Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-top'd head. 35 Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale: The famish'd 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 amidst your dying country's criesNo 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. II. I. "Weave the warp and weave the woof, 40 45 The shrieks of death thro' Berkley's roofs that ring, 55 Shrieks of an agonizing king! From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs The scourge of heaven. What terrors round him wait! 60 Amazement in his van, with Flight combined, 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; Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm ; Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway, That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening-prey. II. 3. "Fill high the sparkling bowl, The rich repast prepare, A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast : Close by the regal chair Fell Thirst and Famine scowl Heard ye the din of battle bray, 80 Lance to lance, and horse to horse? Long years of havock urge their destin'd course, 85 And spare the meek Usurper's holy head! And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their way. Ye towers of Julius, With many a foul and London's lasting shame, Revere his Consort's faith, his Father's fame, Above, below, the rose of snow, midnight murther fed, Twin'd 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, 95 Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom. 65 70 75 66 III. I. 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 unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn : In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, But oh what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul! All hail, ye genuine kings, Britannia's issue, hail! What strains of vocal transport round her play, I2C Bright Rapture calls, and soaring, as she sings, Waves in the eye of Heav'n her many-colour'd wings. A voice, as of the Cherub-Choir, Gales from blooming Eden bear; And distant warblings lessen on my car, That lost in long futurity expire. Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud, 135 Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd 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 scept'red Care; To triumph and to die are mine." He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height 140 GOLDSMITH. THE TRAVELLER; OR, A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY. REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, slow, 5 IO 15 Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale; Or press the bashful stranger to his food, (And learn the luxury of doing good.\ But me, not destin'd such delights to share, My prime of life in wand'ring spent and care; Impell'd, with steps unceasing, to pursue Some fleeting good that mocks me with the view; 20 25 |