The war-cymbals clatter'd, the trumpets replied,
The lances were couch'd, and they closed on each side;
And horsemen and horses Count Albert o'erthrew,
Till he pierced the thick tumult King Baldwin unto.

Against the charm'd blade which Count Albert did wield, The fence had been vain of the King's Red-cross shield; thrust him forward the monarch before,

But a page
And cleft the proud turban the renegade wore.

So fell was the dint, that Count Albert stoop'd low
Before the cross'd shield, to his steel saddle-bow;
And scarce had he bent to the Red-cross his head-
-"Bonne
grace, notre Dame,”—he unwittingly said.

It

Sore sigh'd the charm'd sword, for its virtue was o'er,
sprung from his grasp, and was never seen more;
But true men have said, that the lightning's red wing
Did waft back the brand to the dread Fire-King.

He clench'd his set teeth, and his gauntletted hand,
He stretch'd with one buffet that
page on the strand;
As back from the strippling the broken casque roll'd,
You might see the blue eyes, and the ringlets of gold!

Short time had Count Albert in horror to stare

On those death-swimming eye-balls and blood-clotted hair,
For down came the Templars, like Cedron in flood,
And dyed their long lances in Saracen blood.

The Saracens, Curdmans, and Ishmaelites yield
To the scallop, the saltier, and crosletted shield,
And the eagles were gorged with the infidel dead
From Bethsaida's fountains to Naphthali's head.

The battle is over on Bethsaida's plain—

Oh! who is yon Paynim lies stretch'd mid the slain?
And who is yon page lying cold at his knee?
Oh! who but Count Albert and fair Rosalie.

The lady was buried in Salem's bless'd bound,
The Count he was left to the vulture and hound;
Her soul to high mercy our Lady did bring,
His went on the blast to the dread Fire-King.

Yet many a minstrel in harping can tell

How the Red-Cross it conquer'd, the Crescent it fell;
And lords and gay ladies have sigh'd, mid their glee,
At the Tale of Count Albert and fair Rosalie.

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No. XIII.

THE CLOUD-KING.

ADJECTIVES HAVE BUT THREE DEGREES OF COMPARISON,
THE POSITIVE, COMPARATIVE, AND SUPERLATIVE."

English Grammar.

ORIGINAL.

-M. G. LEWIS.

WHY how now, Sir Pilgrim? why shake you with dread?
Why brave
you the winds of night, cutting and cold?
Full warm was your chamber, full soft was your bed,
And scarce by the castle-bell twelve has been toll'd.

-"Oh! hear you not, Warder, with anxious dismay, "How rages the tempest, how patters the rain? "While loud howls the whirlwind, and threatens, ere day, "To strow these old turrets in heaps on the plain!"

Now calm thee, Sir Pilgrim! thy fears to remove,
Know, yearly, this morning is destin'd to bring
Such storms, which declare that resentment and love
gnaw the proud heart of the cruel Cloud-King.

Still

One morning, as borne on the wings of the blast,
The fiend over Denmark directed his flight,
A glance upon Rosenhall's turrets he cast,
And gazed on its lady with wanton delight:

Yet proud was her and her cheek flush'd with rage,

eye,

Her lips with disdain and reproaches were fraught;
And lo! at her feet knelt a lovely young page,
And thus in soft accents compassion besought.

-"Oh drive not, dear beauty, a wretch to despair,
"Whose fault is so venial, a fault if it be ;
"For who could have eyes, and not see thou art fair?
“Or who have an heart, and not give it to thee?

"I own I adore you! I own you have been

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Long the dream of my night, long the thought of my day; "But no hope had my heart that its idolized queen

"Would ever with passion my passion repay.

"When insects delight in the blaze of the sun,

They harbour no wish in his glory to share: "When kneels at the cross of her Saviour, the nun,

"He scorns not the praises she breathes in her prayer.

"When the pilgrim repairs to St. Hermegild's shrine,

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And claims of her relics a kiss as his fee,

"His passion is humble, is pure, is divine,

"And such is the passion I cherish for thee!"

-"Rash youth! how presumest thou with insolent love," Thus answered the lady, " her ears to profane, "Whom the monarchs of Norway and Jutland, to move "Their passion to pity attempted in vain ?

Fly, fly from my sight, to some far distant land! "That wretch must not breathe, where Romilda resides, "Whose lips, while she slept, stole a kiss from that hand, "No mortal is worthy to press as a bride's.

"Nor e'er will I wed till some prince of the air,
"His heart at the throne of my beauty shall lay,

"And the two first commands which I give him, shall swear,

(Though hard should the task be enjoin'd) to obey."

She said. Straight the castle of Rosenhall rocks

With an earthquake, and thunders announce the Cloud-King. A crown of red lightnings confined his fair locks,

And high o'er each arm waved an huge sable wing.