Southern telegraph., 1838-09-26

ture, thourh not immediate, were no less
salutary. Philosophers have moralized,
scholars have wept, over the deplorable, the
degrading ignorance of the tenth and elev-
enth centuries. Science slept A death
like Iethargy had come over her, which, like
the sultry blast of an eastern noon, had pal
sled all her efforts, and withered all her en-
ergies. The spirit Of poetry had long since
fled. She seemed for ever to have torsaken
those haunts she once loved so well, TIL the
Troubadours, catching up the Tyre, then
shattered by Times careless hand, struck
from its long mute strings those strains
which reused nations to arms, and world
to madness. Never was music more mag
icaIly eloquent. The Tyre which thrilled
beneath Homer's touch, or the lapses oil
the cygnet song, might have been sweeter;
they could not have been more inspiring
All Europe responded to the strains which
swept over the land, and echoed through her
old baronial halls.
Then commenced the restoration of let
tiers in the West. The Troubadour's lay
was but the prelude TO the diviner strains of
Boccacio, Petrach, and Dante. Song
again revived, and from the blushing vine
hills of France, from the castled crags of
Scotland, from the wild glens of Swltzer-
land, and the lovely vegas ofromantic Spain,
again assembled the poets breathings, free
as their mountain air. The very Crusades
themselves, by furnishing the materials from
which to weave the gorgeous fictions of the
Imagination, and by making the Crusaders
acquainted with all the glowing imagery and
fanciful decorations of oriental literature,
gave an impulse 10 letters which will never
cease to be felt, till man shall cease 10 ap-
preciate and admire the beautiful and the
sublime. Can it be, then, that the Crusades
retarded the progress of literature? Rath-
err, they cherished and promoted it, when
the last flicker of the fire upon her altar had
nearly expired, in sadness and in gloom.
Such were the holy wars, their causes,
and their effects; and our feelings and sym
pathies cannot but be gratiied at their final
success.
1t was sunset. The rich mellow light
streamed in thousand variegated hues over
divers green top, the holy city, and the
Christian camp, till at last itmet Bethsaida's
wave, blushing and sparkling in its embrace.
Not ripple disturbed its mirrored stiffness,
save when the bright-plumed bird stopped to
lave his wing, or taste its refreshing cool
ness. Above, was the deep blue sky, so
bright and clear that fancy could almost soar
to the regions of the blest-could almost
catch the harmonies of heaven. All was
calm and beautiful. Even the stern senti-
mel, pacing his lonely round, for moment
relaxed his iron brow, and stopped to gaze
upon the surprising loneliness of that hour
But far brighter sight met his eye, as he
gazed upward, and saw the consecrated folds
of the sacred banner floating in triumph over
the walls and battlements of Jerusalem.
Yes, that day had seen the city theirs, and
the knightly, the good, the gallant Godfrey,
as he bent to kiss the tomb he had rescued,
was seen to dash away tear of mingled
gratitude, penitence, and veneration, and
then to lift his hands in mental alteration to
that Being who is ever the same, whether
amid the burning sands of Syria, or the icy
regions of the Pole. Thus should heroes
conquer. Thus did the Crusaders. Blame
not hastily their misdirected zeal. Censure
not their holy enthusiasm. Pr fare not
with sacrilegious touch the moss-grown
tombs where their ashes sleep. Their faults
we're the faults of their -age-their virtues
all their own.--KnickerbOcker.