, bound, MATILDA. JL.IVES there, whose heart, in waveless slumber Ne'er knew the bliss to gen'rous deeds allied ? Whose ear ne'er drank the animating sound Of Gratitude, low bending at his side, Mammon his God, self-interest his guide ? 'Tis not for such my Muse essays to sing, And prunes for daring flights her trembling wing. Lives there, who, at his Country's solemn call, Whose voice might rouse the silent dust anew, When each firm breast, an adamantine wall, Midst deep'ning peril, more undaunted grew, Hung cow'ring back, nor kindled at the view ? 'Tis not for such my Muse essays to sing, And prunes for daring flights her trembling wing VI MATILDA.

Lives there, whose knee ne'er bow'd at Friendship's shrine ? Who never felt the pulse's madd'ning play When Beauty's melting sigh, love's answ'ring sign, Thrill'd ev'ry vein, and chas'd despair away, And a new Era dawn'd of cloudless day ? 'Tis not for such my Muse essays to sing, And prunes for daring flights her trembling wing. Come Ye, and O ! may Woman list the strain, True to the kindred charities of life, Whose station here has not been fill'd in vain, As parent, child, as husband, friend, or wife, Or patriot, fearless in the raging strife ; Come, 'tis for you my Muse essays to sing, And prunes for daring flights her trembling wing. CONTENTS. Page. Palestine xi. Book First I Chivalry 73 Book Second 79 Faith 141 Book Third 145 Pride 205 Book Fourth 209 Arabia . . j 257 Book Fifth 263 The Sea Shore 327 Book Sixth MATILDA.

Book I. Matilda

XI PALESTINE. XTAIL, holy Land ! of wondrous lore the seat ; To thee I turn, yet tremble, as I greet. Not with more awe the untutor'd Savage bends When from the deep his God of fire ascends. 'Twas here our Faith to rich perfection grew, And a world's Saviour stood confest to view. Hail, holy Land ! as slow thy palmy shore Breaks to my sight, how sweep the days of yore O'er my full heart ! I join the pilgrim band That gaze, on bended knee, thy silent strand. Are these the promis'd scenes, the glorious seat Reserv'd by heav'n for Israel's wand'ring feet ? MATILDA. Are there no Angel tribes that watchful stand With outspread wings o'er shadowing all the land, To guard that hallow 'd soil from noxious tread, Where Martyrs triumph 'd, where a Saviour bled? Where are those far-fam'd ports, by Commerce blest, Whose countless navies darken'd Ocean's breast ?

Those crowded Marts, where Nations throng'd amaz'd, And Man with wonder on his fellow gaz'd ? Where art thou, Tyre ? the wonder of the Sea, The mighty Queen, a World's epitome ? Gem of the wave ! where art thou ? where the pride That said, " I am, and there is none beside ?" I turn where once thy pomp imperial stood ; No gleaming radiance streams along the flood. 'Tis desolate and lone ; with awful fear I read thy doom ; the arm of God is here. Yes ! that bare rock, by sullen waves beset, Where the poor fisher spreads his dripping net, Is all that marks thy site ! Oft on his oar The Seaman rests, and with the days of yore, When own'd a vassal world thy dread command, Contrasts thy naked, solitary strand. MATILDA. XIII No joyous shouts, no triumph greets his ears ; The land, one mighty sepulchre appears.

Alas ! exulting o'er each tow'r and stream The glitt'ring Crescent mocks the morning beam. The usurping Infidels, with proud disdain, Trample the cross, insult the holy fane. There mark that patient, melancholy band, Who want, and toil, and mockery withstand ! They, like their Lord, these ills unmurm'ring bear ; Blest, if one sweet reward their Tyrants spare ; Round their Redeemer's tomb to watch and kneel : 'Tis all they can, and who shall scorn their zeal ? Rouse, Soldan, rouse ! prepare to meet thy doom ; They come ! the champions of the Cross, they come ! Embattled Europe pours the countless swarm, And fell Revenge directs the awful storm. E'en peaceful Churchmen arm against tby pride, And Saints and Angels combat at their side. The Avengers come ! from Earth's remotest bound Their locust armies cumber all the ground.

