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النشر الإلكتروني

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,
Ye stones, by tears of pilgrims worn;
Your ravish'd honours 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 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,
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 hush'd the buzzing camp,
Amid the moonlight vapours damp,

*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
Haunt us on the tented plain:
We bid those spectre shapes avaunt,
Ashtaroth and Termagaunt;

With many a demon, pale of hue,
Doom'd 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 holy courage quell.
'Salem, in ancient majesty
Arise, and lift thee to the sky!
Soon on thy battlements divine

Shall wave the badge of Constantine.

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:

Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

Britannia needs no bulwark,
No towers along the steep;

Her march is on the mountain waves,
Her home is on the deep.

With thunders from her native oak

She quells the floods below

As they roar on the shore,

When the stormy tempests blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn,

Till danger's troubled night depart,

And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye Ocean Warriors!
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,

When the storm has ceased to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.

CAMPBELL.

THE GRAVE OF KING ARTHUR.

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King Henry the Second, having undertaken an expedition into Ireland, to suppress a rebellion raised by Roderick, King of Connaught, commonly called O'Connor Dun, or the brown Monarch of Ireland,' was entertained, in his passage through Wales, with the songs of the Welsh bards. The subject of their poetry was King Arthur, whose history had been so disguised by fabulous inventions that the place of his burial was in general scarcely known or remembered. But in one of these Welsh poems, sung before Henry, it was recited, that King Arthur, after the battle of Camilan, in Cornwall, was interred at Glastonbury Abbey, before the high altar, yet without any external mark or memorial. Afterwards Henry visited the abbey, and commanded the spot described by the bard to be opened: when, digging near twenty feet deep, they found the body, deposited under a large stone, inscribed with Arthur's name. This is the groundwork of the following Ode: but, for the better accommodation of the story to our present purpose, it is told with some slight variations from the Chronicle of Glastonbury. The castle of Cilgarran, where this discovery is supposed to have been made, now a romantic ruin, stands on a rock descending to the river Teivi, in Pembrokeshire; and was built by Roger Montgomery, who led the van of the Normans at Hastings.

STATELY the feast, and high the cheer;
Girt with many an armed peer,
And canopied with golden pall,
Amid Cilgarran's castle hall,
Sublime, in formidable state

And warlike splendour, Henry sat;
Prepared to stain the briny flood
Of Shannon's lakes with rebel blood.
Illumining the vaulted roof,

A thousand torches flamed aloof:
From massy cups, with golden gleam,
Sparkled the red metheglin's stream:

VOL. III.

E

W.

To grace the gorgeous festival,
Along the lofty window'd hall,
The storied tapestry was hung:
With minstrelsy the rafter rung
Of harps that with reflected light
From the proud gallery glitter'd bright:
While gifted bards, a rival throng
(From distant Mona, nurse of song,
From Teivi, fringed with umbrage brown,
From Elvy's vale, and Cader's crown,
From many a shaggy precipice
That shades Ierne's hoarse abyss,
And many a sunless solitude

Of Radnor's inmost mountains rude),
To crown the banquet's solemn close,
Themes of British glory chose;
And to the strings of various chime
Attemper'd thus the fabling rhyme-
'O'er Cornwall's cliffs the tempest roar'd,
High the screaming seamew soar'd;
On Tintaggel's* topmost tower
Darksome fell the sleety shower;
Round the rough castle shrilly sung
The whirling blast, and wildly flung
On each tall rampart's thundering side
The surges of the tumbling tide;

When Arthur ranged his red-cross ranks
On conscious Camlan's crimson'd banks;
By Mordred's faithless guile decreed
Beneath a Saxon spear to bleed!

* Tintaggel or Tintadgel Castle, where King Arthur is said to have been born, and to have chiefly resided. Some of its huge fragments still remain, on a rocky peninsular cape, of a prodigious declivity towards the sea, and almost inaccessible from the land side, on the northern coasts of Cornwall.

W.

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