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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391660" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Troubadour And Richard Coeur De Lion</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Troubadour o'er many a plain<br>Hath roamed unwearied, but in vain.<br>O'er many a rugged mountain-scene <br>And forest wild his track hath been;<br>Beneath Calabria's glowing sky <br>He hath sung the songs of chivalry;<br>His voice hath swelled on the Alpine breeze,<br>And wrung through the snowy Pyrenees; <br>From Ebro's banks to Danube's wave,<br>He hath sought his prince, the loved, the brave;<br>And yet, if still on earth thou art,<br>Oh, monarch of the lion-heart! <br>The faithful spirit, which distress<br>But heightens to devotedness,<br>By toil and trial vanquished not, <br>Shall guide thy minstrel to the spot. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He hath reached a mountain hung with vine,<br>And woods that wave o'er the lovely Rhine:<br>The feudal towers that crest its height<br>Frown in unconquerable might;<br>Dark is their aspect of sullen state - <br>No helmet hangs o'er the massy gate<br>To bid the wearied pilgrim rest,<br>At the chieftain's board a welcome guest;<br>Vainly rich evening's parting smile<br>Would chase the gloom of the haughty pile, <br>That 'midst bright sunshine lowers on high,<br>Like a thunder-cloud in a summer sky. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not these the halls where a child of song <br>Awhile may speed the hours along;<br>Their echoes should repeat alone<br>The tyrant's mandate, the prisoner's moan,<br>Or the wild huntsman's bugle-blast,<br>When his phantom-train are hurrying past.<br>The weary minstrel paused - his eye<br>Roved o'er the scene despondingly:<br>Within the lengthening shadow, cast<br>By the fortress-towers and ramparts vast,<br>Lingering he gazed. The rocks around<br>Sublime in savage grandeur frowned;<br>Proud guardians of the regal flood,<br>In giant strength the mountains stood -<br>By torrents cleft, by tempests riven, <br>Yet mingling still with the calm blue heaven.<br>Their peaks were bright with a sunny glow,<br>But the Rhine all shadowy rolled below; <br>In purple tints the vineyards smiled, <br>But the woods beyond waved dark and wild<br>Nor pastoral pipe, nor convent's bell,<br>Was heard on the sighing breeze to swell;<br>But all was lonely, silent, rude,<br>A stern, yet glorious solitude.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But hark! that solemn stillness breaking, <br>The Troubadour's wild song is waking. <br>Full oft that song, in days gone by, <br>Hath cheered the sons of chivalry;<br>It hath swelled o'er Judah's mountains lone,<br>Hermon! thy echoes have learned its tone;<br>On the Great Plain its notes have rung,<br>The leagued Crusaders' tents among; <br>'Twas loved by the Lion-heart, who won<br>The palm in the field of Ascalon;<br>And now afar o'er the rocks of Rhine<br>Peals the bold strain of Palestine.<br>____</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Troubadour's Song<br>'Thine hour is come, and the stake is set,'<br>The Soldan cried to the captive knight,<br>'And the sons of the Prophet in throngs are met<br>To gaze on the fearful sight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'But be our faith by thy lips professed,<br>The faith of Mecca's shrine, <br>Cast down the red-cross that marks thy vest,<br>And life shall yet be thine.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I have seen the flow of my bosom's blood,<br>And gazed with undaunted eye;<br>I have borne the bright cross through fire and flood <br>And think'st thou I fear to die?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I have stood where thousands, by Salem's towers,<br>Have fallen for the name Divine; <br>And the faith that cheered <br>their<br>closing hours<br>Shall be the light of mine.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Thus wilt thou die in the pride of health,<br>And the glow of youth's fresh bloom?<br>Thou art offered life, and pomp, and wealth,<br>Or torture and the tomb.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I have been where the crown of thorns was twined <br>For a dying Saviour's brow;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He<br>spurned the treasures that lure mankind, <br>And I reject them now!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Art thou the son of a noble line<br>In a land that is fair and blest?<br>And doth not thy spirit, proud captive! pine, <br>Again on its shores to rest?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Thine own is the choice to hail once more<br>The soil of thy father's birth,<br>Or to sleep, when thy lingering pangs are o'er<br>Forgotten in foreign earth.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Oh! fair are the vine-clad hills that rise<br>In the country of my love;<br>But yet, though cloudless my native skies,<br>There's a brighter clime above!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The bard hath paused - for another tone<br>Blends with the music of his own;<br>And his heart beats high with hope again, <br>As a well-known voice prolongs the strain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Are there none within thy father's hall,<br>Far o'er the wide blue main,<br>Young Christian! left to deplore thy fall<br>With sorrow deep and vain?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'There are hearts that still, through all the past,<br>Unchanging have loved me well;<br>There are eyes whose tears were streaming fast<br>When I bade my home farewell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Better they wept o'er the warrior's bier<br>Than the apostate's living stain;<br>There's a land where those who loved when here,<br>Shall meet to love again.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tis he! thy prince - long sought, long lost,<br>The leader of the red-cross host!<br>'Tis he! to none thy joy betray,<br>Young Troubadour! away, away!<br>Away to the island of the brave,<br>The gem on the bosom of the wave;<br>Arouse the sons of the noble soil,<br>To win their Lion from the toil;<br>And free the wassail-cup shall flow, <br>Bright in each hall the hearth shall glow; <br>The festal board shall be richly crowned,<br>While knights and chieftains revel round,<br>And a thousand harps with joy shall ring, <br>When merry England hails her king.</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=391660" data-title="The Troubadour And Richard Coeur De Lion de Felicia Dorothea Hemans" data-description="The Troubadour o'er many a plain
Hath roamed unwearied, but in vain.
O'er many a rugged mountain-scene 
And forest wild his track hath been;
Beneath Calabria's glowing sky 
He hath sung the songs of chivalry;
His voice hath swelled on the Alpine b..."></div>
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