producing new dissensions. The lords of the marches committed all kinds of injustice on their Welsh neighbours; and although Edward remitted the fifty thousand pounds, he laid other restrictions some time after upon Llewelyn, which that prince considered as more injurious. He particularly exacted a promise from him at Worcester, that he would retain (A.D. 1281) no person in his principality that should be disagreeable to the English monarch. These were insults too great to be endured, and once more the Welsh flew to arms. A body of their forces took the field, under the command of David, the brother of the prince, ravaged the plain country, took the castle of Hawarden, made Sir Roger Clifford, justice of the Marches, who was very dangerously wounded, their prisoner, and soon after laid siege to the castle of Rhudlan. An account of these hostilitics being quickly brought to Edward, he assembled a numerous army, and set out with a resolution to exterminate Llewelyn and his whole family, and to reduce that people to such an abject state, that they should never after be able to revolt, or distress their peaceable neighbours. At first, however, the king's endeavours (A.D. 1282) were not attended with their usual success; having caused a bridge of boats to be laid over the Menay frith, a body of forces, commanded by Lord Latimer and De Thorne, passed over before it was finished to signalize their courage against the enemy. The Welsh patiently remained in their fastnesses till they saw the tide flowing in beyond the end of the bridge, and thus cutting off the retreat of the assailants. It was then that they poured down from the mountains with hideous outcries, and, with the most ungovernable fury, put the whole body, that had gotten over, to the sword. This defeat revived the sinking spirits of the Welsh, and it was now universally believed by that superstitious people, that Heaven had declared in their favour. A story ran, that it was foretold in the prophecies of Merlin, that Llewelyn was to be the restorer of Brutus's empire in Britain: a wizard had prognosticated that he should ride through the streets of London with a crown upon his head. These were inducements sufficiently strong to persuade this prince to hazard a decisive battle against the English. With this view he marched into Radnorshire; and passing the river Wye, his troops were surprised and defeated by Edward Mortimer, while he himself was absent from his army upon a conference with some of the barons of that county. Upon his return, seeing the dreadful situation of his affairs, he ran desperately into the midst of the enemy, and quickly found that death he so ardently sought for. One of the English captains, recognizing his countenance, severed his head from his body, and it was sent to London, where it was received with extreme demonstrations of joy. The brutal spirit of the times will sufficiently appear from the barbarity of citizens on this occasion ; the head being encircled in a silver coronet, to fulfil the prediction of a wizard, it was placed by them upon a pillory, that the populace might glut their eyes with such an agreeable spectacle. David, the brother of this unfortunate prince, soon after shared the same fate; while his followers, quite dispirited by the loss of their beloved leader, obeyed but slowly, and fought with reluctance. Being at last totally abandoned, he was obliged to hide himself in one of the obscure caverns of the country; but his retreat being soon after discovered, he was taken, tried, and condemned as a traitor. His sentence was executed with the most rigorous severity; he was hanged, drawn and quartered, only for having bravely defended the expiring liberties of his native country, and his own hereditary possessions. With him expired the government, and the distinction of his nation. It was soon after united to the kingdom of England, made a principality, and given to the eldest son of the Foreign conquest might add to the glory, but this added to the felicity of the kingdom. The Welsh were now blended with the conquerors; and in the revolution of a few ages, all national animosity was entirely forgotten. crown. A A 100.-THE BARD. GRAY. [This Ode is founded on a tradition current in Wales, that Edward the First, when he completed the conquest of that country, ordered all the Bards that fell into his hands to be put to death.] "Ruin seize thee, ruthless king! Confusion on thy banners wait; To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, 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`ring lanco On a rock, whose haughty brow 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: Modred, whose magic song Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topt head. The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Ye died amidst your dying country's cries-- On yonder cliffs, a grissly 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 their 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, thro' Berkeley's roof that ring, Shrieks of an agonizing 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 heav'n. 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 funereal couch he lies! No pitying heart, no eye, affords 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. 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 ev'ning 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 destin'd course, Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame, Twin'd 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, "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 unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn : But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height, 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, 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 Taliessin, 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'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. Gales from blooming Eden bear; And distant warblings lessen on my ear, That lost in long futurity expire. 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 diff'rent dooms our fates assign. Be thine despair, and scept'red care, To triumph, and to die, are mine." He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height, J01.-THE STORY OF WILLIAM WALLACE. SIR WALTER SCOTT. William Wallace was none of the high nobles of Scotland, but the son of a private gentleman, called Wallace of Ellerslie, in Renfrewshire, near Paisley. He was very tall and handsome, and one of the strongest and bravest men that ever lived. He had a very fine countenance, with a quantity of fair hair, and was particularly dexterous in the use of all weapons which were then employed in battle. Wallace like all Scotsmen of high spirit, had looked with great indignation upon the usurpation of the crown by Edward, and upon the insolences which the English soldiers committed on his countrymen. It is said, that when he was very young, he went a fishing for sport in the river of Irvine, near Ayr. He had caught a good many trouts, which were carried by a boy, who attended him with a fishing-basket, as is usual with anglers. Two or three English soldiers, who belonged to the garrison of Ayr, came up to Wallace, and insisted, with their usual insolence, on taking the fish from the boy. Wallace was contented to allow them a part of the trouts, but he refused to part with the whole basketful. The soldiers insisted, and from words came to blows. Wallace had no better weapon than the butt-end of his fishing-rod; but he struck the foremost of the Englishmen so hard under the ear with it, that he killed him on the spot; and getting possession of the slain man's sword, he fought with so much fury that he put the others to flight, and brought home his fish safe and sound. The English governor of Ayr sought for him, to punish him with death for this action; but Wallace lay concealed among the hills and great woods till the matter was forgotten, and then appeared in another part of the country. He is said to have had other adventures of the same kind, in which he gallantly defended himself, sometimes when alone, sometimes with very few companions, against superior numbers of the English, until at last his name became generally known as a terror to them. But the action which occasioned his finally rising in arms, is believed to have happened in the town of Lanark. Wallace was at this time married to a lady of that place, and residing there with his wife. It chanced, as he walked in the market-place, dressed in a green garment, with a rich dagger by his side, that an Englishman came up and insulted him on account of his finery, saying, a Scotsman had no business to wear so gay a dress, or carry so handsome a weapon. It soon came to a quarrel, as on many former occasions; and Wallace, having killed the Englishman, fled to his own house, which was speedily assaulted by all the English soldiers. While they were endeavouring to force their way in at the front of the house, Wallace escaped by a back-door, and got in safety to a rugged and rocky glen, near Lanark, called the Cartland-crags, all covered with bushes and trees, and full of high precipices, where he knew he should be safe from the pursuit of the English soldiers. In the meantime, the governor of Lanark, whose name was Hazelrigg, burned Wallace's house, and put his wife and servants to death; and by committing this cruelty, increased to the highest pitch, as you may well believe, the hatred which the champion had always borne against the English usurper. Hazelrigg also proclaimed Wallace an outlaw, and offered a reward to any one who should bring him to an English garrison, alive or dead. |