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The Magic Casque.

A METRICAL LEGEND.

For the Olio By T. F.

THE shades of night began to fall
Round Maro's ivied castle wall,
The drowsy beetle 'gan to croon
His eirel on the breeze o' June,
And stars from out their cerule cells
Peep'd down on flow'rets dewlit bells,
As glittering in a suit of mail

A warrior gallop'd through the vale:
His falcon eye of sparkling blue,
His clustering locks of raven hue,
The ruddy cheek, the scarless brow,
A visage unalloy'd with woe,
Proclaim'd him yet of tender age,
A novice in life's pilgrimage:
A red plume o'er his helmet stream'd,
A radiant tress beneath it gleam'd,
A little amulet, whose power

More potent far than wizard's spell,
Could cheer the gloom of Fortune's hour,
And Sorrow's baleful influence quell.
On spurr'd the gallant youth amain
O'er darksome glen and moonlit plain,
And often as he rode along

Would on his memory dawn a theme,
Now bursting from his lips in song,
While flash'd his high soul thro' his eyne,
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Reechoing from each silent dell,

"Twas thus the love-fraught cadence fell:

THE KNIGHT'S SONG.

Be thou cruel, Fate, or kind,
Be thou changeful as the wind,
Hurt me where perpetual gloom,
Enshrouds the world in night's drear noon,
Unheard of perils yet design,
And be those direful perils mine;
Such woes I'd gladly, gaily meet,
To gain at length my lady's feet!
How sweetly o'er yon rising ground,
The pale moon heaves her ample round!
Perchance, fair orb, my bosom's queen
Now gazes on thy same pure beam,
And fondly supplicates thy power
To guide her warrior to her bower:
But may I lose thy cheering light,

And all the guiding powers above-
May deryeless fall mine arm in fight
If ere I wrong my lady love.

Now Maro's towers the Knight espies,
Ascending proudly to the skies;
The keep high frowning 'bove the rest,
With banner waving o'er its crest;
The stately spires and portals wide
Proclaim the chieftain's feudal pride;
Sir Conrade blew till vale and plain
Return'd his lusty bugle-strain;
Nor had the youth much time to wait,
Soon open sprung the pond'rous gate,
And straight the Knight was usher'd in
To join the mirth and wassailing.

120

"Thrice welcome, stranger," Maro cried,
And placed the warrior at his side.
"By heaven, Sir Knight, that dazzling tress
Proclaims thy lady's loveliness !
Yet, be she beauteous as the night,
In all its starry gear bedight,
And pure as is thy maiden shield,
She must to Maro's daughter yield."

"To none," Sir Conrade quick replied, With lowering brow and glance of pride; "A fairer maid than she I ween

Your mountain island ne'er hath seen."
"Enough then, morning dawn shall prove
Thy loyal bearing to thy love."

Now had the reign of darkness ceased,
And morning glimmering in the east,
Show'd to our Knight the castle land,
Deck'd o'er with many a glittering band
Of noble, lord and lady bright,
Advancing toward the coming fight;
And forthwith from the archway came
Of knights and dames a goodly train;
But soaring far beyond the rest,
In smiles of artless beauty drest,
Beside her bearded sire was seen
The peerless lady Geraldine!
Her gentle aspect, full and bright,
Shone sweet as Indian star-lit night;
Her locks adown her shoulders roll'd
In clustering wreaths of gleaming gold,
And branching o'er her forehead pale
Danced lightly in the autumn gafe.

Our Knight beheld-" By heaven!" he cried, "I would, sweet maid, thou wert my bride." Now, hark, the trumpet's clamorous sound

Rings loudly o'er the tented ground;
And now with proud, exulting glance,
The fiery combatants advance:
Again the stirring trumpets sound,

The hot steed champs, and paws the ground;
The busy hum of voices yield,
And terror marches o'er the field.

Begirt in steel of Milan mould,
Emblazon'd o'er with flowers of gold,
And throned upon a fiery steed
The chieftain sprung with lightning speed
To meet the Knight, who onward came
With force and fury nigh the same.
They met the wild tremendous clang
For several moments echoing rang;
Yet each, despite the stunning shock,
Stood firm as stands the ocean rock,
When thunders roll and lightnings flash,
And waves around it foam and dash;
No hurt on either side was given,
Except that Maro's lance had riven
The helmet of his foe in twain,
Which fell in shivers on the plain.
Just at this juncture, from the throng
A muffled figure sped along;
Beside the Knight he took his stand,
And thus quoth he in accents bland-
"Mark me, Sir Knight, I can bestow
A casque, whereon the deadly blow
Of mace or brand would fall as light
As falls on flowers the dews of night,
'Tis thine-salute this cross, and swear
None save thyself the boon shall wear;
Nor let its gleaming round entwine
The brow 'twill grace less fair than thine."

