have known Here wave his amber locks; unfold ye 5 10 Will not your train descend in radiant state, [Fate? To break with Mercy's beam this gathering cloud of I. 2. 'Tis silence all. No Son of Light If guilt, if fraud has stain'd your mind, Or Saint to hear, or Angel to defend." 15 So Truth proclaims. I hear the sacred sound Burst from the centre of her burning throne; 20 Where aye she sits with star-wreathed lustre A bright sun clasps her adamantine zone. [crown'd: So Truth proclaims: her awful voice I hear : With many a solemn pause it slowly meets my ear. I. 3. "Attend, ye sons of men; attend, and say, Does not enough of my refulgent ray Break through the veil of your mortality? Say, does not reason in this form descry Unnumber'd, nameless glories, that surpass The Angel's floating pomp, the Seraph's glowing grace? II. 1. "Shall then your earth-born daughters vie With me? Shall she, whose brightest eye 29 But emulates the diamond's blaze, Whose cheek but mocks the peach's bloom, Whose breath the hyacinth's perfume, Whose melting voice the warbling woodlark's lays, Shall she be deem'd my rival? Shall a form Of elemental dross, of mouldering clay, 35 Vie with these charms imperial? The poor worm Shall prove her contest vain. Life's little day 40 Shall pass, and she is gone; while I appear [year. Flush'd with the bloom of youth thro' Heaven's eternal II. 2. "Know, Mortals, know, ere first ye sprung, I shone amid the heavenly throng. And Ocean heave on his extended bed; II. 3. 45 50 55 "Last, Man arose, erect in youthful grace, Heaven's hallow'd image stampt upon his face, And as he rose the high behest was given, That I alone, of all the host of Heaven, Should reign Protectress of the godlike youth: Thus the Almighty spake: he spake, and call'd me Truth." MASON. P THE BARD. I. 1. "RUIN seize thee, ruthless King! From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears !" 10 He wound with toilsome march his long array. Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance: "To arms!" cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quivering lance. I. 2. On a rock, whose haughty brow 15 Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, With haggard eyes the poet stood; (Loose his beard, and hoary hair Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air) 20 "Hark, how each giant oak, and desert cave, Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath! O'er thee, O king! their hundred arms they wave, 25 Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe; Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topt head. The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by. Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart. Ye died amidst your dying country's criesNo more I weep. They do not sleep. On yonder cliff, a grisly band, I see them sit; they linger yet, With me in dreadful harmony they join, 35 40 45 And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line." II. 1. "Weave the warp, and weave the woof, The winding-sheet of Edward's race; The characters of hell to trace. When Severn shall re-echo with affright 50 The shrieks of death thro' Berkeley's roof 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 59 The scourge of Heaven. What terrors round him wait! Amazement in his van, with Flight combined, And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind. II. 2. "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. Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; 65 70 Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm: Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, 75 That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey. II. 3. "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, Lance to lance, and horse to horse? 80 Long years of havoc urge their destined course, 85 And through the kindred squadrons mow their way. |