MATILDA. Rapid they sweep, nor pause nor slumber know, Defy fatigue, and threaten as they go. Their Coursers' hoofs bright fiery sparkles fling ; Their wheels whirl dreadful as the whirlwind's wing Huge as a weaver's beam, their giant spear ; Their quiver, like an open sepulchre. With savage joy they bend the impatient bow, Whet the keen shaft, and meditate the blow. While yet the mutt'ring storm at distance low'r, Bid sound the war-trump ! wake thy martial pow'r ; The iron tempest hurtles in the air ; Rouse, Soldan, rouse, and for thy doom prepare ! MATILDA.

BOOK I. JN OON'S

sultry hour was past : the fresh'ning gale Pours life and fragrance o'er Dunelmia's vale. From Eden's tow'rs, amidst his vassal train, Down the lone glen that fac'd the expanded main St. Aubyn speeds, where Heorta's neighb'ring steep Brav'd with its foam-bath'd front the northern deep ; Shelt'ring the circling bay, whose waveless breast Safe in his anchor'd bark, the Seaman bless'd. Crowning the cliff, in rich baronial pride, De Clifford's lordly halls o'erhung the tide v

BOOK I

- 2 MATILDA. He, thro' the isle, the manly joust proclaim'd, Nurse of heroic deeds — the sound inflam'd Each high-soul'd Chief, and through the live-long day Successive helmets glitter'd on the way. 'Twas now to vengeance rous'd at Sion's woes, One heart, one hand, a pow'rful nation rose. The spreading flame a youthful Sov'reign fann'd, And deeds of Knighthood echoed thro' the land. There throng'd the thrice-renown'd in danger's field, And there, the untried youth with naked shield. 'Twas thirst of fame that swell'd each warrior's heart Save one, and there unknightly thoughts had part. The fire that lighten'd in St. Aubyn's eyes, Was born of jealous hate that mock'd disguise. While yet the rival tow'rs were dim descry'd, Half mutter'd threats their reckless Lord defy'd. Not with more deadly glance, the Fiend of night Ey'd the broad sun and curs'd its searching light.

Why lags that fair-hair'd Boy, while far before His Father's clatt'ring steed is heard no more ? O'er his smooth cheek scarce manhood's down is thrown, Speaking life's rugged path as yet unknown. As the lone track the loit'rer slow pursued, Skirting the mazy border of a wood, Bound to a tree, behold of tender years A stripling stood. A wretch insults his tears ; High o'er his head the threat'ning cord extends, Whose frequent stripe his bleeding victim rends. Whence is that sylphlike pair that break to view With breathless speed and cheeks of glowing hue ? One seems a cherub from celestial bow'r " New lighted on this orb." The tender flow'r Scarce bows beneath her tread, and far behind Her raven tresses stream upon the wind. Smit with her fairy form, his dazzled sight Scarce mark'd the youth, companion of her flight.

The same his years — in glittering vest array'd, His shape, his mien, no vulgar race betray'd. O ! who that maiden's pleading tones could hear, Nor bid consent be swifter than her pray'r ? As paus'd the Tyrant at the silver sound, The grateful suff'rer eager she unbound. His naked arms from galling bondage freed, He turn'd to thank, then broke away with speed. B

BOOK I

4 MATILDA. " Edmund !" she cried, the work of mercy done, " We must return — fast sinks the western sun." Swift as the darting swallow skims the stream The vision vanish'd, like some airy dream ! As one, that scales some heav'n-kist mountain's head, Sees far beneath the varied landscape spread. Fair as the scene from Pisgah's brow survey'd, When the blest land its promised rest display'd ; Meads, tufted woods whence peeps the ivy'd pile, The lake's bright mirror, gemm'd with fairy isle, The vane-crown'd spire that glitters in the heam, The silver line that marks the sinuous stream, Dark glens, and sunny glades, the lordly hall, The murm'ring lapse of frequent waterfall, The bosom'd cot, the smoke-encircled town, And speck'd with sheep, the heath's extended brown ; The sands, that gleam along the river's bed Left by the tide, in length'ning terror spread ; As roves from charm to charm his greedy eye, Sudden a cloudy vapour from on high s Curtains the mountain's head with veil of night, And shuts the glorious vision from his sight.