This sald, he from his mantle fold
Produced a casque of radiant gold.
Its crest a hissing dragon seem'd.
And, strange to say, beneath it gleam'd
The auburn tress his lady gave
The morn he cross'd the ocean wave.
Now loud again the trumpets sound,
And to the fray the warriors bound:
The chief hath pierced his foeman's shield,
And stretch'd him senseless on the field.

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It chanced long since, one summer night,
When donn'd the skies their robe of light,
And gales, on dewy pinions driven,
Swept mildly through the arch of heaven,
A solitary Knight was seen

Spur slowly o'er the spangled green:
His brow was pale, his eye was dim,
And scarce, alas! bis faltering limb
Its weight of armour could sustain,
It seem'd a work of toil and pain.
He halted by a crystal stream,
Whose waves return'd in vivid gleam
Each beetling crag and mountain zone,
In wild confusion round it thrown.
Anon the stranger from his head
Unclasp'd his burgonet and said-
"Author of ill, thou subtle snare.
Thou baleful glitter, seeming fair!
Thou index to my deep disgrace,
Reflected in thy dazzling face!
No more my tortured brow shall burn
Within thy molten round-return
To he who form'd thy mystic urn "
With that his glittering helm he threw,
And meteor like it flaming flew,
When, sudden as the lightning's gleam,
It shot beneath the rippling stream.
The wanderer now leapt from his steed,
And sought the rest he stood in need;
Nor sought in vain-with stealthy pace
Came Morpheus with his leaden mace;
Soon calmer grew his labouring breast,
And woes and pains were charmed to rest.

Now had the early hunter's horn
Awoke the dew-besprinkled morn,
The lark his matins sung on high,
Sweet breezes swept the hazy sky
The moor.cock breasting hill and fell,
The throstle chirping in the dell,
The bittern his reveille beating,
And springlets wild each other greeting ;
Commingled with the sonorous din
Of foaming floods in loch and linn;
Of deep-mouth'd hounds incessant baying,
And hunters' shout 'mid greenwood straying;
Awoke our soundly sleeping Knight,
Whose features now were bland and bright:
The gloom had left his manly brow
For light wing'd Pleasure's ruby glow
But, reader, mark-on gazing round,
Conceive poor Conrade's wild dismay,
Before him on the dewy ground
The mystic golden helmet lay.
Long time he stood in absent mood,
Half doubting what he madly view'd,
When suddenly a bugle-strain
Dispell'd the links of terror's chain.
He gazed and straight beheld afar
A comrade of the recent war,
Where first he'd flesh'd his maiden spear
And drench'd in blood his battle gear:
Anon they met, close side by side,-
How's this?" the warlike stranger cried
that garb I know full well

"By Heaven,

Was worn

by

Conrade Arlingvhel;
Behold him here, am I not he?"
False slave, my friend's unlike to thee
As is the raven to the dove;
But come, thy insolent vaunting prove,

Prepare, or else by book and bell
I'll speed thy recreant soul to hell!"
In vain to speak Sir Conrade tried,
The other all he urged denied ;
They met the stern, terrific din
Was thunder'd back from loch and linn:
Sir Coprade's well directed spear
Met Herman in his mad career,

Pierced through his shield with desperate force,

And burl'd him lifeless from his horse.

To England now we shift the scene,
Where, girted round with hills of green,
Stood Aymer Castle vast aud grim,
High towering from a rugged rim
Of crags in autumn verdure crown'd,
Which o'er the sparkling Severn frown'd,
'Twas eve, the darkly glowing sun
Had sunk below the horizon,
When o'er the slightly frozen plain
A rider spurr'd with might and main;
Anon his bugle loudly rang,

And downward fell with thundering clang
The castle bridge, the gates were flung
Wide ope, and in the horseman sprung.

The broken revels now restor'd,
Joy circled round the banquet board;
In blandest smiles each face was dress'd,
To welcome home the stranger guest:
The minstrel swept his sounding lyre,
While roll'd his eyes like orbs of fire,
As on each stirring feat he dwelt;
Full well be knew the theme to melt
Each heart, though cased in triple mall,
And make the stoutest bosom quail.
But, hark a sound of dire dismay
Hath drown'd the minstrel's ardent lay.
'Tis changed,-and now a joyous shout
Bursts from the congregated rout;
They part, and to the view reveal
The form of Conrade Arlingvhel,

His arms enclasp'd a lovelier maid
Than poet's pen hath yet portray'd'!
One moment on her ivory brow
Appear'd a casque of golden glow;
But transitory was its stay,
It faded unperceived away.
The spell was broke-its golden round
A fairer brow had never bound;
And forthwith from that moment fell
The woes of Conrade Arlingvhel.

THE CRUSADES.

No age of the world ever presented such a spectacle as did France for some months after the Council of Clermont. Everywhere were to be heard the sermons of the clergy, exhorting the people to take the cross; all who hesitated to do so, from whatever motive, were branded as infidels and traitors; wives stimulated their husbands to abandon their families and their homes; for this cause the monk deserted his cell, the priest his church, the artisan left his workshop, the peasant his fields; women put on the dress of men to share in the glory and the gain. A ruddy cross on the right shoulder designated the wearer as a warrior in the sacred cause. The Crossed (Croises) as they were named, poured from all quarters to the appointed place of rendez

vous; with the arrival of spring some came down the rivers in boats, some on foot, some on horseback. Here might be seen a peasant with his wife and children and household goods, in a cart drawn by oxen shod with iron, the children crying out at the sight of every town or castle, Is that Jerusalem? Is that Jerusalem? There a knight with hawk and hound prepared to take the pleasures of the chase, as he journied towards the terra incognita for which he was bound. Few had any clear notion of where Jerusalem lay, what was the distance to it, or what countries were to be passed through to reach it. Books were rare, and few

Arms, military equipments, and solid money were alone in request; the market was so glutted with lands and houses, that purchasers could only be obtained at low prices; and those who had money and were wise enough to stay at home, got dead bargains in abundance. For. Quar. Rev.

AN INCIDENT AT NAVARINO.

THE firing having ceased at Navarino, on board Moharem Bey's ship, to offer Sir Edward Codrington sent a Lieutenant any medical or other assistance they might want. This vessel, with a crew of pro

could read; maps were nearly unknown, and since the Turks had seized Asia Mi-bably more than a thousand men, had nor, the pilgrims had mostly gone by sea to the Holy Land, and the land track had

fallen into oblivion.

The assemblages of the pilgrims also presented a motley aspect. Pavilions, tents, booths, huts, rose around the towns and castles; old and young, women and children, warriors and clergy, were mingled in the strangest confusion; the

crossed robber or murderer became the

associate of the crossed saint or eremite, the virtuous wife or maiden was contaminated by the proximity of the pilgrim courtezan. Hard by the spot where the priest had erected his altar, and celebrated the divine mysteries, the pilgrims of either sex abandoned themselves to sensual gratifications. Each day a tale of some sign or wonder, sent or wrought by heaven, awakened the attention of the pilgrims, and assured them of the divine favour. Now it was a report that the glorious Charlemagne would rise from the dead, and visit, as erst, the holy sepulchre, at the head of the sacred bands. Again, they heard how a priest had seen in the sky, at the ninth hour of the day, two men on horseback fighting, one of whom smote the other with a huge cross, and after a protracted conflict overcame him; or how a priest, as he walked with two companions in a wood, saw a sword carried by the wind through the air; or shepherds beheld a great city in the sky; Comets and northern lights of unusual brilliancy appeared, and previous to the Council of Clermont, the stars had fallen in showers from the sky. Men lived by faith, and not by sight; heaven, it was firmly believed, would, as of old, miraculously supply the wants of the chosen people. Europe was thus, as the Princess Anna Comnena expressed it, about to precipitate itself upon Asia. Everywhere lands and other possessions were offered for sale or pledge,"They sold the pasture now to buy the

steed."

had, unfortunately, been almost the first but one medical officer on board, and he man killed in the action. Her loss had been immense, and they had not thrown the dead overboard, nor removed their presented a most horrible scene of gore wounded to the cockpit, and the decks and mangled bodies. Amidst this frightful spectacle, about a dozen of the principal Turkish officers, superbly dressed, smoking with inconceivable apathy, while sat in the cabin upon crimson ottomans, slaves were handing them their coffee. Seeing the English uniform approach the cabin, they ordered ottomans and coffee for the Lieutenant, who, however, quickly told them that he had more important business to attend to. miral's compliments, and offered any He gave the Adassistance. The Turk, with a frigid comneed of no assistance whatever. posure, calmly replied, that they stood in " Shall not our surgeon attend to your wounded?" "No," gravely replied the Turk; "wounded men want no assistance: they communicating this scene, Sir Edward, soon die." Returning to the Asia, and after some meditation, said, "Did you observe among them a remarkably fine, handsome man, with a beard more full and black than the rest?" 66 Yes, I observed him; he was sitting next to the induce him, or compel him, to go with Admiral." "Return then on board, and you on board the Genoa, and keep him there until I see him. He is the Ádmiral's Secretary. I must have a conference; and take with you any persons he may wish to accompany him." Turk repaired on board the Genoa without any difficulty, accompanied by several take with him. Sir Edward was closeted persons whom he requested our officer to with him for a very long time, when he ordered the Lieutenant to put the Turkish Secretary and his companions on shore at daybreak, wherever they might choose to

