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THE BARD. The following Ode is founded on a Tradition current in Wales, that

Edward I. when he completed the conquest of that couutry, ordered
all the Bards that fell into his hands to be put to death.
Ruin seize thee, ruthless King !

Confusion on thy banners wait;
Though fann'd by conquest's crimson wing,

They mock the air with idle state.
Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail,
Nor e'en thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears,

From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears ?'
Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride

Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, As down the steep of Snowden's shaggy side

He wound with toilsome march his long array. Stout Gloster stood aghast* in speechless trance : To arms! cried Mortimer, f and couch'd his quivering lance.

On a rock, whose haughty brow
Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood,

Rob'd in the sable garb of woe,
With haggard eyes the Poet stood :
(Loose his beard, and hoary hair
Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air)
And with a Master's hand, and Prophet's fire,
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre
Hark, how each giant oak, and desert cave,

Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath !
O'er thee, oh King! their hundred arms they wave,

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.

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· Cold is Cadwallo's tongue,

That hush'd the stormy main:
Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed :

Mountains, ye mourn in vain

Modred, whose magic song
Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topp'd head.

* Gilbert de Clare, surnamed the Red, Earl of Gloucester and He-tford, son-in-law to King Edward.

+ Edmond de Mortimer, lord of Wigm re.

On dreary Arvon's shore* they lie,
Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale:
Far, far aloof the' affrighted ravens sail;

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 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 Berkley's roof that ring, Shrieks of an agonizing King !t

She-wolf of France, I with unrelenting fangs That tearst the bowels of thy mangled Mate,

From thee be born, $ who o'er thy country hangs The scourge of Heaven. What terrors round him wait ! Amazement in his van, with flight combin’d, 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 noon-tide beam were born ?
Gone to salute the rising Morn.

The shores of Caernarvonshire, opposite to the Isle of Anglesey. + Edward II. cruelly butchered in Berkley Castle. | Isabel of France, Edward II.'s adulterous queen.

Triumphs of Edward III, in France. || Death of that king abandoned by his children, and even robbed in his last moments by his courtiers.

Edward the Black Prince died some time before his father.


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, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening-prey.

• Fill high the sparkling bowl,t 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, I

Lance to lance, and horse to horse ;

Long years of havock urge their destin'd course, And thro’ the kindred squadrons mow their way.

Ye Tow'rs of Julius,|| London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed,

Revere his Consort's faith, ş his Father's fame, And spare the meek Usurper's holy head. ** Above, below, the rose of snow, tt

Twin'd with her blushing foe, we spread :
The bristled Boarii in infant-gore

Wallows beneath the thorny shade.
Now, brothers, bending o'er the 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.')

* Magnificence of Richard II.'s reign.

+ Richard II, was starved to death. The story of his assassination by Sir Piers of Exton is of much later date.

1 Ruinous civil wars of York and Lancaster. || Henry IV. George Duke of Clarence, Edward V. 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.

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

| Henry V.

** Henry VI. very near being canonized. The line of Lancaster had no right of inheritance to the crown.

+ The white and red Roses, devices of York and Lancaster. 11 The silver Boar was the badge of Richard IIJ.

Eleanor of Castile died a few years after the coriquest of Wales.

Stay, oh stay; nor thus forlorn
Leave me unbless'd, 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 Snowden's height

Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll?
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!

Ye unborn Ages, crowd not on my soul !
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, t
Attemper'd sweet to virgin-grace.
What strings symphonious tremble in the air,

What strains of vocal transport round her play!
Hear from the grave, great Talliessin, hear ;

They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.
Bright Rapture calls, and, soaring as she sings,
Waves in the eye of Heav'n her many-colour's wings.

• The verse adorn again

Fierce War, and faithful love,
And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction dress'd.

In buskin'd measures movef
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,l!

That lost in long futurity expire.

It was the common belief of the Welsh nation, that King Arthur was still alive in Fairy-land, and would return again to reign over Britain.

Both Merlin and Talliessin had prophesied that the Welsh should regain their sovereignty over this island; which seemed to be accomplished in the house of Tudor. + Queen Elizabeth. Shakspeare.

The succession of Poets after Milton's tinie.

Fond impious Man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud,

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 sceptred Care ;

To triumph, and to die, are mine."
He spoke ; and headlong from the mountain's height
Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endless night.

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ODE TO ADVERSITY. Daughter of Jove, relentless power,

Thou tamer of the human breast,
Whose iron scourge and torturing hour

The bad affright, afflict the best !
Bound in thy adamantine chain,
The proud are taught to taste of pain,

And purple tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone.

When first thy sire to send on earth

Virtue, his darling child, design'd, To thee he gave the heav'nly birth,

And bade to form her infant mind,
Stern rugged nurse! thy rigid lore
With patience many a year she bore :

What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know,
And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' woe.

Scar'd at thy frown terrific, fly

Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood,
Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy,

And leave us leisure to be good.
Light they disperse ; and with them go
The summer friend, the flattering foe;

By vain Prosperity receiv'd,
To her they vow their truth, and are again believ'd.

Wisdom in sable garb array'd,

Immers'd in rapturous' thought profound, And Melancholy, silent maid,

With leaden eye that loves the ground,

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