BALLADS.
Literary Gazette, 15th February 1823, Page 107
III. THE CRUSADER.[1]
He is come from the land of the sword and shrine,
From the sainted battles of Palestine;
The snow-plumes wave o'er his victor crest,
Like a glory the red cross hangs at his breast.
His courser is black as black can be,
Save the brow star white as the foam of the sea,
And he wears a scarf of 'broidery rare,
The last love-gift of his lady fair:
It bore for device a cross and a dove,
And the words, "I am vowed to my God and my love!"
He comes not back the same that he went,
For his sword has been tried, and his strength has been spent;
His golden hair has a deeper brown,
And his brow has caught a darker frown,
And his lip hath lost its boyish red,
And the shade of the South o'er his cheek is spread;
But stately his step, and his bearing high,
And wild the light of his fiery eye;
And proud in the lists were the maiden bright
Who might claim the Knight of the Cross for her knight.
But he rides for the home he has pined to see
In the court, in the camp, in captivity.
He reached the castle,—the gate was thrown
- ↑ This poem appears in The Improvisatrice and Other Poems (1824)
