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Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Full many a gem of purest ray serene Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has the dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; broke :

Full many a flow'r is born to blush un. How jocund did they drive their team

seen, afield !

And waste its sweetness on the desert air. How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!

Some village Hampden, that with daunt

less breast Let not Ambition mock their useful toll, The lit*le tyrant of his fields withstood ; Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; Some mute inglorious Milton here may Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful rest, smile

Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's The short and simple annals of the poor.


Th' applause of list'ning senates to com. The boast of Heraldry, the pomp of Pow'r, mand, And all that Beauty, all that Wealth e'er The threats of pain and ruin to despise, gave,

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, Await alike th' inevitable hour,

And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes, The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Their lot forbade: nor circumscrib'd alone Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the Their growing virtues, but their crimes fault,

confin'd; If Mem'ry o'er their tombs no trophies Forbade to wade through slaughter to a raise,

throne, Where through the long drawn aisle, and And shut the gates of mercy on mankind;

fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of The struggling pangs of conscious truth praise.

to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous

shame, Can storied urn, or animated bust, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride Back to its mansion call the fleeting With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.

breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent Far from the madding crowd's ignoble dust,

strife Or Flatt'ry sooth the dull cold ear of Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray, Death ?

Along the cool sequester'd vale of life

They kept the noiseless tanour of their Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid

way. Some heart once pregnant with celestial Yet ev'n these bones from insult to Hands, that the rod of empire might have some frail memorial still erected nigh,

protect, sway'd,

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpOr wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre,

ture deck'd,

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,

Their names, their years, spelt by th' un. Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er letter's Muse, unroll;

The place of fame and elegy supply; Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, And many a holy text around slic strews. And froze the genial current of the soul. That teach the rustic moralist to die.

fire ;


For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, “The next, with dirges due, in sad
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, array,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful Slow through the churchway path we

saw him borne. Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look be. Approach and read (for thou canst read) hind?

the lay,

Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged On some fond breast the parting soul thorn."

relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires ;

HERE rests his head upon the lap of Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature Earth cries,

A youth to Fortune and to Fame unEv'n in our ashes live their wonted fires. known:

Fair Science frown'd not on his humble For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd birth, dead,

And Melancholy mark'd him for her Dost in these lines their artless tale own,

relate ; If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Large was his bounty, and his soul Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy sincere, fate,

Heav'n did a recompense as largely send :

He gave to Mis’ry all he had, a tear ; IIaply some hoary-headed swain may say, He gain’d from Heav'n, 't was all he “Oft have we seen him at the peep of wish'd, a friend.

dawn, Brushing with hasty steps the dew away, No farther seek his merits to disclose, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. Or draw his frailties from their dread

abode : “There at the foot of yonder nodding (There they alike in trembling hope beech,

repose) That wreathes its old fantastic roots so The bosom of his Father and his God,

high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch,

THE BARD. And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

“Ruin seize thee, ruthless King ! “ Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in Confusion on thy banners wait ; scorn,

Tho' fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing, Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would They mock the air with idle state. rove;

Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail, Now drooping, woful, wan, like one for. Nor e'en thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail lorn,

To save thy secret soul from nightly Or craz’d with care, or cross'd in hopeless fears,

[tears! love.

From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's

Such were the sounds that o'er the crested “One morn, I miss'd him on th' acclase pride tom'd hill,

Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dis. Along the heath, and near his fav'rite


(side tree;

As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy Another came, nor yet beside the rill, He wound with toilsome march his Nor up the lawr., nor at the wood was he; long array.

I. I.

Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless With me in dreadful harmony they trance :

join, To arms !" cried Mortimer, and couch'd And weave with bloody hands the tissue his quiv'ring lance.

of thy line

I. 2.

II. I.

On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er cold Conway's foaming flood, “Weave the warp, and weave the Robed in the sable garb of woe,

woof, With haggard eyes the poet stood; The winding-sheet of Edward's race. (Loose his beard, and hoary hair

Give ample room, and verge enough Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled The characters of hell to trace. air)

Mark the year, and mark the night, And with a master's hand, and prophet's When Severn shall re-echo with affright fire,

The shrieks of death, thro' Berkely's roof Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.

that ring, Hark, how each giant oak, and desert Shrieks of an agonizing king! cave,

She-wolf of France, with unrelenting Sighs to the torrent's awful voice fangs, beneath!

That tear’st the bowels of thy mangled D'er thee, O King ! their hundred arms mate, they wave,

From thee be born, who o'er thy Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs country hangs breathe ;

The scourge of Heav'n. What Terrors Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal round

him wait ! day,

Amazement in his van, with Flight com. To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llew. bin'd, ellyn's lay.

And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude

1. 3.
“ Cold is Cadwallo's tongue,

II. 2.
That hush'd the stormy main :
Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed : “Mighty victor, mighty lord!
Mountains, ye mourn in vain

Low on his funeral couch'he lies !
Modred, whose magic song

No pitying heart, no eye, afford Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud. A tear to grace his obsequies.

Is the sable warrior fled? On dreary Arvon's shore they lie, Thy son is gone. He rests among the Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale : dead. Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail ; The swarm, that in thy noon-tide beam The famish'd eagle screams, and passes

were born. by.