Each word, each feature, on his heart imprest, A new-born feeling dawn'd o'er Albert's breast. Till lost in gloom, slept mountain, stream and wood His restless search the unknown maid pursu'd. No answering shout reply'd — to wilder speed He urg'd, in vain pursuit, his panting steed. Sudden the startling trump breaks fitful near, And sounds of boist'rous mirth assail the ear. On Heorta's cliff, by angry ocean beat, Quick glancing lights reveal'd De Clifford's seat. He pass'd the barrier gates — the laugh, the song, O'er flowing cups the midnight cheer prolong. But he, with toil worn frame, and heart opprest, Impatient heard and sought more grateful rest. The cheek's deep hectic, and the broken sleep, Mark the wild dreams, that o'er the slumb'rer creep. Smile not for him those lips of roseate glow ; 'Tis Edmund's presence lights her sunny brow. His the bright sparkle of that jetty eye, Whose ev'ry look is eloquence and joy.

BOOK I

6 MATILDA. For Edmund too, that wild flow'r wreath she weaves, And many a proof of sweet affection gives. From his lone couch he springs, with vengeful air The envied crown from Edmund's brow to tear ; He wakes ! how stares the wilder'd dreamer round ! How throbs his heart with fierce tumultuous bound ! As o'er the redd'ning east the Day-spring broke, He climb'd the neighb'ring steep. The frequent stroke Of early armourer, the steed's shrill neigh Breathing impatience for the coming fray, The trumpet's clang, whose heart-inspiring sound Transported Echo caught and flung around, Swept mingling by. And still the tumult grew, While his soul kindled at the stirring view. In quaint device array'd, the busy Page Hurried from court to court. Here garr'lous Age Dwelt on the days gone by ; none paus'd to hear The unheeded tale.

There, fiercely brawling near, The rival grooms, of fav'rite Knight or steed Vaunt the proud claim to win the victor meed. Forth from the crowd, his Father's faithful Squire A courser led, whose eye-balls darted fire. " Albert, lov'd Youth !" was Malcolm's eager cry ; " I've sought thee long, and greet thee here with joy. " This day will feats of mimic war be shewn, " Feats, such as thou, ere long, wilt make thine own. " Yes, by St. Hilda, tho' thy honour'd line " Be rich in fame, 'twill yet more brilliant shine." A truce, good Malcolm ! but thy praises done, Say, has my Father blam'd his truant Son ? " Dismiss all fear ; for thee I've search'd in vain, " And oft enquir'd, yet mine alone the pain. " Far other thoughts inflame thy Father's soul " Where fearful schemes, I ween, of vengeance roll.

" When, yestereve, we reach'd this lordly pile " Throng'd with the bravest chieftains of our isle, " Its noble Owner, at his King's command, " Was summon'd hence to Ebor's neighb'ring strand, " And left, as Umpire in the coming fray " Our prelate Pudsey : On yon sparkling bay " Whose galley rides, and whose example leads " The church to emulate our warrior's deeds.

BOOK I

8 MATILDA. " Thy Father heard ; the flame that heav'd his breast, " And gnashing teeth some foil'd design express'd. " The live-long night I watch'd his eye's wild glare ; " No slumber seal'd them ; all was restless there. " Nor did thy Father's limbs one moment feel " The joy of freedom from the casing steel." Thro' the wide courts the herald signal rang ; The crowd impatient to the tiltyard sprang. There close the serried ranks each other press, In eager hope forgetful of distress, Circling the ring ; but O ! what forms of love Bright glancing, grac'd the balcony above ! There peerless Dames their radiant charms display'd, Whose eyes, more potent than Damascus' blade, Now fierce as summer suns, now mildly bright Like twinkling stars that gem the vault of night, Midst iron Warriors beam'd, and round the scene In cuirass clad, was many a Prelate seen.

