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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391593" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Crusader's Return</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Rest pilgrim, rest!-thou'rt from the Syrian land,<br>Thou'rt from the wild and wondrous east, I know<br>By the long-withered palm-branch in thy hand,<br>And by the darkness of thy sunburnt brow.<br>Alas! the bright, the beautiful, who part,<br>So full of hope, for that far country's bourne!<br>Alas! the weary and the chang'd in heart,<br>And dimm'd in aspect, who like thee return!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou'rt faint-stay, rest thee from thy toils at last,<br>Through the high chesnuts lightly plays the breeze,<br>The stars gleam out, the Ave hour is pass'd,<br>The sailor's hymn hath died along the seas.<br>Thou 'rt faint and worn-hear'st thou the fountain welling<br>By the grey pillars of yon ruin'd shrine?<br>Seest thou the dewy grapes, before thee swelling?<br>-He that hath left me train'd that loaded vine!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He was a child when thus the bower he wove,<br>(Oh! hath a day fled since his childhood's time?)<br>That I might sit and hear the sound I love,<br>Beneath its shade-the convent's vesper-chime.<br>And sit thou there!-for he was gentle ever;<br>With his glad voice he would have welcomed thee,<br>And brought fresh fruits to cool thy parch'd lips' fever-<br>-There in his place thou 'rt resting-where is he?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If I could hear that laughing voice again,<br>But once again!-how oft it wanders by,<br>In the still hours, like some remember'd strain,<br>Troubling the heart with its wild melody!<br>-Thou hast seen much, tired pilgrim! hast thou seen<br>In that far land, the chosen land of yore,<br>A youth-my Guido-with the fiery mien,<br>And the dark eye of this Italian shore?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The dark, clear, lightning eye!-on Heaven and earth<br>It smiled-as if man were not dust-it smiled!<br>The very air seem'd kindling with his mirth,<br>And I-my heart grew young before my child!<br>My blessed child!-I had but him-yet he<br>Fill'd all my home ev'n with o'erflowing joy,<br>Sweet laughter, and wild song, and footstep free-<br>-Where is he now?-my pride, my flower, my boy!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His sunny childhood melted from my sight,<br>Like a spring dew-drop-then his forehead wore<br>A prouder look-his eye a keener light-<br>-I knew these woods might be his world no more!<br>He loved me-but he left me!-thus they go,<br>Whom we have rear'd, watch'd, bless'd, too much adored!<br>He heard the trumpet of the red-cross blow,<br>And bounded from me, with his father's sword!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou weep'st-I tremble-thou hast seen the slain<br>Pressing a bloody turf; the young and fair,<br>With their pale beauty strewing o'er the plain<br>Where hosts have met-speak! answer!-was he there?<br>Oh! hath his smile departed?-Could the grave<br>Shut o'er those bursts of bright and tameless glee?<br>-No! I shall yet behold his dark locks wave-<br>That look gives hope-I knew it could not be!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Still weep'st thou, wanderer?-some fond mother's glance<br>O'er thee too brooded in thine early years-<br>Think'st thou of her, whose gentle eye, perchance,<br>Bath'd all thy faded hair with parting tears?<br>Speak, for thy tears disturb me!-what art thou?<br>Why dost thou hide thy face, yet weeping on?<br>Look up!-oh! is it-that wan cheek and brow!-<br>Is it-alas! yet joy!-my son, my son!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Felicia+Dorothea+Hemans">Felicia Dorothea Hemans</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391593" data-title="The Crusader's Return de Felicia Dorothea Hemans" data-description="Rest pilgrim, rest!-thou'rt from the Syrian land,
Thou'rt from the wild and wondrous east, I know
By the long-withered palm-branch in thy hand,
And by the darkness of thy sunburnt brow.
Alas! the bright, the beautiful, who part,
So full of hope, f..."></div>
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