Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1845-09-11
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From the Colombian MGga:ine for august
THE CRUSADERS TALE,
ny EDWARD J. PORTER.

BY EDWARD j. PORTER.
had but just landed, after an absence Of five
years. The feelings of the moment are now
fresh in my recollection, as when called up by
the remembrance of the scene which presented
themselves on my arrival. Every rock had its
tales, to me worth all the volumes of romance
every tree its voices countless as the leaves that
crowned it; the roar of the torrent, as it leaped
in its wild glec from the heart Of the mountain
had tone for my imprisoned ear, surprising
the sweetness of the lutte. 1t was dark No
vcmber day; the sun smiled not on my return to
my native land. Dark clouds, in thickening
masses, rolled heavily over the face of the heav-
ems. The wild winds were sweeping with mel
ancholy meanings through the mountain passes
and dark ravines The waves rushed wildly on
in their mad career, weaving thousand foam
wreaths for the rude rocks they sought to en-
brace. A towering precipice hung over the spot
where had landed with its pointed crags stretch
ing far into the elements above, upon whose
dreary peaks the clouds seemed to rest. com
menced the ascent, which was narrow, winding
and steep, scarcely affording foothold for the
most agile adyenturer. reached the first ledge
which supplied few moments rest in my tire,
some and perilous ascent
Fearing to look back on the dangers | had
passed. my eyes could only look upward to the
point where my hazardous climbing was to ter.
rnnate. My ear caught the broken tones of q
faint voice, as it came at intervals between the
deep peals of thunder that rolled above me; they
were incoherent, wild and unconnected, like the
shattered links of a rnined chain. gazed up
ward to discover whence the sounds proceeded
when the shadowy form of woman, standing
on the point Of projected rock, met my sight
Her hair was spread on the wings of the storm
her mantle was drawn closely around her; he
features seemed haggard and the wild light
ements above, shot from her sunkcn eyes, ter
rifcally spoke'the ruin that reigncd within.
l knew her at a glance, though her form wa
attenuated; the beauty that once shone like
mantle of light around her was gone; but yet tn
traces of her former loneliness remain cd.
was Blanche, the fsherman's maniac daughter
She came to chdc the storm for Overwhelming
the vessel Of her lover. From the very poin
of the rock On which she STOOD she behold TIL
ruin of the temple her hopes had reared to
glorious fabric.
In her sight the bark of her Henry founderc
on his nuptial eve; the stormy ocean opened
receive its victim; the wild waves swept on lea,
ing no trace of their merciIess fury behind; an
Blanche was borne a maniac TO her father
cottage
Years of misery rolled slowly along; the ocea
slept in peace or awoke at times in rage Il
winds swept gently along, or rushed in storm
over the waves the sun looked out in smiles,
hid his light in the dusty clouds that opened the
snowy arms to receive him; like them, at time
the troubled spirit of the unhappy Blanche kne
some momentary repose-some CLEANS of reasc
Illuminated the dark chaos of her mind. r
sumed my toisomc task and assembled steep
steep crlg by crlg, approached the end OF m
dangerous path. came near the rock on whit
she stood, and called her by her name; she kne
my voice, and came with outstretched hand
welcome my arrival.
"Ah! more fortunate than Blanche" said sh
"but soon to be almost as wretched; why ha
the waves rejected you from their depths, reese
wing you for more dreadful sufferngs on Ian
But look thcre-look thereW and she point
to where a sheet of Lightning at that instant
Illuminated the waves. "My Henry's ship
sinking-save him save him Oh, God HI
gone he's gone !!
knew by her wild shrieks and broken I
clamatons that the web Of reason which spre
eoEer her for moment was rent asunder, a
the light had fled from the ruined shrine, lei
ing it in utter darkness.
have gazed in melancholy silence on t
magnificent ruins of Thcbss; the pride of
hundred gates, the granduer of her count
temple laid PROSTATE in the dust of ages.
have sighed above the fallen splendor of the d.
olate cities Of the East have wept over
ruined trophies Of art in Ancient Greece a
Rome the rank weeds clustered around tn
monuments of glory; their temples, pillars a
triumphal arches broken and decayed; but he
the lovely fabric of mind, fresh from the ha