O, ye loud waves, and O, ye forests high,
And O, ye clouds that far above me soar'd!
Thou rising sun, thou blue rejoicing sky!

Yea, every thing that is and will be free! Bear witness for me, wheresoe'er ye be, With what deep worship I have still adored The spirit of divinest Liberty.

When France in wrath her giant limbs uprear'd, And, with that oath which smote air, earth,

and sea,

[free, Stamp'd her strong foot and said, she would be Bear witness for me, how I hoped and fear'd! With what a joy my lofty gratulation

Unawed I sang, amid a slavish band:
And when to whelm the disenchanted nation,
Like fiends embattled by a wizard's wand,
The monarchs march'd in evil day,

And Britain join'd the dire array;

Though dear her shores and circling ocean, Though many friendships, many youthful loves Had swoln the patriot emotion,

And flung a magic light o'er all her hills and groves; Yet still my voice unalter'd sang defeat

To all that braved the tyrant-quelling lance, And shame too long delay'd, and vain retreat! For ne'er, O Liberty! with partial aim I dimm'd thy light, or damp'd thy holy flame;

But bless'd the pæans of deliver'd France, And hung my head, and wept at Britain's name!

And what,' I said, though Blasphemy's loud

scream

With that sweet music of deliverance strove?

VOL. III.

D

Though all the fierce and drunken passions wove A dance more wild than ever maniac's dream? Ye storms, that round the dawning east assembled,

trembled,

The sun was rising, though ye hid his light!?
And when to soothe my soul, that hoped and
[bright;
The dissonance ceased, and all seem'd calm and
When France, her front deep scarr'd and gory,
Conceal'd with clustering wreaths of glory;
When insupportably advancing,

Her arm made mockery of the warrior's ramp,
While, timid looks of fury glancing,

Domestic treason, crush'd beneath her fatal stamp,
Writhed like a wounded dragon in his gore;

Then I reproach'd my fears that would not flee; 'And soon,' I said, 'shall Wisdom teach her lore In the low huts of them that toil and groan! And, conquering by her happiness alone,

Shall France compel the nations to be free, Till Love and Joy look round, and call the earth their own!'

Forgive me, Freedom! O, forgive those dreams!
I hear thy voice, I hear thy loud lament,
From bleak Helvetia's icy caverns sent-
I hear thy groans upon her blood-stain'd streams!
Heroes, that for your peaceful country perish'd;
And ye that, fleeing, spot the mountain snows
With bleeding wounds; forgive me, that I
cherish'd

One thought that ever bless'd your cruel foes!
To scatter rage and traitorous guilt

Where Peace her jealous home had built,

A patriot race to disinherit

Of all that made their stormy wilds so dear,
And with inexpiable spirit

[taineer!— To taint the bloodless freedom of the mounO France! that mockest Heaven, adulterous, blind, And patriot only in pernicious toils!

Are these thy boasts, champion of humankind: To mix with kings in the low lust of sway, Yell in the hunt, and share the murderous prey; To' insult the shrine of liberty with spoils

From freemen torn; to tempt and to betray!

The sensual and the dark rebel in vain,

Slaves by their own compulsion! In mad game They burst their manacles, and wear the name Of Freedom graven on a heavier chain!

O Liberty! with profitless endeavour Have I pursued thee many a weary hour:

But thou nor swell'st the victor's strain, nor ever Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human power. Alike from all, howe'er they praise thee (Nor prayer nor boastful name delays thee), Alike from Priestcraft's harpy minions,

And factious Blasphemy's obscener slaves, Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions, [waves! The guide of homeless winds and playmate of the And there I felt thee-on that seacliff's verge

Whose pines,scarce travel'd by the breeze above, Had made one murmur with the distant surge! Yes! while I stood and gazed, my temples bare, And shot my being through earth, sea, and air,

Possessing all things with intensest love, O Liberty, my spirit felt thee there!

COLERIDGE.

THE CRUSADE.

King Richard the First, celebrated for his achievements in the Crusades, was no less distinguished for his patronage of the Provencial minstrels, and his own compositions in their species of poetry. Returning from one of his expeditions in the Holy Land, in disguise, he was imprisoned in a castle of Leopold Duke of Austria. His favourite minstrel, Blondel de Nesle, having traversed all Germany in search of his master, at length came to a castle, in which he found there was only one prisoner, and whose name was unknown. Suspecting that he had made the desired discovery, he seated himself under a window of the prisoner's apartment, and began a song, or ode, which the king and himself had formerly composed together. When the prisoner, who was King Richard, heard the song, he knew that Blondel must be the singer; and when Blondel paused about the middle, the king began the remainder and completed it. The fol lowing Ode is supposed to be this joint composition of the Minstrel and King Richard.

W.

BOUND for holy Palestine,

Nimbly we brush'd the level brine,
All in azure steel array'd;

O'er the wave our weapons play'd,
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 wire with glowing hand.
Cyprus, from her rocky mound,
And Crete, with piny verdure crown'd,
Far along the smiling main

Echoed the prophetic strain.

Soon we kiss'd the sacred earth
That gave a murder'd Saviour birth;
Then, with ardour fresh endued,
Thus the solemn song renew'd.

'Lo, the toilsome voyage pass'd,
Heaven's favour'd 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 balm
Waves the date-empurpled palm,

* A city and fortress of Syria, now called St. John d'Acre.