Page images


III. 1.




III. 3.

[ocr errors]

When Latium had her lofry spirit lost, [coast.

They fought, 0 Albion! next thy fea-encircled On a rock whose haughty brow

Frowns o'er oid Corway's framing flood,

Rob'd in the table garb of woe,
Far from the fun and summer gale,

With hagyard eyes the poet stood
In thy green lap was Nature's dariing laid,

(Locfu his beard, and hoary hair
What time, where lucid Avon tiray'd,

Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air);
To him the mighty mother did unveil

And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire,
Her awful face : the dauntless child

Struck the deep forrows of his lyre.
Stretch'd forth his little arms, and finil'd.

Hark, how each giant-oak and desart-cave
This pencil take (she faid) whosc colours clear
Richly paint the vernal

Sighs to the torrent's awf: voire beneath!

O'er thee, o king! their hundred arms they
Thine too these golden Keys, immortal boy!

This can unlock the gates of jov;

Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe;
Of horror that, and thrilling fears,

« Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, [lay.
Or cpe the facred source of sympathetic tears.

• To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's
III. 2.
Nor second he, that rode sublime

I. 3.
Upon the seraph-uvings of ecstasy,

Cold is Cadwallo's tongue,
The secrets of th' abyss to spy.

"That hufh'd the stormy main :
He pass'd the Naming bounds of place and time. Brave Urien flecps upon his cragsy bed :
The living throne, the fapphire blaze,

• Mountains, ye mourn in vain
Where angels tremble while they gaze,

• Modred, whose magic fong
He faw; but, blafted with excess of light, • Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topp'd
Clos’d his eyes in endless night.

"On dreary Arvon's shore they lie, [head.
Bchold, where Dryden's less presumptuous car • Smear'd with gore, and ghaftly pale ;
Wide o'er the fields of glory bear

" Far, far aloof th' affriglıted ravens fail:
Two coursers of ethereal race, [founding pace. The familh'd eagle forcams, and passes by.
With necks in thunder cloth'd, and long re- • Dear lost companions of my tuneful art,

• 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.
Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.

On yonder cliffs, a grilly band,
But, ah ! tis heard no more-

• I see them sit: they linger yet,
Olyre divire! what daring fpirit

• Avengers of their native land: Wakes thec now? tho he inherit

· With me in dreadful harmony they join, [line.'
Nor the pride, nor ample pinion,

And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy
That the Theban eagle bear,

Sailing with supreme dominion

“ Weave the warp, and weave the woof,
Thro' the azure deep of air ;
Yer oft before his infant eyes would run

“ 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.
With orient hues, unborrow'd of the fun :

“ Mark the year, and mark the night,
Yer shall he mount, and keep his diftant way
Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate,

“ 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
Confufion on thy banners wait!

« him wait!
• Tho' fann'd by conquest's crimson wing,
• They mock the air with idle itate!

“ Amazement in his van with flight combin’d,

“ And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.
• Helin, nor Hauberk's twisted mail,
Nor even thy virtues, Tyrant, Thall avail

• To save thy secret foul from nightly fears,

“ Mighty Victor, mighry Lord,
From Cambria's curse, from Cainbria's tears!' " Low on his funeral couch he lies!
Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride “ No pitying heart, no eye, afford
Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay,

“ A tear to giace his obsequies.
As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side

" Is the fable warrior fled? He wound with toil fome march his long array:

“ Thy fon is gone. He rests among the dead.
Stout Glo'ster stond aghaft in speechless trance!

“ The swarmthat in thy noon-tide beamwere born?
To arms! cried Mortimer, a.d couch'd his qui-" (one to falute the rising morn.
vering lan.e.

« Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyrblows,

a White


[ocr errors]


[ocr errors]


[ocr errors]




[ocr errors]


III. 3:

11. 3.



[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]


" 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);
“ Now, Broers, berding o'er th' accursed lcom, Iron îlcet of arrusy fou'r
“ Stamp we our vengcance deep, and ratify his Hurtles in the darkon d air.
* doom.

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,
Leare me ur bierd, unpiticd, here to mourn:

Each a gasping warrior's head.
In yon briylı track, thai tires the weitern fkies,
They mcit, they vanish from my cyts.

Shafts for hurtles, dipt in {ere,
• But, ol' vhat fulemin fccnes on Snowdon: Shoot the trembling cords along:

Sword, that once a monarch bore,
Defcending Now their glitt'ring kiris unroll;

Keep the tissue close and ftrong.
Vifons of giury, Spare my aching tight! Mifta, black terrific maid,
Yu unborn agis, crowd not on my val! Sangrida, and Hilda, fee!

No more our loos-loft Arthur we touail. Join the wayward work iu aid:
* All-irail, ye genuine kings, Britannia's issue, 'Tis the woof of victory.
• hail!

Erc the ruddy sun be fet,
II. 2.

Pikes must thiver, jav'lins fing,
Girr with many a laron told

Blade with clatt'ring, "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.)


[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]





[ocr errors]

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'?
Gor'd with inany a gaping wound
Fate demands a nobler head;

Soon a king shall bite the ground.

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:
Horror covers all the heath,
Clouds of carnage blot the sun.

Sisters, weave the web of death.

Mantling in the goblet see Sisters, ccafe : the work is done.


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.
Learn the tenour of our song,

Scotland, thro' each winding vale,
Far and wide the notes prolong.