Like the tir'd bee, uncertain where to rest When countless blossoms bare the honey'd breast, From fair to fair the dazzled vision pass'd, Each blest with charms more brilliant than the last. But as that bee, the flow'r of sweetest hue Awhile may quit, yet turns again to woo, There Albert turn'd with still-renew'd delight, Where chain'd a beauteous canopy his sight. Above, a silken banner hung display'd, Whose ample space, by cunning hands array'd, The cross resplendent bore, the glorious meed By royal Richard giv'n — to him decreed The future champion, whose victorious shield Return unsullied from the listed field. 'Twas Beauty's dazzling court ; In soften'd state Like Beauty's Queen, the noble Hostess sate ; Around her glitter'd many a lovely guest, The cross suspended o'er the snowy breast.

Whence that quick start ? why o'er his changing cheek Does the wild flush of sudden rapture break ? 'Twas she ! those charms which thro' the shades of night Mock'd his vain search, dawn sweetly on his sight! The high born maid, Matilda, met his view, And rank o'er beauty richer lustre threw.

BOOK I

10 MATILDA. The brazen gates unclos'd, which fac'd the west, A breathless calm the deep suspense express'd. Like sons of morn, with helm and pointless lance Sudden a troop of graceful youths advance : Brac'd on his arm, each held a silver shield, As yet no honors grac'd the naked field. While round the ring, they press the gen'rous steeds, Each bosom panting for heroic deeds, Their gallant mein applauding crowds survey, And hail the Godfreys of no distant day. But chief, the partial mothers from above Eye the brave band with looks of dewy love. When near the canopy the Leader pass'd, A sudden blush Matilda's cheek o'ercast. Swift from her mother's side with sparkling eyes Th' impatient Albert mark'd the virgin rise ; From her fair breast she tears a budding rose, The silent emblem to that leader throws ; Does not her mother's alter'd cheek disown This ill-tim'd warmth ? there glooms no chiding frown ; But as her child, with more endearing wile Clung round her neck, there beam'd the ready smile.

What fearful magic did that smile impart To crush the hopes, that play'd around his heart ! That ready smile, like Fate's all-withering blast, O'er every sense a freezing torpor cast. As rapt be mus'd, the fairy troop retir'd ; Again the Herald trump fresh hopes inspir'd. With vizors clos'd, and lances plac'd in rest, Swift to the course the headlong champions press'd. They wheel around — they pause with loosen'd rein ; The signal sounds ; each gazer breathes with pain. The proud steeds rush impetuous as the wind ; Their dark manes stream, like wreaths of mist, behind As when, hoarse thund'ring from some Alpine brow, Two torrents sweep, and mix their rage below, The boiling waters foam ; the thick'ning spray Mounts far above, and dims the eye of day — Dread was the shock — a cloud obscures the sky ; Men, steeds, and arms, in mingled ruin, lie.

One Knight alone still tower'd erect ; his name Rings thro' the crowd tumultuous ; Albert's frame Thrill'd at the sound— O ! well that Knight he knew ; Sable his steed, his armour sable too. Pride swells his heart; — his eyes resume their fire; He shares the exulting triumph of his Sire. No hostile spear had reach'd his Father's mail ; 'Gainst his firm buckler could no force avail. E'en his brave steed, with eyeballs darting flame Seem'd proudly conscious of its rider's fame. His was the palm ; — for him that ceaseless roar ; Yet his soul sicken'd for one victim more. Why sleep those shouts with which the welkin rung ? What sudden wonder seals each clam'rous tongue ? A hoary Herald, blazon'd on whose breast St. Aubyn's badge, the eagle, shone contest, Speeds to the ring ; his trumpet's lengthen'd sound, Swells to the skies, and wakes amazement round.

" Lady !" he cry'd, and, taunting as he spoke, The noble hostess scann'd with piercing look, " The Lord St. Aubyn, knighthood's fav'rite Son, " Whose Eagle shrinks not from yon blazing sun, " Demands through me his meed, the victor's right, " Yon banner, won by his resistless might. " Our ancient hall such countless glories grace, " Scarce will the stranger find a resting place. " How oft we there have stunn'd the midnight hour " With tales exhaustless of our Chieftain's pow'r ! " Lady, with flowing bowl and festive song, " This day's rich triumph will the feast prolong. " Let not that scornful brow my warmth reprove ; " The Old will babble o'er the theme they love. " This day I fondly hop'd, but age will dream, " St. Aubyn's Star had shed a brighter beam. " Where is that Knight of proud imperious mein, " High o'er whose crest the snowy Swan is seen ?

