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Your castle stands strong, and your hopes soar on high;But, lady, fair lady, all blossoms to die.
"The green boughs they wither, the thunderbolt falls, It leaves of your castle but levin-scorch'd walls; The pure stream runs muddy; the gay hope is gone;Count Albert is prisoner on Mount Lebanon."
O she's ta'en a horse, should be fleet at her speed; And she's ta'en a sword, should be sharp at her need; And she has ta'en shipping for Palestine's land, To ransom Count Albert from Soldanrie's hand.
Small thought had Count Albert on fair Rosalie, Small thought on his faith, or his knighthood, had he;A heathenish damsel his light heart had won, The Soldan's fair daughter of Mount Lebanon.
"O Christian, brave Christian, my love wouldst thou be, Three things must thou do ere I hearken to thee: Our laws and our worship on thee shalt thou take; And this thou shalt first do for Zulema's sake.
"And, next, in the cavern, where burns, evermore The mystical flame which the Curdmans adore,
Alone, and in silence, three nights shalt thou wake: And this thou shalt next do for Zulema's sake.
"And, last, thou shalt aid us with counsel and hand, To drive the Frank robber from Palestine's land; For my lord and my love then Count Albert I'll
take, . When all this is accomplish'd for Zulema's sake."
He has thrown by his helmet, and cross-handled
sword,Renouncing his knighthood, denying his Lord; He has ta'en the green caftan, and turban put on, For the love of the maiden of fair Lebanon.
And in the dread cavern, deep deep under ground,
Amazed was the Princess, the Soldan amazed,
Again in the cavern, deep deep under ground,
Far off was their murmur, it came not more nigh, The flame burn'd unmoved, and nought else did he spy.
Loud murmur'd the priests, and amaz'd was the King,
The priests they erase it with care and with pain,
High bristled his hair, his heart flutter'd and beat,
Scarce pass'd he the archway, the threshold scarce trode, When the winds from the four points of heaven
were abroad, They made each steel portal to rattle and ring, And, borne on the blast, came the dread Fire
Full sore rock'd the cavern whene'er he drew nigh, The fire on the altar blazed bickering and high; In volcanic explosions the mountains proclaim The dreadful approach of the Monarch of Flame.
Unmeasured in height, undistinguish'd in form, His breath it was lightning, his voice it was storm; I ween the stout heart of Count Albert was tame, When he saw in his terrors the Monarch of Flame.
In his hand a broad falchion blue-glimmered
through smoke, And Mount Lebanon shook as the monarch he
spoke:"With this brand shalt thou conquer, thus long,
and no more, Till thou bend to the Cross, and the Virgin adore."
The cloud-shrouded Arm gives the weapon; and
see!The recreant receives the charm'd gift on his knee:The thunders growl distant, and faint gleam the fires, As, borne on the whirlwind, the phantom retires.
Count Albert has arm'd him the Paynim among, Though his heart it was false, yet his arm it was strong;
And the Red-cross wax'd faint, and the Crescent came on, From the day he commanded on Mount Lebanon.
From Lebanon's forests to Galilee's wave, The sands of Samaar drank the blood of the brave;Till the Knights of the Temple, and Knights of Saint John, With Salem's King Baldwin, against him came on.
The war-cymbals clatter'd, the trumpets replied, The lances were couch'd, and they closed on each side;And horsemen and horses Count Albert o'erthrew, Till he pierced the thick tumult King Baldwin unto.
Against the charm'd blade which Count Albert did wield, The fence had been vain of the King's Red-cross shield;But a page thrust him forward the monarch before, And cleft the proud turban the renegade wore.
So fell was the dint, that Count Albert stoop'd low Before the cross'd shield, to his steel saddlebow; And scarce had he bent to the Red-cross his head,—"Bonne grace, Notre Dame!" he unwittingly