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.
s 75. The Dejcent of Odin. An Oile. Gray. Now my weary lips I clofe:
UPROSE the king of men wi:h speed, Leave me, leave me to repose.
And laddled straight his coal-black steed:

Down the yawning steep he rode,

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,
His shaggy throat he open'd wide;

By whom thall Hoder's blood be spilt ?
While from his jaws, with carnage Gilid,
Foam and human gore diftilla.

Hoarse he bays with hidecus din,

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,
Thrice pronounc'd, in accents dreal,

That bond to earth their folcmn brow,
The thrilling verse that wakes the dead; That their flaxen treffes tear,
Till from out the hollow ground

And loowy veils, that Hoat in air.
Slowly breath'd a fullen sound.

Tell me whence their forrows rose;

Then I leave thee to repose.
What call unknown, what charms, presume

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




“ 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
Thro'ev'ry unborn age, and undiscover'd clime.

Rapt in celcftial traniport they ;
$ 56. The Triumpbs of Owen. A Fragment. Yet hither oft a glance from high

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,
Agony, that pants for breath ;
Despair, and honourable Death.

To hail their Fitzroy's festal morning come ;
And thus they speak in soft accord
The liquid language of the skies :

" What is grandeur ? what is pow'r?
§ 77. Ode on the Inflallation of the Duke of "Heavier toil, superior pain.
Grafton. Irregular. GRAY.

“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."


[ocr errors]


[ocr errors]
[ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors]

Foremost, and Icaning from her golden cloud, Take then this treacherous sense of mine,
The venerable Margʻret see !

Which dooms me ftill to fmart ;
“ Welcome, my noble Son (the crics aloud), Which pleasure can to pain refine,
To this thy kindred train, and me :

To paius new pangs impart. “ Pleas'd in thy lineaments we trace

Oh haste to shed the sacred balm!
“ A Tudor's fire, a Beaufort's grace.

My shatter'd nerves new string;
Thy lib’ral heart, thy judging eye,

And for my guest, serenely calm,
“ The flow'r unhcedid Thall descry,

The nymph Indifference bring.
"5 And bid it round heaven's altars shed
“ The fragrance of its blushing head :

At her approach, fee Hope, fce Fear,
“ Shall raise from earth the latcht gem

See Expectation fy; “ To glitter on the diadem.

And Ditappointment in the rear,

That blasts the promis'd joy.
“ Lo, Granta waits to lead her blooming band,
“ Not obvious, not obtrusive, the

The tear which pity taught to flow
“ No vulgar praise, no venal incense fings;

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.
“ Profane thy inborn royalty of mind;
" She reveres herself and thee.

The wounds which now each momcut bleed,
“ With modeft pride to grace thy youthful brow Each moment then thall close;
“ The laureate wreatin, thatCecil wore, the brings, And tranquil days ihall still fucceed
“ And to thy just, thy gentle hand

To nights of calm repose.
“ Submits the fasces of her sway,
“ While spirits blest above, and men below,

O fairy elf! but grant me this,

This one kind comfort fend;
“ Join with glad voice the loud fymphonious lay. And so may never-fading bliss
* Thro' the wild waves, as they roar,
“ With watchful eye and dauntless micn

Thy flow'ry paths attend !
Thy steady course of honour kecp,

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,
! And gilds the horrors of the deep.”

Unknown to mortal tread.
And be thy acorn goblet fill'd

With hçaven's ainbrofial dew;
§ 78. A Prayer for Indifference. GrevillE. From livcetett, freshest, flow'rs diftilla,

That thed fresh Tweets for you,
OFT I've implord the gods in vain,
And pray'd till I've been yeary;

And what of life remains for me
For once I'll try my with to gain

I'll pass in sober ease;
Of Oberon the Fairy.

Half-piças'd, contented will I be,
Sweet airy being, wanton sprite,

Content but half to please.
That lurk'it in woods unseen,
And oft by Cynthia's silver light

§ 79. The Fairy's Anjwer to Mrs. Greville's Tripp'rt gaily o’er the green ;

Prayer for Indifference.
If e'er thy pitying heart was mov’d,

By the Countess of Cam
As ancient itories tell,
And for th’ Athenian maid who lov'd

WITHOUT preamble, to my friend
Thou sought'st a wondrous fpell;

These hasty lines I'ın bid to send,

Or give, if I am able :
Oh deign once more t’exert thy pow'r ! I dare not hesitate to say,
Haply some herb or tree,

Tho' I have trembled all the day-
Sov'reign as juice of western flow'r,

It looks so like a fable,
Conccals a balm for me.
I ask no kind return of love,

Last night's adventure is my theme;

And should it strike you as a dream,
No tcmpting charm to please ;

Yet soon its high import
Far from the heart those gitts remove

Must make you own the matter such,
That fighs for peace and ease:

So delicate, it were too much
Nor peace nor ease the heart can know,

To be compos'd in sport.
Which, like the necdle true,

The moon did thip, serencly bright,
Turns at the touch of joy or woe,

And ev'ry star did dock the night,
But, turning, trembles too.

While Zephyr fann'd the trees;
Far as distress the soul can wound,

No more affail'd my mind's repose,
'Tis pain in each degrte;

Save that yon stream, which murmuring flous, 'Tis blits but to a certain bound;

Did echo to the brceze.
Enwrapt in solemn thoughts I sate,
Revolving o'er the turns of fate,


[ocr errors]


Beyond, in agony.

« PreviousContinue »