122. RULE BRITANNIA. When Britain first at Heaven's command And guardian angels sung the strain: The nations not so blest as thee Still more majestic shalt thou rise, Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame; To thee belongs the rural reign; Thy cities shall with commerce shine ; The Muses, still with Freedom found, J. THOMSON. 123. THE BARD. Pindaric Ode. "Ruin seize thee, ruthless King! Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!" 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. On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe With haggard eyes the Poet stood; Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air) "Hark, how each giant oak and desert-cave To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. "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-topt head. On yonder cliffs, a griesly band, 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 When Severn shall re-echo with affright The shrieks of death thro' Berkley's roof 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 The scourge of Heaven! What terrors round him wait! Amazement in his van, with Flight combined, And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind. 66 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: 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, 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? Long years of havock urge their destined course, And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their way. Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed, 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 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 ;) Stay, O stay! nor thus forlorn Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn: But O! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul! "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 : What strings symphonious tremble in the air, Bright Rapture calls, and soaring as she sings, Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-colour'd wings. "The verse adorn again Fierce War and faithful Love And Truth severe by fairy Fiction drest. In buskin'd measures move Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast, |