While some on earnest business bent Their murmuring labors ply Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint To sweeten liberty; The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions dare descry: Still as they run they look behind, They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy. Gay Hope is theirs, by Fancy fed, Less pleasing, when possest; The tear forgot as soon as shed, The sun-shine of the breast; Their buxom health, of rosy hue; Wild wit, invention ever new, And lively cheer of vigor born; The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumbers light, That fly th' approach of morn. Alas, regardless of their doom, The little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come, Yet see how all around them wait And black Misfortune's baleful train. Ah, show them where in ambush stand To seize their prey, the murderous band! Ah, tell them, they are men! These sha. the fury passions tear, And Shame that skulks behind; Or pining Love, shall waste their youth, Or Jealousy, with rankling tooth, That inly gnaws the secret heart, And Envy wan, and faded Care, Grim-visag'd comfortless Despair, And Sorrow's piercing dart. Ambition this shall tempt to rise, Then whirl the wretch from high, To bitter Scorn a sacrifice, And grinning Infamy. The stings of Falsehood those shall try, And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye, That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow; And keen Remorse, with blood defil'd, And moody Madness laughing wild Amid severest woe. Lo, in the vale of years beneath The painful family of Death, More hideous than their queen: Those in the deeper vitals rage: To each his sufferings: all are men, Yet ah! why should they know their fate? . Since sorrow never comes too late, THE BARD. A PINDARIO ODE. I. "RUIN seize thet, ruthless king! As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, (Loose his beard, and hoary hair Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air,) O'er thee, oh king! their hundred arms they wave To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. "Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, That hush'd the stormy main; Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed: Modred, whose magic song Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topp'd head On dreary Arvon's shore they lie, Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale: Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail : The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by. Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, The hauberk was a texture of steel ringlets, or rings interwoven, forming a coat of mail, that sat close to the body, and adapted itself to every motion. † Gilbert de Clare, surnamed the Red, Earl of Glouces ter and Hertford, son-in-law to King Edward. Edmond de Mortimer, Lord of Wigmore The shores of Caernarvonshire, opposite to the Isle of Anglesea. No more I weep. They do not sleep. On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, I see them sit, they linger yet, Avengers of their native land: With me in dreadful harmony they join, Revere his consort's faith, his father'st fame Twin'd with her blushing foe we spread: And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. Wallows beneath the thorny shade. II. Weave the warp, and weave the woof, The winding-sheet of Edward's race: Give ample room, and verge enough The characters of Hell to trace. Mark the year, and mark the night, When Severn shall re-echo with affright Now, brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom, Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom III. "Edward, lo! to sudden fate (Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) The shrieks of death, through Berkeley's roofs that Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn ring,* Mighty Victor, mighty Lord, Low on his funeral couch he lies! No pitying heart, no eye, afford Is the sable warrior|| fled? Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead. Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows, "Fill high the sparkling bowl, The rich repast prepare: Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast: Fell Thirst and Famine scowl A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. Lance to lance, and horse to horse? Long years of havoc urge their destin'd course, And through the kindred squadrons mow their way. Ye towers of Julius,** London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murther fed, * Edward the Second, cruelly butchered in Berkeley castle. Isabel of France, Edward the Second's adulterous queen. Triumphs of Edward the Third in France. & Death of that king, abandoned by his children, and even robbed in his last moments by his courtiers and his mistress. Edward the Black Prince, dead some time before his father. Ruinous civil wars of York and Lancaster. ** Henry the Sixth, George Duke of Clarence, Edward the Fifth, Richard Duke of York, &c. believed to be murdered secretly in the Tower of London. The oldest part of that structure is vulgarly attributed to Julius Cæsar. Leave me unbless'd, inpitied, here to mourn : "Girt with many a baron bold, Sublime their starry fronts they rear; And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old, In the midst a form divine! Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line ; What strings symphonious tremble in the air, Margaret of Anjou, a woman of heroic spirit, who struggled hard to save her husband and her crown. Henry the Fifth. Henry the Sixth, very near being canonized. The line of Lancaster had no right of inheritance to the crown. § The white and red roses, devices of York and Lan. caster. The silver-boar was the badge of Richard the Third; whence he was usually known in his own time by the name of The Boar. ¶ Eleanor of Castile died a few years after the conquest of Wales. The heroic proof she gave of her affection for her lord is well known. The monuments of his regret and sorrow for the loss of her, are still to be seen at Northampton, Geddington, Waltham, and other places. **It was the common belief of the Welsh nation, that King Arthur was still alive in Fairy-land, and should return again to reign over Britain. †† Both Merlin and Taliessin had prophesied, that the Welsh should regain their sovereignty over this island; which seemed to be accomplished in the house of Tudor 1 Taliessin, chief of the bards, flourished in the sixth century. His works are still preserved, and his memory held in high veneration among his countrymen. Shafts for shuttles, dipt in gore, Shoot the trembling cords along; Sword, that once a monarch bore, Keep the tissue close and strong. Mista, black terrific maid, Sangrida, and Hilda, see, Join the wayward work to aid: "Tis the woof of victory. Ere the ruddy Sun be set, Pikes must shiver, javelins sing, Blade with clattering buckler meet, Hauberk crash, and helmet ring (Weave the crimson web of war,) Let us go, and let us fly, Where our friends the conflict share, Where they triumph, where they die. As the paths of Fate we tread, O'er the youthful king your shield. We the reins to Slaughter give, Ours to kill, and ours to spare: Spite of danger he shall live: (Weave the crimson web of war.) They, whom once the desert-beach Pent within its bleak domain, Soon their ample sway shall stretch O'er the plenty of the plain. Low the dauntless Earl is laid, Gor'd with many a gaping wound Fate demands a nobler head; Soon a king shall bite the ground Long his loss shall Eirin weep, Ne'er again his likeness see; Long her strains in sorrow steep, Strains of immortality! Horror covers all the heath, Clouds of carnage blot the Sun. Sisters, weave the web of death; Sisters, cease, the work is done Hail the task, and hail the hands! Songs of joy and triumph sing! Joy to the victorious bands; Triumph to the younger king. Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale, Learn the tenor of our song. Scotland, through each winding vale Far and wide the notes prolong. Sisters, hence, with spurs of speed; Each her thundering falchion wield Each bestride her sable steed: Hurry, hurry to the field. Upreis Odinn allda gautr, &c. UPROSE the King of Men with speed, And saddled straight his coal-black steed; Down the yawning steep he rode, While from his jaws, with carnage fill'd. (The groaning Earth beneath him shakes,) Right against the eastern gate, Slowly breath'd a sullen sound. Pr. What call unknown, what charms presume, To break the quiet of the tomb? O. A traveller, to thee unknown, Is he that calls, a warrior's son. Tell me what is done below, For whom yon glittering board is spread, Pr. Mantling in the goblet see The pure beverage of the bee, O. Once again my call obey, Niflheimr, the Hell of the Gothic nations, consisted of nine worlds, to which were devoted all such as died of sickness, old age, or by any other means than in battle: over it presided Hela, the goddess of death. What danger Odin's child await, Pr. In Hoder's hand the hero's doom: His brother sends him to the tomb Now my weary lips I close: Leave me, leave me, to repose. O. Prophetess, my spell obey: Once again arise, and say, Who th' avenger of his guilt, By whom shall Hoder's blood be spilt? Pr. In the caverns of the west, By Odin's fierce embrace comprest, A wondrous boy shall Rinda bear, Who ne'er shall comb his raven-hair, Nor wash his visage in the stream, Nor see the Sun's departing beam: Till he on Hoder's corse shall smile, Flaming on the funeral pile. Now my weary lips I close: Leave me, leave me, to repose. O. Yet awhile my call obey, And snowy veils, that float in air. Pr. Ha! no traveller art thou, O. No boding maid of skill divine Art thou, nor prophetess of good; But mother of the giant-brood! Pr. Hie thee hence, and boast at home, Till Lokt has burst his ten-fold chain. Has reassum'd her ancient right; THE TRIUMPHS OF OWEN.‡ A FRAGMENT. FROM MR. EVANS'S SPECIMENS OF THE WELSH POETRY; LONDON, 1764, QUARTO. OWEN's praise demands my song, Lok is the evil being, who continues in chains till the twilight of the gods approaches, when he shall break his bonds; the human race, the stars, and Sun, shall disappear; the earth sink in the seas, and fire consume the skies: even Odin himself and his kindred deities shall perish. For a further explanation of this mythology, see Mallet's Introduction to the History of Denmark, 1755, quarto. Owen succeeded his father Griffin in the principality of North Wales, A. D. 112. This battle was fought near forty years afterwards. § North Wales. He nor neaps his brooded stores, Nor all profusely pours, Catch the winds, and join the war; Dauntless on his native sands The dragon-sont of Mona standr; Denmark. ↑ The red dragon is the device of Cadwallader, which all his descendants bore on their banners. In glittering arms and glory drest, |