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When down their bows they threw,
Not one was tardy:
Our men were hardy.
This while our noble king,
As to o'erwhelm it;
Bruised his helmet.
“Ruin seize thee, ruthless King!
Confusion on thy banners wait;
They mock the air with idle state.
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 Snowdon's shaggy side
He wound with toilsome march his long array, Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance : " To arms ! ” cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quiv'
Glo'ster, that duke so good,
With his brave brotherClarence, in steel so bright, Though but a maiden knight, Yet in that furious fight
Scarce such another,
On a rock, whose haughty brow
Robed in the sable garb of woe,
Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath ! O'er thee, O King! their hundred arms they wave,
Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe;
Warwick in blood did wade;
Still as they ran up.
Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day,
Is the sable warrior fled
The swarm, that in thy noon-tide beam were 1. 3.
born, “ Cold is Cadwallo's tongue,
Gone to salute the rising morn. That hush'd the stormy main :
Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr
blows, Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed :
While proudly riding o'er the azure realm Mountains, ye mourn in vain
In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; Modred, whose magic song
Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm; Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topt head.
Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, On dreary Arvon's shore they lie, Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale;
That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail ;
prey. The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by. Dear lost companions of my tuneful art,
Fill high the sparkling bowl, Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, The rich repast prepare, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast;
Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — Close by the regal chair No more I weep. They do not sleep.
Fell Thirst and Famine scowl On yonder cliffs, a grisly band,
A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. I see them sit, they linger yet,
Heard ye the din of battle bray, Avengers of their native land:
Lance to lance, and horse to horse With me in dreadful harmony they join,
Long years of havoc urge their destined And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.
course, And through the kindred squadrons mow their
way. “Weave the warp, and weave the woof,
Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, The winding-sheet of Edward's race.
With many a foul and midnight murder fed, Give ample room, and verge enough
Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame, The characters of hell to trace.
And spare the meek usurper's holy head. Mark the year, and mark the night,
Above, below, the rose of snow, When Severn shall re-echo with affright
Twin'd with her blushing foe, we spread: The shrieks of death, thro' Berkeley's roof that The bristled Boar in infant-gore ring,
Wallows beneath the thorny shade. Shrieks of an agonizing king !
Now, brothers, bending o'er the accursed loom, She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs,
Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate,
doom. From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs
III. 1. The scourge of Heav'n. What Terrors round him
· Edward, lo! to sudden fate wait!
(Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) Amazement in his van, with Flight combin'd,
Half of thy heart we consecrate. And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.
(The web is wove. The work is done.)
Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn
Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn: “Mighty victor, mighty lord !
In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, Low on his funeral couch he lies !
They melt, they vanish from my eyes. No pitying heart, no eye, afford
But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height A tear to grace his obsequies.
Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll i
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!
gorgeous dames, and statesınen old
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-colored
The Capalier's Song.
A sword of metal keene !
All else on earth is meane.
The rowlinge of the drum,
Be soundes from heaven that come;
Whenas their war-cryes swell,
And rouse a fiend from hell.
Then mounte! then mounte, brave gallants all,
And don your helmes amaine;
Us to the field againe.
When the sword-hilt's in our hand-
For the fayrest of the land;
Thus weepe and puling crye;
“ The verse adorn again
Fierce War, and faithful Love,
In buskind measures move
A voice, as of the cherub-choir,
That lost in long futurity expire.
cloud, Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of
day 1 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.
PRINCE EUGENE, our noble leader,
Win the emperor back Belgrade : “ Launch pontoons, let all be ready To bear our ordnance safe and steady
Over the Danube" — thus he said.
There was mustering on the border
Breasted first the roaring stream; Then at Semlin, vengeance breathing, We encamped to scourge the heathen
Back to Mahound, and fame redeem.
'Twas on August one-and-twenty, Scouts and glorious tidings plenty