Know ye Mona's awful spells?

She the rolling orbs can stay!

She the mighty grave compels
Back to yield its fettered prey!

Fear ye not the lightning-stroke ?
Mark ye not the fiery sky?

Hence !-around our central oak

Gods are gathering-Romans, fly!

THE SEA-SONG OF GAVRAN.*

WATCH

ye well! The moon is shrouded

On her bright throne;

Storms are gathering, stars are clouded,

Waves make wild moan.

'Tis no night of hearth-fires glowing,

And gay songs and wine-cups flowing;

But of winds, in darkness blowing

O'er seas unknown!

* Gavran was a British Chief, who in the fifth century undertook a voyage to discover the islands which, by tradition, were known under the appellation of Gwerddonau Llion, or Green Islands of the Ocean. This expedition was never afterwards heard of. See Cambrian Biography, p. 124.

In the dwellings of our fathers,

Round the glad blaze,

Now the festive circle gathers,

With harps and lays;

Now the rush-strewn halls are ringing, Steps are bounding, bards are singing, -Ay! the hour to all is bringing

Peace, joy, or praise !

Save to us, our night-watch keeping,

Storm-winds to brave,

While the very sea-bird sleeping,

Rests in its cave!

Think of us when hearths are beaming,
Think of us when mead is streaming,

Ye, of whom our souls are dreaming,
On the dark wave!

THE HALL OF CYNDDYLAN.

THE Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy to-night, *
I weep, for the grave has extinguish'd its light;
The beam of its lamp from the summit is o'er,

The blaze of its hearth shall give welcome no more!

"The Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night, Without fire, without bed

I must weep awhile, and then be silent.

The Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night,

Without fire, without being lighted—

Be thou encircled with spreading silence!

The Hall of Cynddylan is without love this night,

Since he that owned it is no more—

Ah, Death! it will be but a short time he will leave me:

The Hall of Cynddylan it is not easy this night,

On the top of the rock of Hydwyth,

Without its lord, without company, without the circling feasts!"

See OWEN's "Heroic Elegics of Llywarch Hen."

The Hall of Cynddylan is voiceless and still,

The sound of its harpings hath died on the hill!

Be silent for ever, thou desolate scene,

Nor let e'en an echo recall what hath been!

The Hall of Cynddylan is lonely and bare,

No banquet, no guest, not a footstep is there!

Oh! where are the warriors who circled its board?

-The grass will soon wave where the mead-cup was pour'd!

The hall of Cynddylan is loveless to-night,

Since He is departed whose smile made it bright!
I mourn, but the sigh of my soul shall be brief,
The pathway is short to the grave of my chief!