" O foul dishonour ! from the listed field " Shrinks not the recreant, with inglorious shield ? " Or if thy care has caus'd his willing flight, " Lady, 'tis well — O ! had he brav'd the fight, " E'en now that Swan its dying lay had pour'd, " And swell'd the triumph of St. Aubyn's Lord !" As when, precursor of the tempest's roar, With hollow murmurs rings the cavern'd shore, BOOK i 14 MATILDA. Now mutt'ring low, now pealing high and loud, Indignant voices roll'd along the crowd. The eager rush, the intrepid brow proclaim The stern avengers of the insulted Dame. What distant cry is that, which from without Breaks o'er the ear, and stays the bursting rout ? The hostess starts — a turret's neighb'ring stair She mounts, — She waves her kerchief high in air, " 'Tis he !" the answ'ring crowd her transport share : The snowy Swan, his crest, on milk-white steed A Warrior sweeps along, with thund'ring speed.

Here was no parley — with impetuous haste The lance in rest the rival chieftains plac'd. Death laugh'd triumphant o'er each threat'ning spear ; They fear'd disgrace, and knew no other fear. Forward they rush — with half-averted look The crowd turn'd shudd'ring from the coming stroke. In giant strength elate, the sable Knight By one grand effort strove to close the fight And crush his hated foe — presumptuous dream ! Against the opposing shield, his massy beam Was shiver'd to the grasp. O ! where is now Thy pride, rash boaster ? o'er thy rival's brow Still beams that tow'ring Swan with snowy breast, The cow'ring Eagle droops upon thy crest. In vain thy buckler's iron plates oppose The hostile lance — through every fold it goes, Pierces thy mail, inflicts a gaping wound, And hurls thee senseless to the trembling ground.

O ! 'twas a conquest, that from realms above Consenting Angels might with smiles approve ! From mouth to mouth the glorious triumph flies, Mounts on the gale, and rends the vaulted skies : While from the ring, o'erwhelm'd with deep despair, Their wounded Lord attendant vassals bear. O ! long, in secret solitude apart, Rage, grief, and shame, consum'd St. Aubyn's heart. That dire disgrace the day with horror crown'd, At night, a phantom, o'er his pillow frown'd. And he, whose haughty Soul once dar'd the Skies, Now shrank suspicious from his vassal's eyes.

BOOK I

16 MATILDA. Mark that pale youth— he shares his Sire's retreat, And weeps with bitter tears, his dread defeat. Scarce dawn'd his star of love, eternal night Sweeps o'er the scene and whelms its rosy light. Yet not to listless vacancy's controul Stoop'd the proud honours of his glowing soul ; As his fair limbs to manhood rip'ning grew, His love of arms encreasing fervour knew. The lance, the steed, the ling'ring day beguil'd, And oft the moody Father gaz'd, and smil'd. But when the holy trump, to Sion's wall Rous'd England's warrior-sons, the glorious call St. Aubyn hears — his thirst of fame returns, And all his soul with wonted ardour burns. His kindling eyes a sickly lustre shed ; Again, like one awaken'd from the dead, His long-neglected arms the Chief resumes, And midst his vassals dance his raven plumes. On that blest shore, where Christian Martyrs bled, Those raven plumes the foremost battle led.

BOOK I.

17 MATILDA. Where'er they wav'd, the turban shrank dismay'd, And red with slaughter blush'd St. Aubyn's blade. Fierce was the fight near Acho's trembling wall, When shouting foemen hail'd the Warrior's fall. Tho' conquest crown'd the field, in silent grief His gallant comrades mourn'd the breathless chief, Counted the wounds, that grac'd his gory breast, And pray'd an end like his, with deathless glory blest. That fatal day, when, stretch'd o'er piles of slain, The Father fell, and valour's arm was vain, The blooming Son, with fearless heart pursu'd His sable courser, bath'd in streams of blood. Six Pagan Chiefs, conspicuous o'er the field For tow'ring size, rich vest, and moony shield, With boiling bosoms mark'd the hostile pair Like meteors, sweeping thro' the ranks of war. Furious they swear, in barb'rous compact bound, To whelm these Christian Knights, and stay the carnage round.

