Such were the sounds, that o'er the crested pride To arms! cried Mortimer, and couched his quiverin 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; (Loose his beard, and hoary hair Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air) 'Hark, how each giant-oak, and desert cave, Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, 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-top'd head. On dreary Arvon's shore they lie, Smeared with gore, and ghastly pale: Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail; Dear, as the light that visits these sad eyes, On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, I see them sit, they linger yet, With me in dreadful harmony they join, And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.' 'Weave and warp, and weave and woof, The shrieks of death, thro' Berkley's roofs that ring, She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs, 'Mighty Victor, mighty Lord, Low on his funeral couch he lies! Is the sable Warrior fled ? Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead. The swarm, that in thy noon-tide beam were born? Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows Youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm; 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 havoc urge their destined course, Twined with her blushing foe, we spread: 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 unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn: But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul! 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; What strings symphonious tremble in the air, 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 buskin'd measures move Pale grief, and pleasing pain, With horrour, 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. Fond impious Man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud, The different doom our fates assign. He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height T. Gray 75. Retaliation F old, when Scarron his companions invited, OF Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was united. If our landlord supplies us with beef and with fish, Let each guest bring himself, and he brings the best dish: Our Dean shall be venison, just fresh from the plains, Our Burke shall be tongue, with the garnish of brains, Our Will shall be wild fowl, of excellent flavour, And Dick with his pepper, shall heighten the savour: Our Cumberland's sweetbread its place shall obtain, And Douglas is pudding substantial and plain: |