2. III. 1. 6 6 . III. 3. When Latium had her lofry spirit lost, [coast. I. Frowns o'er oid Corway's framing flood, Rob'd in the table garb of woe, With hagyard eyes the poet stood (Locfu his beard, and hoary hair Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air); And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire, Struck the deep forrows of his lyre. Hark, how each giant-oak and desart-cave Sighs to the torrent's awf: voire beneath! O'er thee, o king! their hundred arms they wave, Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe; « Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, [lay. • To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's I. 3. Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, "That hufh'd the stormy main : • Mountains, ye mourn in vain • Modred, whose magic fong "On dreary Arvon's shore they lie, [head. " Far, far aloof th' affriglıted ravens fail: • Dear, as the light that visits thefe fid cycs, Hark, his hands the lyre explore! • Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Bright-eved fancy, hov'ring o'r, • Ye died amidit your dying country's criesScatters from her pictur'd urn • No more I weep. They do not neep. On yonder cliffs, a grilly band, • I see them sit: they linger yet, • Avengers of their native land: Wakes thec now? tho he inherit · With me in dreadful harmony they join, [line.' And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy II. I “ Weave the warp, and weave the woof, “ The winding-sheet of Edward's race. “ Give ample rom, and verge enough Such forms as glitter in the Musc's ray, " The characters of hell to trace. “ Mark the year, and mark the night, “ When Severn shall re-echo with affright [Great! « The Thrieks of death, thro' Berkley's roofs that Beneath the Good how far—but far above the “ Shrieks of an agonizing king! “ She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs, § 73. The Bard. d Pindaric Oide. GRAY. " That tear’ıt the bowels of thy mangied mate, I. “ From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs RUIN (cize thce, ruthless king! “ The scourge of Heaven. What terrors round « him wait! “ Amazement in his van with flight combin’d, “ And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind. II. “ Mighty Victor, mighry Lord, “ A tear to giace his obsequies. " Is the fable warrior fled? He wound with toil fome march his long array: “ Thy fon is gone. He rests among the dead. “ The swarmthat in thy noon-tide beamwere born? « Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyrblows, a White 6 I. (ringi 1. 2. 6 Еe III. 3: 11. 3. 6 6 I. " While proudly ridiaz o'er the azure reaim " In galart trin the giided seffel goes; · The verse adom again “ Youth on the prow, and pleasure at t e he'm; Fierce War, and fairhfui Love, “Regardless of the tweering whirlwind's fway, And Truth fevere, by fairy Fiction dress d. “ Tha', huth din grim repole, expects his eien • In bukind meafures more “ing Frey. Paie Grief, and picafing Pain, With Horror, tirant of the throbbing breast. " Fill high the farkling bos!, A voice, as of the cier 5-cler, “ The rich repaft propart, Gaics from blouring Even bear; “ 'Reft of a crown, hi yet may share the fcast: And disant warkings !csen on my ear, “ Cote by the regal chair • That lost in lorg fururity expire. [cloud, « Fill thirst and faminc fcow! Fond impious man'zink it ihm yon fang Line “ A balcful irili upon their baffled guest. Rais'd by thy breathi, has querct. d the ord of “ Heard ye the din of battle bray, · Tc-morrow he repairs the gok en floed, [day? “ Lance to larce, and horse to borfes * And warms the nations with redoubled ray. “ Long years of havoc urge their diftin'd course, Enough for ide: with or lice “ And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their · The diffrent doon cur faics atlign. • Be thine Despair, and fceptr.d Care; “ Ye tow'rs of Julius, London's lasting shame, * To trium; h, and to die, art mirc.' [height, “ With many a foul and midnight murder fed, He spoke; and, headlong from the muntain's “ Revere his confort's faith, his father's fame, Deep in the roaring tide he luny dioendlets night. " And spare the meck ufurper's holy head. “ obrve, telow, the role of inow, “ Tiind with her blufhing foc, we sprcad; § 74. The Fatal Sifters. An Ode. Gray. • The briftled boar in infant gore NOW the storm begins to lou's " Waliows bereith the thorny thade. (Haste, the loom of heil prepare); Glittring lanes are the loom Where the dusky warp we ftrain, " Edward, 17! to fuc!den fale Weaving many a soldier's doom, " ( Ucare we the woof. The thrcad is spun.) | Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane. “ Half of thy heart we consecrate. See the grilly texture grow! “ (The web is vove. The work is done.)" ('Tis of l.uman entrails made) Stay, oh fray? nor thus forlorn, And the weights that play below, Each a gasping warrior's head. Shafts for hurtles, dipt in {ere, Sword, that once