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Like a pale disastrous planet

O'er the purple tide of war

In that day of desolation,

Lady, I was captive made; Bleeding for my Christian nation By the walls of high Belgrade."

"Captive! could the brightest jewel From my turban set thee free?" "Lady, no!—the gift were cruel, Ransom'd, yet if reft of thee.

Say, fair princess! would it grieve thee
Christian climes should we behold?"-

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'Nay, bold knight! I would not leave thee Were thy ransom paid in gold!"

Now in Heaven's blue expansion
Rose the midnight star to view,
When to quit her father's mansion
Thrice she wept, and bade adieu!

"Fly we then, while none discover! Tyrant barks, in vain ye ride!"— Soon at Rhodes the British lover

Clasp'd his blooming Eastern bride.

1800.

THE BRAVE ROLAND.

THE brave Roland!—the brave Roland !—

False tidings reach'd the Rhenish strand
That he had fall'n in fight;

And thy faithful bosom swoon'd with pain,
O loveliest maid of Allémayne!

For the loss of thine own true knight.

But why so rash has she ta'en the veil,
In yon Nonnenwerder's cloisters pale?

For her vow had scarce been sworn,

And the fatal mantle o'er her flung,
When the Drachenfels to a trumpet rung-
'Twas her own dear warrior's horn!

Woe! woe! each heart shall bleed-shall break!

She would have hung upon his neck,

Had he come but yester-even!

And he had clasp'd those peerless charms,

That shall never, never fill his arms,

Or meet him but in heaven.

Yet Roland the brave-Roland the true

He could not bid that spot adieu

;

It was dear still midst his woes;

For he loved to breathe the neighbouring air, And to think she bless'd him in her prayer, When the Halleluiah rose.

There's yet one window of that pile, Which he built above the Nun's green isle; Thence sad and oft look'd he

(When the chant and organ sounded slow) On the mansion of his love below,

For herself he might not see.

She died he sought the battle-plain;
Her image fill'd his dying brain,

When he fell and wish'd to fall:

And her name was in his latest sigh,
When Roland, the flower of chivalry,
Expired at Roncevall.

1820.

THE SPECTRE BOAT.

A BALLAD.

LIGHT rued false Ferdinand to leave a lovely maid forlorn,

Who broke her heart and died to hide her blushing cheek from scorn.

One night he dreamt he woo'd her in their wonted bower of love,

Where the flowers sprang thick around them, and the birds sang sweet above.

But the scene was swiftly changed into a churchyard's dismal view,

And her lips grew black beneath his kiss, from love's delicious hue.

What more he dreamt, he told to none; but shuddering, pale, and dumb,

Look'd out upon the waves, like one that knew his hour was come.

'Twas now the dead watch of the night—the helm

was lashed a-lee,

And the ship rode where Mount Etna lights the deep Levantine sea;

When beneath its glare a boat came, row'd by a woman in her shroud,

Who, with eyes that made our blood run cold, stood up and spoke aloud :

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"Come, Traitor, down, for whom my ghost still wanders unforgiven!

Come down, false Ferdinand, for whom I broke my peace with heaven!".

It was vain to hold the victim, for he plunged to meet her call,

Like the bird that shrieks and flutters in the gazing serpent's thrall.

You may guess the boldest mariner shrunk daunted from the sight,

For the Spectre and her winding-sheet shone blue with hideous light;

Like a fiery wheel the boat spun with the waving of her hand,

And round they went, and down they went, as the cock crew from the land.

1809.

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