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Ye died amidst your dying country's cries
No more I weep: they do not sleep!
On yonder cliffs, a griesly band,
I see them sit; they linger yet,
Avengers of their native land:
With me in dreadful harmony they join,
And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.
"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
The shrieks of death through Berkley's roofs that ring, 55 Shrieks of an agonizing king!
She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs,
That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate,
From thee be born who o'er thy country hangs,
The scourge of Heav'n: what terrors round him
Amazement in his van, with Flight combined,
And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.
"Mighty victor, mighty lord!
No pitying heart, no eye, afford
Is the Sable Warriour fled?
Thy son is gone; he rests among the dead.
The swarm that in thy noontide beam were born?
Fair laughs the morn and soft the zephyr blows,
Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm,
"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 destined 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,
Now, brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom,
"Edward, lo! to sudden fate
(Weave we the woof: the thread is spun)
Half of thy heart we consecrate.
(The web is wove. The work is done.)
Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn
Leave me unblest, unpitied, here to mourn!
In yon bright track, that fires the western skies,
But oh what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height,
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!
Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail:
"Girt with many a baron bold,
Sublime their starry fronts they rear;
And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old
In bearded majesty, appear.
In the midst a form divine!
Her eye proclaims her of the Briton line;
Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face,
Attempered sweet to virgin-grace.
What strings symphonious tremble in the air,
What strains of vocal transport round her play!
They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.
"The verse adorn again
Fierce War and faithful Love
And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest.
In buskined measures move
Pale Grief and Pleasing Pain,
With Horrour, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
A voice, as of the cherub-choir,
Gales from blooming Eden bear;
And distant warblings lessen on my ear,
That, lost in long futurity, expire.
Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud,
Raised by thy breath, has quenched the orb of day?
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood,
And warms the nations with redoubled ray.
The different doom our Fates assign:
Be thine Despair and sceptred Care;
To triumph and to die are mine."
He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height
ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE
Now the golden Morn aloft
Waves her dew-bespangled wing;
With vermeil cheek and whisper soft
She wooes the tardy Spring;
Till April starts, and calls around
The sleeping fragrance from the ground,
New-born flocks, in rustic dance,
Frisking ply their feeble feet;
But chief the sky-lark warbles high
Rise, my soul! on wings of fire
Rise the rapturous choir among! Hark! 't is Nature strikes the lyre, And leads the general song.
Yesterday the sullen year
Saw the snowy whirlwind fly;
Smiles on past Misfortune's brow
Soft Reflection's hand can trace,
Still where rosy Pleasure leads
See a kindred Grief pursue;
Behind the steps that Misery treads,
Approaching Comfort view: