II.

ARTEGAL AND ELIDure.

(SEE THE CHRONICLE OF GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH AND MILTON'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.)

WHERE be the temples which, in Britain's Isle,
For his paternal Gods, the Trojan raised?
Gone like a morning dream, or like a pile
Of clouds that in cerulean ether blazed!
Ere Julius landed on her white-cliffed shore,
They sank, delivered o'er

To fatal dissolution; and, I ween,

No vestige then was left that such had ever been.

Nathless, a British record (long concealed
In old Armorica, whose secret springs
No Gothic conqueror ever drank) revealed
The marvellous current of forgotten things;
How Brutus came, by oracles impelled,
And Albion's giants quelled,

A brood whom no civility could melt,

'Who never tasted grace, and goodness ne'er had felt.'

By brave Corineus aided, he subdued,
And rooted out the intolerable kind;
And this too-long-polluted land imbued
With goodly arts and usages refined;

Whence golden harvests, cities, warlike towers,
And pleasure's sumptuous bowers;

Whence all the fixed delights of house and home,
Friendships that will not break, and love that cannot roam.

O, happy Britain! region all too fair
For self-delighting fancy to endure
That silence only should inhabit there,
Wild beasts, or uncouth savages impure!
But, intermingled with the generous seed,
Grew many a poisonous weed;

Thus fares it still with all that takes its birth
From human care, or grows upon the breast of earth.

Hence, and how soon! that war of vengeance waged By Guendolen against her faithless lord;

Till she, in jealous fury unassuaged

Had slain his paramour with ruthless sword:
Then, into Severn hideously defiled,
She flung her blameless child,

Sabrina,-vowing that the stream should bear

That name through every age, her hatred to declare.

So speaks the Chronicle, and tells of Lear
By his ungrateful daughters turned adrift.
Ye lightnings, hear his voice!—they cannot hear,
Nor can the winds restore his simple gift.
But One there is, a Child of nature meek,
Who comes her Sire to seek ;

And he, recovering sense, upon her breast
Leans smilingly, and sinks into a perfect rest.

There too we read of Spenser's fairy themes,
And those that Milton loved in youthful years
The
sage enchanter Merlin's subtle schemes;
The feats of Arthur and his knightly peers;
Of Arthur,-who, to upper light restored,
With that terrific sword

Which yet he brandishes for future war,
Shall lift his country's fame above the polar star!

What wonder, then, if in such ample field
Of old tradition, one particular flower
Doth seemingly in vain its fragrance yield.
And bloom unnoticed even to this late hour?
Now, gentle Muses, your assistance grant,
While I this flower transplant

Into a garden stored with Poesy;

Where flowers and herbs unite, and haply some weeds be,

That, wanting not wild grace, are from all mischief free!

A KING more worthy of respect and love Than wise Gorbonian ruled not in his day; And grateful Britain prospered far above

All neighbouring countries through his righteous sway He poured rewards and honours on the good;

The oppressor he withstood;

And while he served the Gods with reverence due

Fields smiled, and temples rose, and towns and cities

grew.

He died, whom Artegal succeeds—his son;
But how unworthy of that sire was he!
A hopeful reign, auspiciously begun,
Was darkened soon by foul iniquity.

From crime to crime he mounted, till at length

The nobles leagued their strength

With a vexed people, and the tyrant chased;

And, on the vacant throne, his worthier Brother placed.

From realm to realm the humbled Exile went,

Suppliant for aid his kingdom to regain;

In many a court, and many a warrior's tent,

He urged his persevering suit in vain.

Him, in whose wretched heart ambition failed,

Dire poverty assailed;

And, tired with slights his pride no more could brook,

He towards his native country cast a longing look

Fair blew the wished-for wind-the voyage sped; He landed; and, by many dangers scared, 'Poorly provided, poorly followèd,'

To Calaterium's forest he repaired.

How changed from him who, born to highest place, Had swayed the royal mace,

Flattered and feared, despised yet deified,

In Troynovant, his seat by silver Thames's side!

From that wild region where the crownless King
Lay in concealment with his scanty train,
Supporting life by water from the spring,
And such chance food as outlaws can obtain,
Unto the few whom he esteems his friends
A messenger he sends ;

And from their secret loyalty requires
Shelter and daily bread,―the sum of his desires.

While he the issue waits, at early morn Wandering by stealth abroad, he chanced to hear A startling outcry made by hound and horn, From which the tusky wild boar flies in fear; And, scouring toward him o'er the grassy plain, Behold the hunter train!

He bids his little company advance

With seeming unconcern and steady countenance.