Gone to salute the rising morn. Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr Dear as the light that visits these sad

blows, eyes,

While proudly riding o'er the azure Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my realm heart,

In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes ; Ye died amidst your dying country's Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at cries

the helm : No more I weep. They do not sleep. Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's On yonder cliffs, a grisly band,

sway, I see them sit, they linger yet,

That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his Avengers of their native land :

ev'ning prey

topt head.

II. 3.

III. 2.


their way.

III. 3.

“Fill high the sparkling bowl,

“Girt with many a baron bold The rich repast prepare,

Sublime their starry fronts they rear ; Reft of a crown, he yet may share the And gorgeous dames, and statesmen feast :

old Close by the regal chair

In bearded majesty, appear. Fell Thirst and Famine scowl

In the midst a form divine ! A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. Her eye proclaims her of the Briton. Heard ye the din of battle bray,

Lance to lance, and horse to horse ! Her lion - port, her awe-commanding Long years of havock urge their destined face, course,

Attemper'd sweet to virgin-grace. And thro''the kindred squadrons mow What strings symphonious tremble in the

air, Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting

What strains of vocal transport round shame,

her play! With many a foul and midnight murder Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, fed,

hear; Revere his consort's faith, his father's They breathe a soul to animate thy fame,

clay. And spare the meek usurper's holy head. Bright Rapture calls, and soaring as she Above, below, the rose of snow,

sings, Twin'd with her blushing foe, we Waves in the eye of heav'n her many. spread :

colourd wings. The bristled Boar in infant-gore

Wallows beneath the thorny shade. Now, brothers, bending o'er the accursed loom,

“ The verse adorn again Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify And Truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.

Fierce War, and faithful Love,
his doom,

In buskin'd measures move
Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain,

With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing “Edward, lo ! to sudden fate

breast. (Weave we the woof. The thread is A voice, as of the cherub-choir, spun.)

Gales from blooming Eden bear; Half of thy heart we consecrate. And distant warblings lessen on my ear, (The web is wove. The work is done.) That lost in long futurity expire. Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn

Fond impious man, think'st thou yoni Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to sanguine cloud, mourn :

Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the In yon bright track, that fires the western orb of day? skies,

To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, They melt, they vanish from my eyes. And warms the nations with redoubled But oh! what solemn scenes on Snow. don's height

Enough for me ; with joy I see Descending slow their giittering skirts The diff'rent doom our fates assign. unroll ?

Be thine Despair, and sceptred Care, Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! To triumph, and to die, are mine."

Yeunborn ages, crowd not on my soul! He spoke, and headlong from the moun. No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail. tain's height Al hail

, yo genuine kings, Britannia's Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to issue, hail?

endless night.





Mantling in the goblet see
UPROSE the King of men with speed, The pure bev'rage of the bee :
And saddled straight his coal-black steed; O'er it hangs the shield of gold;
Down the yawning steep he rode,

'Tis the drink of Balder bold : That leads to Hela's drear abode. Balder's head to death is giv'n. Him the dog of darkness spied; Pain can reach the sons of heaven! His shaggy throat he open'd wide, Unwilling I my lips unclose : While from his jaws, with carnage fill’d, Leave me, leave me to repose. Foam and human gore distillid : Hoarse he bays with hideous din, Eyes that glow, and fangs that grin ; And long pursues with fruitless yell, Once again my call obey, The father of the powerful spell.

Prophetess, arise, and say,
Onward still his way he takes,

What dangers Odin's child await,
(The groaning earth beneath him shakes,) Who the author of his fate ?
Till full before his fearless eyes
The portals nine of hell arise.


In Hoder's hand the hero's doom ; Right against the eastern gate,

His brother sends him to the tomb. By the moss-grown pile he sate ; Where long of yore to sleep was laid

Now my weary lips I close :
The dust of the prophetic maid.

Leave me, leave me to repose.
Facing to the northern clime,
Thrice he traced the Runic rhyme ;

Thrice pronounced, in accents dread, Prophetess, my spell obey,
The thrilling verse that wakes the dead : Once again arise, and say,
Till from out the hollow ground

Who th' avenger of his guilt, Slowly breath'd a sullen sound.

By whom shall Hoder's blood be spilt



PROPHETESS. What call unknown, what charms pre- In the caverns of the west,

By Odin's fierce embrace comprest, To break the quiet of the tomb?

A wond'rous boy shall Rinda bear, Who thus afflicts my troubled sprite,

Who ne'er shall comb his raven hair, And drags me from the realms of night? Nor wash his visage in the stream, Long on these mould'ring bones Lave Nor see the sun's departing beam, beat

Till he on Hoder's corse shall smile
The winter's snow, the summer's heat, Flaming on the funeral pile.
The drenching dews, and driving rain ! Now my weary lips I close:
Let me, let me sleep again.

Leave me, leave me to repose.
Who is he, with voice unblest,
That calls me from the bed of rest ?


Yet awhile my call obey;

Prophetess, awake, and say,
A traveller, to thee unknown,

What virgins these, in speechless woe, Is he that calls, a warrior's son.

That bend to earth their solemn brow Thou the deeds of light shalt know; That their flaxen tresses tear, Tell me what is done below,

And snowy veils that float in air? For whom yon glitt'ring board is sprad, Tell me whence their sorrows rose : Dress'd for whom yon golden bed? Then I leave thee to repose.

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