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Amazement in his van, with Flight combined ;
And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.
“Mighty Victor, mighty Lord,
Low on his funeral couch he lies ;8
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 noontide beam were born ?
Gone to salute the rising Morn.
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, hushed 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 havoc urge their destined course,
And through 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 th' 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, oh stay! nor thus forlorn
Leave me unblest, 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 Snowdon'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 le we bewail —
18 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,
Attempered sweet to virgin grace.
What strings symphonious tremble in the air !
What strains of vocal transport round her play!
Hear from the grave, great Taliessin," hear!
They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.
Bright Rapture calls, and soaring, as she sings,
Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-coloured wings.
“The verse adorn again
Fierce War, and faithful Love,
And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest.
In buskined measuresmove
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,
That lost in long futurity expire.
13 It was the common belief of the Welsh nation, that King Arthur was still alive in Fairy-land, and should return again to reign over Britain.
19 Both Merlin and Taliessin had prophesied that the Welsh should regain their sovereiguty over this island, which seemed to be accomplished in the house of Tudor.
20 Taliessin, chief of the bards, flourished in the sixth century. His works are still preserved, and his memory held in high veneration, among his countrymen. 21 Shakspeare.
22 Milton. 23 The succession of poets after Milton's time.
Fond, impious man, think’st thou yon sanguine cloud,
Raised by thy breath, has quenched 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 plunged to endless night.
OF Nelson and the North,
Sing the glorious day's renown,
When to battle fierce came forth
All the might of Denmark's crown,
And her arms along the deep proudly shone;
By each gun the lighted brand
In a bold determined hand,
And the prince of all the land
Led them on.
Like leviathans afloat,
Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
While the sign of battle flew
On the lofty British line;
It was ten of April morn by the chime:
As they drifted on their path,
There was silence deep as death;
And the boldest held his breath
For a time!
But the might of England flushed
To anticipate the scene;
And her van the fleeter rushed
O'er the deadly space between.
“Hearts of Oak!” our captains cried, when each gun,
From its adamantine lips,
Spread a death-shade round the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun!
Again ! again ! again !
And the havoc did not slack,
Till a feeble cheer the Dane
To our cheering sent us back! -
Their shots along the deep slowly boom ;-
Then ceased-and all is wail,
As they strike the shattered sail;
Or, in conflagration pale,
Light the gloom !
Out spoke the victor then,
As he hailed them o'er the wave,
“ Ye are brothers ! ye are men !
And we conquer but to save !
So peace, instead of death, let us bring:
But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,
With the crews, at England's feet,
And make submission meet
To our king.”