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Modred, whose magic song

Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-top't head.
On dreary Arvon's shore they lie,
Smeared with gore, and ghastly pale:
Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail :
The famished eagle screams, and passes by.
Dear lost companions of my tuneful art,
Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes,
Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart,
Ye died amid your dying country's cries-
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,
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 Berkeley's roofs that ring,


Shrieks of an agonising 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

scourge of heaven.' What terrors round him wait!

4 The shores of Carnarvonshire, opposite the Isle of Anglesey.
Edward the Second, eruelly butchered in Berkeley Castle.

• Isabel of France, Edward the Second's adulterous queen.
7 Triumphs of Edward the Third in France.

Amazement in his van, with Flight combined;
And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.

"Mighty Victor, mighty Lord,
Low on his funeral couch he lies;*
No pitying heart, no eye, afford
A tear to grace his obsequies.
Is the sable warrior' fled?

Thy son is gone: he rests among the dead,
The swarm, that in thy noontide beam were born?
Gone to salute the rising Morn.

Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the Zephyr blows,
While, proudly riding o'er the azure realm,
In gallant trim, the gilded vessel goes;

Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm;
Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway,
That, hushed in grim repose, expects his evening prey!

"Fill high the sparkling bowl,

The rich repast prepare:

Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast ·
Close by the regal chair,

Fell Thirst and Famine scowl

A baleful smile upon their baffled guest.
Heard ye the din of battle bray,10

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 murder fed,

8 Death of that king, abandoned by his children, and even robbed in his last moments by his courtiers and his mistress.

9 Edward the Black Prince, dead some time before his father.

10 Ruinous civil wars of York and Lancaster.

11 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.

Revere his consort's" faith, his father's" fame,
And spare the meek usurper's" holy head,—
Above, below, the rose" of snow,

Twined with her blushing foe, we spread:
The bristled boar" in infant gore

Wallows beneath the thorny shade.
Now, brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom,
Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.


"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,
They melt, they vanish from my eyes.

But oh! what solemn scenes, on Snowdon's height
Descending slow, their glittering skirts unroll?
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!
Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul !

12 Margaret of Anjou, a woman of heroic spirit, who struggled hard to save her husband and her crown.

13 Henry the Fifth.

14 Henry the Sixth, very near being canonised. The line of Lancaster had no right of inheritance to the crown.

15 The white and red roses, devices of York and Lancaster.

16 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.

17 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.


No more our long-lost Arthur " we bewail-
All hail, ye genuine kings!" Britannia's issue, hail!

"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!
Hear from the grave, great Taliessin," hear!
They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.
Bright Rapture calls, and soaring, as she sings,
Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-coloured wings.

"The verse adorn again

Fierce War, and faithful Love,

And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest.
In buskined measures



Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain,

With Horror, 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.

18 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.

19 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.

20 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. 21 Shakspeare. 22 Milton. * The succession of poets after Milton's time.


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.
Enough for me: with joy I see
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
Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night.



Or Nelson and the North,
Sing the glorious day's renown,
When to battle fierce came forth
All the might of Denmark's crown,
And her arms along the deep proudly shone.
By each gun the lighted brand

In a bold determined hand,
And the prince of all the land
Led them on.

Like leviathans afloat,

Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
While the sign of battle flew

On the lofty British line;

It was ten of April morn by the chime:

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