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The green reed trembles, and the bulrush nods.
Waste sandy valleys, once perplexed with thorn,
The spiry fir and shapely box adorn :
To leafless shrubs the flowering palms succeed,
And odorous myrtle to the noisome weed.
The lambs with wolves shall graze the verdant mead,
And boys in flowery bands the tiger lead;
The steer and lion at one crib shall meet,
And harmless serpents lick the pilgrim's feet.
The smiling infant in his hand shall take
The crested basilisk and speckled snake,
Pleased the green lustre of the scales survey,
And with their forky tongue shall innocently play.
Rise, crowned with light, imperial Salem, rise !
Exalt thy towery head, and lift thy eyes !
See, a long race thy spacious courts adorn;
See future sons, and daughters yet unborn,
In crowding ranks on every side arise,
Demanding life, impatient for the skies !
See barbarous nations at thy gates attend,
Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend;
See thy bright altars thronged with prostrate kings
And heaped with products of Sabæan springs !
For thee Idume's spicy forests blow,
And seeds of gold in Ophir’s mountains glow.
See heaven its sparkling portals wide display,
And break upon thee in a flood of day!
No more the rising sun shall gild the morn,
Nor evening Cynthia fill her silver horn;
But lost, dissolved in thy superior rays,
One tide of glory, one unclouded blazę

O’erflow thy courts : the Light himself shall shine
Revealed, and God's eternal day be thine !
The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke decay,
Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away;
But fixed his word, his saving power remains;
Thy realm forever lasts, thy own Messiah reigns !

Alexander Pope,

THE CRUSADE.

BOUND for holy Palestine,

Nimbly we brushed the level brine,
All in azure steel arrayed ;
O'er the wave our weapons played,
And made the dancing billows glow;
High upon the trophied prow,
Many a warrior-minstrel swung
His sounding harp, and boldly sung:

“Syrian virgins, wail and weep,
English Richard ploughs the deep!
Tremble, watchmen, as ye spy
From distant towers, with anxious eye,
The radiant range of shield and lance
Down Damascus' hills advance;
From Sion's turrets, as afar
Ye ken the march of Europe's war!
Saladin, thou paynim king,
From Albion's isle revenge we bring !
On Acon's spiry citadel,
Though to the gale thy banners swell,

Pictured 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 lyre with glowing hand.
Cyprus, from her rocky mound,
And Crete, with piny verdure crowned,
Far along the smiling main
Echoed the prophetic strain.

Soon we kissed the sacred earth
That gave a murdered Saviour birth!
Then with ardor fresh endued,
Thus the solemn song renewed :

“Lo, the toilsome voyage past,
Heaven's favored hills appear at last!
Object of our holy vow,
We tread the Tyrian valleys now.
From Carmel's almond-shaded steep
We feel the cheering fragrance creep:
O’er Engaddi's shrubs of balmy
Waves the date-empurpled palm;
See Lebanon's aspiring head
Wide his immortal umbrage spread !
Hail Calvary, thou mountain hoar,
Wet with our Redeemer's gore !
Ye trampled tombs, ye fanes forlorn,

Yė stones, by tears of pilgrims worn; Your ravished honors 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 quenched thy lamps that beamed 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 thy 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 hushed the buzzing camp, Amid the moonlight vapors damp, Thy necromantic forms, in vain, Haunt us on the tented plain : We bid those spectre-shapes avaunt, Ashtaroth and Termagaunt ! With many a demon, pale of hue, Doomed 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 ancient majesty
Arise, and lift thee to the sky!
Soon on the battlements divine
Shall wave the badge of Constantine.
Ye barons to the sun unfold
Our cross, with crimson wove and gold !”

Thomas Warton.

ON JORDAN'S BANKS,

ON

N Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray,

On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray, The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steep; Yet there, even there, O God! thy thunders sleep:

There, where thy finger scorched the tablet stone;
There, where thy shadow to thy people shone !
Thy glory shrouded in its garb of fire :
Thyself none living see, and not expire !

0, in the lightning let thy glance appear;
Sweep from his shivered hand the oppressor's spear:
How long by tyrants shall thy land be trod !
How long thy temple worshipless, O God!

Lord Byron.

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