a monarch bore, Keep the tissue close and ftrong. No more our loos-loft Arthur we touail. Join the wayward work iu aid: Erc the ruddy sun be fet, Pikes must thiver, jav'lins fing, Blade with clatt'ring buckler.meet, "Sulliinc thcir starry fronts they rear; Hauberk crash, and helmet ring. " And gorgeous dames, and statesincn old (Weave the crimson web of war) · In bcarded majesty, appear. Let us go, and let us fly, • In the midst a forin divine! W'here our friends the condiĉt share, • Her cyc proclaims her of the Briron-line; Where they triumph, where they die. • Der líon-port, her awe-commanding face, As the paths of fate we tread, Attemper'd sweet to virgin grace. Wading thro' th'enfanguin'd field, • W'hat Strings fyınphonious tremble in the air! • What strains of vocal transport round her play! O'er the youthful king' your shield. Gondula, and Geira, tpread " }lear from the grave, great Taliellin, hear; • They breuthe a soul to animate thy clay. We the reins to Naughter give, • Bright Rapture calls, and, foaring as the sings, Ours to kill, and ours to spare : Waves in the cyc of lloaren her many-colour'd Spite of danger he shall live. 'wings, (Wcave the crimson web of war.) Thcy, 6 4 a 6 They, whom once the desart beach Long on these mould'ring bones have beat Pent within its bleak domain, The winter's snow, the summer's heat, Soon their ample fway shall stretch The drenching dews, and driving rain ! O'er the plenty of che plain. Let me, let me ileep again. Low the dauntless earl is laid, Who is he, with voice unbleft, That calls me froin the bed of refi'? ODIN. A traveller to thee unknown Long his lots hall Eirin weep, Is he that calls, a warrior's fon. Ne'er again his likeneis fee; Thou the deeds of light fhalt know; Long her firtins in forrow steep, Tell me what is done below, Strains of immortality! For whom yon glitt'ring board is spread, Drest for whom yon golden bed: PROPHETES s. Mantling in the goblet see Sisters, ccafe : the work is done. The purc bcy'rage of the bee; Hail the task, and hail the hands! O'er it hangs the thield of gold: 'Tis the drink of Balder boid. Songs of joy and triumph sing: Balder's head to death is given. Joy to the victorious bands; Pain can reach the Sons of Heaven ! Triump's to the younger king. Unwilling I my lips unclofe : Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale, Leave me, leave me to repose. ODIN. Once again my call obey ; Propletels, arise, and say Siftcrs, hence with spurs of speed ! What dangers Odin's child await, Each her thund'ring faulchion wield; Who the author of his fate. Each bestride her sable feed. PROPHETESS. Hurry, hurry, to the held! In Hoder's hand the hero's doo; His brother sends him to the tomb. ODIN. Prophetess, iny spell obey ; That leads to Hela's drcar a bride. Once again arise, and say Him the dog of darkness spied : Who th'avenger of his guilt, By whom thall Hoder's blood be spilt ? PROPHETES S. In the caverns of the West, Eyes that glow, and fangs tl at grin ; By Odin's fierce embrace comprest, And long pursues, with fruitles yell, A wondrous boy shall Rinda bear, The father of the powerful spell. Who nc'er shall comb his raven hair, Onward fill his way he takes Nor wash his visage in the stream, (The groaning earth beneath him shakcs), Nor see the fun's departing beam, Till full before his fearless eyes Till he on Hoder's corse shall smile The portals nine of hell arité. Flaming on the funeral pile. Right against the eastern gate, Now my weary lips I clofe : By the moss-grown pile he fat, Lcave me, leave me to repole. TÚheie long of yore to sleep was laid ODIN The dust of the propietic Maid. Yet awhile my call obey ; Facing to the northern crime, Prophetess, awake, and say Thrice he trac'd the Runic rhyme; What Virgins these, in speechless wot, That bond to earth their folcmn brow, And loowy veils, that Hoat in air. Tell me whence their forrows rose; Then I leave thee to repose. PROPHETE S S. To break the quiet of the tomb ? Ha! no traveller art thou, Who thus afiličts my troubled 'prite, King of Men, I know thee now! And drags mc from the realms of night? Migirtiest of a mighty line ke 2 ODIS, a ODIN. “ Mad Sedition's cry profane, No boding maid of skill divine “ Servitude that hugs her chain; Art thou, nor prophetess of good, “ Nor in these confecrated bow'rs But mother of the giant-brood ! “ Let painted Flatt'ry hide her ferpent-train in « flow'rs. PROPHETES S. Hie thee hence, and boast at home “Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain, That never thal? enquirer come “ Dare the Mule's walk to stain, To break my iron neep again, “While bright-eyed Science watches round: Till Lok has burst his tenfold chain : “ Hence, away, 'tis holy ground !” Never, til substantial Night From yonder realms of empyrean day Has re-assum'd her ancient right; Bursts on my ear th’indignant lay: Till wrape in fiames, in ruin hurld, There sit the sainted Sage, the Bard