Let such a sense of Thee, Thy watching presence, Thy sustaining love, A heavenly light serene Upon his heart and mien May sit undimm'd! a gladness rest his own, So let him walk with Thee, Made by Thy Spirit free; And when Thou call'st him from his mortal place, To his last hour be still that sweetness given, That joyful trust! and brightly let him part, With lamp clear burning, and unlingering heart, Mature to meet in heaven His Saviour's face! MARGUERITE OF FRANCE.* "Thou falcon-hearted dove !"-COLERIDGE. THE Moslem spears were gleaming Round Damietta's towers, Though a Christian banner from her wall * Waved free its lily-flowers. Queen of St. Louis. Whilst besieged by the Turks in Damietta, during the captivity of the King, her husband, she there gave birth to a son, whom she named Tristan, in commemoration of her misfortunes. Information being conveyed to her that the Knights entrusted with the defence of the city had resolved on capitulation, she had them summoned to her apartment, and, by her heroic words, so wrought upon their spirits, that they vowed to defend her and the Cross to the last extremity. Ay, proudly did that banner wave, As queen of earth and air; But faint hearts throbb'd beneath its folds In anguish and despair. Deep, deep in Paynim dungeon Their kingly chieftain lay, And low on many an Eastern field 'Twas mournful, when at feasts they met, And mournful was their vigil And dark their slumber, dark with dreams Of slow defeat and fall. Yet a few hearts of chivalry Rose high to breast the storm; And one-of all the loftiest there-Thrill'd in a woman's form. A woman meekly bending O'er the slumber of her child O! roughly cradled was thy babe, 'Midst the clash of spear and lance, And a strange wild bower was thine, young Queen! A dark and vaulted chamber, Deep in the Saracenic gloom And there 'midst arms the couch was spread, For the bright Queen of St. Louis, But the deep strength of the gentle heart Her lord was in the Paynim's hold, His soul with grief oppress'd, Yet calmly lay the desolate, With her young babe on her breast! There were voices in the city, Voices of wrath and fear: "The walls grow weak, the strife is vain, Yield yield and let the Crescent gleam They bore those fearful tidings To the sad Queen where she lay ; They told a tale of wavering hearts, Of treason and dismay : The blood rush'd through her pearly cheek, The sparkle to her eye,— "Now call me hither those recreant knights, From the bands of Italy !"* *The French historians attribute the proposal to capi tulate to the Knights of Pisa. Then through the vaulted chambers Stern iron footsteps rang; They stood around her-steel-clad men, But they quail'd before the loftier soul Yes-as before the Falcon shrinks So shrank they from the' imperial glance And her flute-like voice rose clear and high, Sweet, and yet stirring to the soul, As a silver clarion's sound. "The honour of the Lily Is in your hands to keep; And the banner of the Cross, for Him And the city which for Christian prayer Hath heard the holy bell: And is it these your hearts would yield To the godless Infidel ? "Then bring me here a breastplate, And a helm, before ye fly, And I will gird my woman's form, And on the ramparts die! And the boy whom I have borne for woe, But never for disgrace, Shall go within my arms to death Meet for his royal race. "Look on him as he slumbers In the shadow of the lance ! To perish undefiled, A woman and a Queen, to guard Before her words they thrill'd like leaves, And a deepening murmur told of men And her babe awoke to flashing swords, As they gather'd round the helpless one, "We are thy warriors, lady! True to the Cross and thee ! The spirit of thy kindling words St. Dennis for the Lily-flower, And the Christian citadel!" HENRY FRANCIS LYTE. Born, 1793; Died, 1847. ABIDE WITH ME! ABIDE with me! fast falls the eventide ; |