« ПредишнаНапред »
And with a Master's hand, and Prophet's fire,
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre. “ Hark, how each giant-oak, and desert cave, “ Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath! “ O'er thee, oh King ! their hundred arms they
waye, Revenge on thee in hoarfer murmurs breathe ; " Vocal' no more, since Cambria's fatal day, " To high-born Hoel's harp, or foft Llewellyn's lay.
“ That hush'd the stormy main : “ Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed :
« Mountains, ye mourn in vain “ Modred, whose magic song “ Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-top'd head,
~ * On dreary Arvon's fhore they lie,
Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens fail ;
| Dear, as the light that visits these fad eyes, | Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, “ Ye died amidst your dying country's cries
* The fhores of Caernarvonshire opposite to the ifte of Anglesey.
+ Cambden and others observe, that eagles used annually to build their aerie among the rocks of Snowdon, which from thence (as fume think) were named the Welch Craigian-ervri, or the crags of the eaglesa At this day (i am told) the highest point of snowdon is called the eagle's nest.
That bird is córtainly no stranger to this island, as the Scots, and the people of Cumberland, Westmoreland, &c. can teftify: it even has built its nesī in the Peak of Derbyshire." [Sec Willoughby's Ornithol. published by Ray.] I As dear to me as are the ruddy drops, That visit my fad heart
Shakes. Ful. Cæfar.
“ No more I
weep. They do not ffeeyo “ On yonder cliffs, a grisly band " I see them fit, they linger yet,
Avengers of their native land : “ With me in dreadful harmony * they join, And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy
“ 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, ,
* See the Norwegian Ode, that follows.
# Edward the Second, cruelly butchered in BezkleyCajke.
" The fhrieks of death, thro' Berkley's roofs that
ring, “ Shrieks of an agonizing King ! "She-Wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs,
" That tear'ft the bowels of thy mangled Mate, " + From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs " The scourge of Heav'n. What Terrors round
Amazement in his van, with Flight combin’d. " And forrow's faded form, and solitude behind.
" Mighty Victor, mighty Lord,
1 Low on his funeral couch he lies ! "No pitying heart, no eye, afford
“ A tear to grace his obsequies.
Ifabel of France, Edward the Second's adulterous Queen.
of Triumphs of Edward the Third in France.
I Death of that King, abandoned by his Children, and even robbed in his last moments by his Courtiers and his Mistress.
Is the fable * Warrior fled ?
Thy son is gone. He rests among the Dead. ” The Swarm, that in thy noon-tide beam were
born ? " Gone to falute the rising Morn. 14 Fair & laughs the Morn, and soft the Zephyr blows,
“ While proudly riding o'er the azure realm, “ In gallant trim the gilded Vessel goes į
“ Youth on the brow, and Pleasure at the helm; “Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway, " That, hush'd in grim repose, expects bis evening
* Edward the Black Prince, died fome time before his Father.
Magnificence of Richard the Second's reign, Sse' Froissard and other contemporary Writers.