divine, Sinks the fabric of the world. The few whom Genius gave to shine Rapt in celcftial traniport they ; GRAY. They fond of tender lympathy, To bleis the place where on their op’ning soul OWEN's praise demands my song, Owen swift, and Owen strong; First the genuine ardour stole. Fairest flow'r of Roderic's tiem, 'Twas Milton struck the deep-ton'd sell; Gwyneth's shield, and Britain's gem. And, as the choral warblings round him sivell, He nor heaps his brooded stores, Meek Newton's self bends from his state fublime, Nor on all profusely pours: And nods his hoary head, and listens to the rhymc. Lord of ev'ry regal art, Liberal hand, and open “ Ye brown o'er-arching groves, heart. Big with hosts of mighty name, “ That contemplation loves, “Where willowy Camus lingers with delight! Squadrons three against him came; « Oft at the bluth of dawn This the force of Eirin hidings Side by side as proudly riding, “I trod your level lawn, On her thadow long and gay “ Oft wood the gleam of Cynthia filver-bright Lochlin plows the wat ry way; “ In cloisters dini, far from the haunts of Folly, “ With Freedom by my side, and toft-eyed There the Norman fails afar Catch the winds, and join the war: Melancholy." Black and huge along they tweep, But, hark! the portals found, and pacing forth, Burthens of the angry deep: With folemn steps and now, Dauntless on his native lands High Potcntates, and Dames of royal birth, The dragon-son of Mona stands ; And mitred Fathers, in long order go: In glitt'ring arms and glory drest, Great Edward, with the lilies on his brow High he rears his ruby creít. From haughty Gallia torn ; There the thund'ring strokes begin, And sad Chatillon, on her bridal morn There the press, and there the din; That wept her bleeding love; and princely Clare; Talymalfra's rocky shore And Anjou's heroine; and the paler Rolc, Echoing to the battle's roar. The rival of her crown and of her woes; Where his glowing eye-balls turn, And either Ilenry there, Thousand banners round him burn: The murder'd Saint, and the majestic Lord Where he points his purple spear, That broke the bonds of Rome Hafty, hafty Roue is there; (Their tears, their little triumphs o'er, Marking with indignant eve Their human paifions now no more, Fear to itop, and shame to fly. Save Charity, that glows bevond the tomb). There Confusion, Terror's child; All that on Granta's fruitful plain Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild; Rich streams of regal bounty pour’d, And bade these awful fanes and turrets rise, To hail their Fitzroy's festal morning come ; " What is grandeur ? what is pow'r? “What the bright reward we gain! “The grateful memory of the Good. HENCE, avaunt ('tis holy ground)! “ Sweet is the breath of vernal show'r, Comus, and his midnight crew, “ The bee's collected treasures sweet, “ And Ignorance with looks profound, “ Sweet music's melting fall, but fiecter yet “ And dreaming Sloth of pallid hue, « The still finall voice of Gratitude." Forcmost, 66 Foremost, and Icaning from her golden cloud, Take then this treacherous sense of mine, Which dooms me ftill to fmart ; To paius new pangs impart. “ Pleas'd in thy lineaments we trace Oh haste to shed the sacred balm! My shatter'd nerves new string; And for my guest, serenely calm, The nymph Indifference bring. At her approach, fee Hope, fce Fear, See Expectation fy; “ To glitter on the diadem. And Ditappointment in the rear, That blasts the promis'd joy. The tear which pity taught to flow The cye shall then disown; “ Nor dares with courtly tongue refin'd The heart that melts for others woe Shall then scarce feel its own. The wounds which now each momcut bleed, To nights of calm repose. O fairy elf! but grant me this, This one kind comfort fend; Thy flow'ry paths attend ! So may the glow-worm's glimm'ring light “ Nor fear the rocks, nor feck the shore: Thy tiny footsteps lead “ The Star of Brunswick smiles serene, To some new region of delight, Unknown to mortal tread. With hçaven's ainbrofial dew; That thed fresh Tweets for you, And what of life remains for me I'll pass in sober ease; Half-piças'd, contented will I be, Content but half to please. § 79. The Fairy's Anjwer to Mrs. Greville's Tripp'rt gaily o’er the green ; Prayer for Indifference. By the Countess of Cam WITHOUT preamble, to my friend These hasty lines I'ın bid to send, Or give, if I am able : Tho' I have trembled all the day- It looks so like a fable, Last night's adventure is my theme; And should it strike you as a dream, Yet soon its high import Must make you own the matter such, So delicate, it were too much To be compos'd in sport. The moon did thip, serencly bright, And ev'ry star did dock the night, While Zephyr fann'd the trees; No more affail'd my mind's repose, Save that yon stream, which murmuring flous, 'Tis blits but to a certain bound; Did echo to the brceze. Yox a Beyond, in agony. |
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