Five bit the dust— the sixth, with wary blow, Laid the brave Sire, with slaughter wearied, low. C But, as his coward taunts insult the slain, The Son, wild rushing, intercepts the strain ; Home to the recreant's heart, his sword of fire He drives, the avenger of his martyr'd Sire. The Lion King, who kindred valour lov'd. With flattering voice the gallant deed approv'd. " Henceforth, the glitt'ring crescents that adorn " Thy prostrate foe, by thee, brave youth, be worn. " Thy snowy shield with this memorial crown, " And with thy Father's honours blend thine own." From royal lips, in glory's bright career, How thrill'd this praise the modest champion's ear ! 'Twas now, with outstretch'd arm, and friendly feet, Midst other chiefs De Clifford came to greet. His open brow no gloomy rancour wore ; The grave was clos'd, and fell revenge was o'er.

Those thoughts, by reason's frown so long supprest, Now flam'd resistless o'er St. Aubyn's breast. Was it Matilda's Sire, whose rooted hate He deem'd unshaken as the doom of fate, Who came his hours of orphan grief to share, And sweetly sooth'd the rugged front of war ? Long had he burn'd that Sire's esteem to gain, But love despairing mourn'd his wishes vain ; When sorrow deepen'd round, with sudden light Hope's dawning star dispers'd the gath'ring night. When tardy conquest bless'd the Christian pow'rs, And the cross wav'd o'er Acho's captive tow'rs, Along the coast by royal Richard led, The pilgrim warriors, like a deluge, spread. No breathing pause awaits their levell'd spears, Where'er they turn, the Soldan's host appears. Eve came, but brought no rest, and startled night Heard the wild din that spoke the lengthen'd fight.

The Lion King, his path with slaughter red, Rear'd his proud axe, and strew'd the field with dead With front oppos'd, with madd'ning frenzy fir'd, The baffled Soldan with slow step retir'd. As the fell tigress, long in vain pursu'd, Now hears the blood-hounds yell along the wood, Which with sure instinct snuff the tainted dew, And at their heels impend the Hunter crew ; c

BOOK I

20 MATILDA. To guard the covert, where her young repose, She springs with tenfold fierceness on her foes ; The Moslem Chief, round Joppa's lordly tow'rs For one stern effort, summon'd all his pow'rs From Christian grasp the lovely gem to save, Or midst its ruins meet a glorious grave. " Soldiers of Alia !" how his words of fire Through the wide ranks, contempt of death inspire ! " Think, should ye fall, on Azrael's sable wing " Instant to bow'rs of Paradise ye spring. " Where gardens smile with spring eternal blest, " The brave shall revel in delicious rest. " There black-eyed maids, amid the twilight grove, " At once shall light, and quench the flames of love. " Rivers of wine in blushing currents flow ; " Each wish be blest, yet still no languor know : — " Now with your sabres blot your late disgrace, " And in the sea o'erwhelm yon Christian race !"

With holy frenzy fir'd, his legions heard, And with loud cries demand the battle word. Where Joppa's spires are bath'd in morning li»ht, Tumultuous crowds, expectant of the fight,

BOOK I.

21 -MATILDA. Hang o'er the walls and cheer the host below, Invoking Alla's aid to nerve the blow. While thus the Soldan, sooth'd the gathering dread, Some hardy warriors, by De Clifford led, Outstripp'd their fellows, eager to surprise Fair Joppa's tow'rs — they reach'd th' expected prize ; Where now their tow'ring hopes ? on ev'ry side Far as the eye could reach, the billowy tide Of Pagan armies roll'd — the raging flood Clos'd round the red-cross band, that dauntless stood, Like a lone isle amid the pathless main, To meet the rushing storm. Escape seem'd vain. As round with deaf'ning shouts the Pagans sweep, The fearless Franks indignant silence keep. Brothers in arms, one feeling fir'd each breast ; Sacred their cause, to Heav'n they left the rest. The foremost files their steeds resistless broke, And scarce created might could stand the shock. There, where from glitt'ring canopy afar The Soldan marked the ebbing tide of war,

BOOK I MATILDA.

