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The mountain sheep are sweeter,

But the valley sheep are fatter;
We therefore deemed it meeter

To carry off the latter !
We made an expedition;

We met a host, and quelled it ;
We forced a strong position,

And killed the men who held it.
On Dyfed's richest valley,

Where herds of kine were browsing,
We made a mighty sally

To furnish our carousing.
Fierce warriors rushed to meet us ;

We met them and o'erthrew them ;
They struggled hard to beat us,

But we conquered them and slew them.
As we drove our prize at leisure,

The king marched out to catch us
His rage surpassed all measure,

But his people could not match us.
He fled to his hall-pillars,

And e'er our force we led off,
Some sacked his house and cellars,

While others cut his head off.
We there in strife bewildering

Spilt blood enough to swim in;
We orphaned many children,

And widowed many women.
The eagles and the ravens

We glutted with our foemen ;
The heroes and the cravens,

and the bowmen.
We brought away from battle —

And much the land bemoaned them -
Three thousand head of cattle,

And the head of him who owned them :
Ednyfed, King of Dyfed, —

His head was borne before us,
His wine and beasts supplied our feasts ;

His overthrow, our chorus.



LXXXVIII. - THE BRIDAL OF MALAHIDE. The joy-bells are ringing in gay Malahide, The fresh wind is singing along the sea-side; The maids are assembling with garlands of flowers, And the harp-strings are trembling in all the glad bowers. Swell, swell the gay measure ! roll trumpet and drum! 'Mid greetings of pleasure in splendor they come ! The chancel is ready, the portal stands wide, For the lord and the lady, the bridegroom and bride. Before the high altar young Maud stands arrayed ! With accents that falter her promise is made From father and mother for ever to part, For him and no other to treasure her heart. The words are repeated, the bridal is done, The rite is completed - the two, they are one; The vow, it is spoken all pure from the heart, That must not be broken till life shall depart. Hark! 'mid the gay clangor that compassed their car,* Loud accents in anger come mingling afar ! The foe's on the border! his weapons resound Where the lines in disorder unguarded are found ! As wakes the good shepherd, the watchful and bold, When the ounce or the leopard is seen in the fold, So rises already the chief in his mail, While the new-married lady looks fainting and pale. “Son, husband, and brother, arise to the strife, For sister and mother, for children and wife ! O’er hill and o'er hollow, o'er mountain and plain, Up, true men, and follow ! let dastards remain !” Farrah ! to the battle ! They form into line The shields, how they rattle! the spears, how they shine ! Soon, soon shall the foeman his treachery rue On, burgher and yeoman! to die or to do! The eve is declining in lone Malahide : The maidens are twining gay wreaths for the bride ;

* At the fifth stanza the speaker's delivery should become louder and more rapid. The young chieftain's summons (seventh stanza) should be loud, bold, and stirring. There is opportunity for several effective changes of intonation in this piece.

She marks them unheeding - her heart is afar,
Where the clansmen are bleeding for her in the war.
Hark! loud from the mountain — 't is victory's cry!
O’er woodland and fountain it rings to the sky!
The foe has retreated ! he flees to the shore;
The spoiler 's defeated — the combat is o'er !
With foreheads unruffled the conquerors come
But why have they muffled the lance and the drum ?
What form do they carry aloft on his shield ?
And where does he tarry, the lord of the field ?
Ye saw him at morning, how gallant and gay!
In bridal adorning, the star of the day :
Now, weep for the lover — his triumph is sped,
His hope it is over! the chieftain is dead !

But, O! for the maiden who mourns for that chief,
With heart overladen, and broken with grief!
She sinks on the meadow : in one morning-tide,
A wife and a widow, a maid and a bride!

Ye maidens attending, forbear to condole!
Your comfort is rending the depths of her soul.
True - true, 't was a story for ages of pride;
He died in his glory — but, 0, he has died !


LXXXIX. — THE SUITOŘ DISENCHANTED. “O, LAURA ! will nothing I bring thee

E'er soften those looks of disdain ? Are the songs of affection I sing thee

All doomed to be sung thee in vain ? I offer thee love the sincerest,

The warmest, ere glowed upon earth ; O! smile on thy votary, dearest !

0! crush not his hope in its birth ! But the maiden, a haughty look flinging,

Said, “ Cease my compassion to move; For I'm not very partial to singing;

And they ’re poor whose sole treasure is love ! »




My name will be sounded in story ;.

I offer thee, dearest, my name :
I have fought in the proud field of glory ;
0, Laura, come share in


I bring thee a soul that adores thee,

And loves thee wherever thou art,
Which thrills as its tribute it pours thee

Of tenderness fresh from the heart."
But the maiden said, “ Cease to impor'tune;

Give Cupid the use of his wings;
Ah ! fame's but a pitiful fortune

And hearts are such valueless things !”
“0, Laura, forgive if I've spoken

Too boldly — nay, turn not away -

heart with affliction is broken
My uncle— died only to-day !
My uncle, the nabob who tended
My youth — with affectionate-

- care,
My manhood — who kindly — befriended, -

Has died and — has left me - his heir ! "
And the maiden said, “ Weep not, sincerest!
My heart has been


all along;
O! hearts are of treasures the dearest

Do, Edward, go on with your song !”
But Edward said, “ Here my song endeth,

And here shall my passion end, toc ;
If ever my heart again bendeth,

It shall bend to another than you.
I've long had an old-fashioned notion

To be loved for myself, — do not sigh !
Since gold wakes thy fondest emotion,

Fair Laura, excuse me -good-by!”


Can tyrants but by tyrants conquered be,

And Freedom find no champion and no child
Such as Columbia saw arise when she

Sprang forth a Pallas, armed and undefiled ? * To preserve the metrical harmony and the rhyme of the verse, the accent in this word must be here put on the second syllable ; but the proper pronunciation is im-por-tune'.

Or must such minds be nourished in the wild,
Deep in the unpruned forest, 'midst the roar

Of cataracts, where nursing Nature smiled
On infant Washington ? Has earth no more
Such seeds within her breast, or Europe no such shore ?
But France got drunk with blood to vomit crime ;

And fatal have her saturnalia been
To Freedom's cause, in every age and clime,

Because the deadly days which we have seen,
And vile Ambition, that built


between Man and his hopes an adamantine wall,

And the base pāgeant, last upon Are

grown the pre'text for the eternal thrall Which nips life’s tree, and dooms man's worst - his second fall !

the scene,

Yet, Freedom ! yet thy banner, torn, but flying,

Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind ; Thy trumpet voice, though broken now and dying,

The loudest still the tempest leaves behind !

Thy tree hath lost its blossoms, and the rind,
Chopped by the ax, looks rough and little worth,

But the sap lasts, — and still the seed we find
Sown deep even in the bosom of the North ;
So shall a better spring less bitter fruit bring forth !




Too late I stayed — forgive the crime ;

Unheeded flew the hours ;
How noiseless falls the foot of Time

That only treads on flowers !

What eye with clear account remarks

The ebbing of his glass,
When all its sands are diamond sparks,

That dazzle as they pass ?

Ah! who to sober measurement

Time's happy swiftness brings,
When birds of Paradise have lent
Their plumage for his wings ?


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