The

land. Rowing on shore, they saw the wreck of a mast, on which about a score of wounded or exhausted Turks were endeavouring to save themselves. "I must rescue those poor fellows," said the Lieutenant, anxiously. "They are only common soldiers, and will soon die ;never mind them," said the Turk, with the most grave composure. "It is my duty, and if I did not help them, I should disgrace the service, and be reproved by the Admiral;” saying which, the Lieutenant pulled towards the mast, and succeeded in saving about a dozen of these unhappy wretches. As soon as they were stowed in the bottom of the boat, the Turk, after a short, but apparently, profound meditation, suddenly burst into an immoderate fit of laughter." What is the matter?" cried the astonished Lieutenant; "Good God, what is there here to laugh at?" Laugh!" exclaimed the Turk, with bitter sarcasm, 66 I laugh! -by Allah! you English are a singular people; yesterday you came into the Bay whilst we were quiet at our coffee; you knocked our ships to pieces, killed or mangled all our men till the fleet is one vast slaughter-house, and this morning, you pretend to be so humane, that you cannot pass a score of wounded soldiers without putting yourself out of the way to save them." The Lieutenant was astonished, and, having no reply to offer to this odd view of the case, they proceeded to shore in profound silence.

66

Unit. Serv. Jour.

REVERIE.

BY HORACE GUILFORD. For the Olio.

Concluded from page 136.

ANOTHER Subject of my waking fancy may be well introduced here, as not unlike this bald, disjointed chat,-I mean

PATCHWORK.

King nor Kaiser, in all their pride of place, sate under canopy, or trampled foot-cloth more gorgeous than that tissue of cast-offs and remnants, ycleped patchwork.

When I was a child, a patchwork counterpane or chair cover possessed a beauty and an interest in my sight, which costlier draperies failed to produce-it was a tangible representation of brilliance and variety that approached to the grand, but unapproachable, object of my admiration -the Solar Rainbow-more nearly than anything else. The octagon patches fitted into each other like the checquered tesseræ of some Mosaic pavement, red, blue,

yellow, green, white, purple, mantling at due distances, and arranged so as to give the greatest effect of contrast to their brilliant colours.

When I first read of the damask and brocade pavillions in the Field of the Cloth of Gold, my thoughts immediately recurred to the gaudy variegation of the patchwork counterpane, and when all the glories of Soloman's Temple dawned on my young mind, I could form no costlier similitude of its many-coloured pillars and railings, than by the standard of my admired patchwork. And there is something beyond a child's admiration in the motley splendour of such a wizard woof; it is in itself both rich and beautiful, and if it could speak, mass! but what a heap of chronicles and legends should we have. That huge patch of a scarlet ground, and a large yellow sunflower upon it,--how hath the pondrous bunch of keys, precious talismans to cate and comfit, conserve and cordial, swung over its glossy surface, as Dame Margaret unfolded the sacred recess of the housekeeper's cupboard to her favourite William. Ah! a piece of the pretty window curtain of the old dressing-room; what a tide of recollections, too deep for tears: the beauteous form of a mother fading in consumption -the faint smile on her darling boy-the low murmur of the reading that amuses and soothes sickness-the candles with their long wick, and the blazing grate in the corner. But what's next?-ah, good old grandame, a superb piece of thy favourite gold-coloured tabbinet,-- ah, what associations of old stories croned by winter firelight, of feeble songs trilled in senile hilarity, of thy polished and carved high back arm-chair with cushioned embroidery of many-coloured worsted, of rheumatism and Scotch snuff. Ha! a stately robe was that from whence this patch proceeded-the birth-night habit of the Marchioness, but I would rather have been the wearer of the last, for this has seen splendour at its height, and crime at its depth; and while it swept the painted floor, glittered in the rosy waxlight, or drank in the scattered odours of Persian vase, it throbbed upon a bosom of inquietude and. But what is the next? a modest glazed calico, with a blue sprig. I have seen our maid Susan wear this pattern,-she had it on for the first time that beautiful Sunday evening in June, when she was chidden for being absent at prayers, and excused herself that the woodbine was so thick, and the wood so perplexing; and then Roger had made her loiter so as the western sun went down on the hayfield, and the evening air came so sweet from the glade, and

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