It hath swell'd o'er Judah’s mountains lone,
Hermon thy echos have learn'd its tone;
On the Great Plain3[1] its notes have rung,
The leagued Crusaders' tents among;
'Twas loved by the Lion-heart, who won
The palm in the field of Ascalon;
And now afar o'er the rocks of Rhine
Peals the bold strain of Palestine.
THE TROUBADOUR'S SONG.
"Thine hour is come, and the stake is set,"
The Soldan cried to the captive knight,
"And the sons of the Prophet in throngs are met
To gaze on the fearful sight.
"But be our faith by thy lips profess'd,
The faith of Mecca's shrine,
Cast down the red-cross that marks thy vest,
And life shall yet be thine."
"I have seen the flow of my bosom's blood,
And gazed with undaunted eye;
I have borne the bright cross through fire and flood,
And think'st thou I fear to die?
