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He died—it was in Holy Land, Yet fell he not by Paynim hand; He sleeps not with his sires at rest, With trophied shield and knightly crest; Unknown his grave to kindred eyes, —But I can tell thee where he lies! It was a wild and savage spot, But once beheld—and ne'er forgot! I see it now—that haunted scene My spirit's dwelling still hath been; And he is there—I see him laid Beneath that palm-tree's lonely shade, The fountain-wave, that sparkles nigh, Bears witness with its crimson dye! I see th' accusing glance he rais'd, Ere that dim eye by death was glaz'd; —Ne'er will that parting look forgive! I still behold it—and I live! I live! from hope, from mercy driv'n, A mark for all the shafts of Heav'n!

"Yet had I wrongs—by fraud he won My birth-right—and my child, my son, Heir to high name, high fortune born, Was doom'd to penury and scorn, An alien midst his fathers' halls, An exile from his native walls. Could I bear this?—the rankling thought, Deep, dark, within my bosom wrought; Some serpent, kindling hate and guile, Lurk'd in my infant's rosy smile, And when his accents lisp'd my name, They woke my inmost heart to flame! I struggled—are there evil powers That claim their own ascendant hours? —Oh! what should thine unspotted soul Or know or fear of their control? Why on the fearful conflict dwell? Vainly l struggled—and I fell: Cast down from every hope of bliss, Too well thou know'st to what abyss!