O'er piles of dead De Clifford urg'd his way By one proud blow, to end th' eventful fray. Anxious yet firm, his eagle glance had scann'd The countless swarms, that hemm'd his little band. With dark'ning frown, the wrathful Monarch view'd His falt'ring ranks, by coward fears subdued ; " Degen'rate race ! O ! whither do ye run ? " Turn, and survey, the feeble foe ye shun ; " Here is no Richard, but a slender train " O'er spent with toil, that wield the lance with pain ; " Turn to the charge ; your dastard dread resign — " Or be the glory of the conquest mine. Aloft he bade the prophet-standard stream, And round his throne devoted falchions gleam. His brazen drums, in peals of thunder speak ; Thrill'd with the sound, shame dyes each recreant cheek That hallow'd strain, by Heav'n itself inspir'd, On Beder's plain, the warrior Prophet fir'd. 'Twas his proud note of victory which flew From sea to sea, and well each Moslem knew ! The battle tide returns — from all the crowd The hymn of conquest swells with clamour loud.

BOOK I.

23 .MATILDA. Fierce o'er the Franks the storm impetuous broke : They reel'd and stagger'd with the mighty shock. Fast round their Chief the red-cross champions fell, While savage foemen peal'd their funeral knell ; Each with a look, that yet that shout defy'd, Gaz'd on his Chief for vengeance, as he died. And He, tho' yawn'd the grave beneath his feet, Still cheer'd his fainting friends and scorn'd retreat. For one last effort as the toil-worn knight Recall'd his ebbing pow'rs, his eagle-sight Deem'd wav'ring and confus'd the opposing crowd : Faint and more faint their headlong clamours flow'd ; With less'ning rage their blood-red falchions burn'd, And many an anxious look was rearward turn'd. Amidst each pause, the clarion echoing shrill Rode on the breeze — along the distant hill Flash'd glitt'ring mail, and to his ravish'd eye The red-cross banner stream'd — how wild his cry !

" 'Tis he ! our Richard comes ! his mighty powers " Sweep to our aid and victory is ours !" Scar'd by the name which fraught with deep alarm, Palsied the stroke and chill 'd th' uplifted arm,

BOOK I

24 MATILDA. The Pagan host, with wild'ring terror pale, Disperse, like leaves before the autumnal gale. Now vengeance rag'd, unknowing how to spare, And victory wreath'd the brow of wan dispair. Yet still the Soldan's standard mock'd the day. And round his canopy, in firm array, His faithful guards, a serried phalanx, frown'd ; Still pour'd his drums their death-defying sound. Disdaining flight and fir'd with deepest hate, This close knit band renew'd the stern debate. Fierce flam'd the combat ; each in turn prevails, And startled Conquest pois'd the dubious scales. Amidst the turban'd host, in glitt'ring pride, A gentle youth the shock of arms defy'd. His better hand a quiv'ring lance sustain'd ; His practis'd left a fiery steed restrain'd Fair as untrodden snow — the aching sight Turn'd from his arms that flash'd resistless light.

Of finest web, enrich'd withjewell'd store, A silken scarf across his breast he wore. A dove with silver wings, his moony shield Display'd, emblazon'd on an azure field : And o'er his polish'd casque, in soften'd shade His milk-white plumes with sportive zephyrs play'd Like a bright meteor round night's ebon car The vision flam'd amid the ranks of war. Edmund, who deem'd him of illustrious blood, Spurn'd meaner conquest, and with speed pursued. A watchful band, that mark'd his fierce career, Close round the youth, and disappoint his spear. As light'ning swift, arriv'd the expected aid : Yet still the foe no falt'ring look betray'd. The Soldan's voice each backward step controuls, And to new efforts fires the fainting souls. But now, resistless with the lance and sword, The vengeful Franks their force united pour'd. As dying embers, if a breath inspire, Break into glow whose splendours soon expire, The Pagan ranks, infuriate with despair, With more than mortal prowess onward bear.