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No more I weep. They do not sleep. | Revere his consort's faith, his father's + fame,
On yonder cliffs, a griesly band,

And spare the meek usurper's † holy head.
I see them sit, they linger yet,

Above, below, the rose 9 of snow,
Avengers of their native land:

Twin'd with her blushing foe we spread :
With me in dreadful harmony they join, The bristled boar || in infant gore
And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. Wallows beneath the thorny shade.

Now, brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom,
II.

Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom. «Weave the warp, and weave the woof,

III.
The winding-sheet of Edward's race :

« • Edward, lo! to sudden fate Give ample room, and verge enough

(Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) The characters of Hell to trace.

Half of thy heart we consecrate. I Mark the year, and mark the night,

(The web is wove. The work is done.) When Severn shall re-echo with affright (ring, Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn The shrieks of death, through Berkley's roofs that Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn : Shrieks of an agonizing king;

In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, She-wolf of France +, with unrelenting fangs, They melt, they vanish from my eyes. That tears the bowels of thy mangled mate, But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll ? The scourge of Heaven. † What terrours round Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! him wait!

Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul ! Amazement in his van, with Flight combin'd; No more our long-lost Arthur ** we bewail. [hail ! And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind. All-hail, ye genuine kings tt; Britannia's issue, " " Mighty Victor, mighty Lord,

“ Girt with many a baron bold Low on his funeral couch he lies ! S

Sublime their starry fronts they rear ; No pitying heart, no eye, afford

And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old, A tear to grace his obsequies.

In bearded majesty, appear.
Is the sable warrior || fled ?

In the midst a form divine !
Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead. Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line;
The swarm, that in the noon-tide beam were born ; Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face,
Gone to salute the rising Morn.

Attemper'd sweet to virgin-grace.
Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the Zephyr blows, What strings symphonious tremble in the air,
While proudly riding o'er the azure realm

What strains of vocal transport round her play; In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes;

Hear from the grave, great Taliessin ft, hear; Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm ; They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway, Bright Rapture calls, and soaring, as she sings, That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening- Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-colour'd prey.

wings. * • Fill high the sparkling bowl,

* Margaret of Anjou, a woman of heroic spirit, The rich repast prepare :

who struggled hard to save her husband and her Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast : Close by the regal chair

+ Henry the Fifth. Fell Thirst and Famine scowl

| Henry the Sixth, very near being canonized. A baleful smile upon their baffled guest.

The line of Lancaster had no right of inheritance to Heard ye the din of battle bray ,

the crown. Lance to lance, and horse to horse?

§ The white and red roses, devices of York and Long years of havoc urge their destin'd course, Lancaster. And through the kindred squadrons mow their way. | The silver-boar was the badge of Richard the Ye towers of Julius **, London's lasting shame,

whence he was usually known in his own With many a foul and midnight murther fed, time by the name of The Boar.

q Eleanor of Castile died a few years after the Edward the Second, cruelly butchered in conquest of Wales. The heroic proof she gave of Berkley castle.

her affection for her lord is well known. The mo4 Isabel of France, Edward the Second's adul- numents of his regret, and sorrow for the loss of terous queen.

her, are still to be seen at Northampton, GeddingTriumphs of Edward the Third in France. ton, Waltham, and other places. Ś Death of that king, abandoned by his children, ** It was the common belief of the Welsh nation, and even robbed in his last moments by his courtiers that King Arthur was still alive in Fairy-land, and and his mistress.

should return again to reign over Britain. 1 Edward the Black Prince, dead some time # Both Merlin and Taliessin had prophesied, before his father.

that the Welsh should regain their sovereignty over Ruinous civil wars of York and Lancaster. this island; which seemed to be accomplished in the

Henry the Sixth, George Duke of Clarence, house of Tudor. Edward the Fifth, Richard Duke of York, &c. be- 11 Taliessin, chief of the bards, flourished in the jeved to be murdered secretly in the Tower of sixth century. His works are still preserved, and London. The oldest part of that structure is vul- his memory' held in high veneration among his çarly attributed to Julius Cæsar.

countrymen.

crown.

Third;

“ The verse adorn again

Mista, black terrific maid, Fierce War, and faithful Love,

Sangrida, and Hilda, see, And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest.

Join the wayward work to aid : In buskin'd measures * move

'Tis the woof of victory. Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain, With Horrour, tyrant of the throbbing breast.

Ere the ruddy Sun be set, A voice +, as of the cherub-choir,

Pikes must shiver, javelins sing, Gales from blooming Eden bear;

Blade with clattering buckler meet, And distant warblings † lessen on my ear,

Hauberk crash, and helmet ring.
That lost in long futurity expire.
Fond impious man, think'st thou, yon sanguine (Weave the crimson web of war,)
cloud,

Let us go, and let us fly,
Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day? Where our friends the contlict share,
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood,

Where they triumph, where they die. And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me: with joy I see

As the paths of Fate we tread, The different doom our Fates assign.

Wading through th' ensanguin'd field; Be thine Despair, and scepter'd Care:

Gondula, and Geira, spread To triumph, and to die, are mine."

O'er the youthful king your shield.
He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height
Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endless night. We the reins to Slaughter give,

Ours to kill, and ours to spare :
Spite of danger he shall live :

(Weave the crimson web of war.) THE FATAL SISTERS. S

They, whom once the desert-beach

Pent within its bleak domain,
Soon their ample sway shall stretch

O'er the plenty of the plain.
(From the Norse-Tongue.]

Low the dauntless Earl is laid,

Gor'd with many a gaping wound: IN THE ORCADES OF THOR MODUS TORFÆUS; HAFNIR, Fate demands a nobler head; 1697, FOLIO; AND ALSO IN BARTHOLINUS.

Soon a king shall bite the ground.

AN ODE.

Vitt er oprit fyrir valfalli, &c.

Long his loss shall Eirin weep,

Ne'er again his likeness see;
Long her strains in sorrow steep,

Strains of immortality!

Now the storm begins to lour,

(Haste, the loom of Hell prepare,) Iron-sleet of arrowy shower

Hurtles in the darken'd air. Glittering lances are the loom,

Where the dusky warp we strain, Weaving many a soldier's doom,

Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane.

Horrour covers all the heath,

Clouds of carnage blot the Sun.
Sisters, weave the web of death;

Sisters, cease, the work is done.

See the griesly texture grow,

('T is of human entrails made,) And the weights that play below,

Each a gasping warrior's head. Shafts for shuttles, dipt in gore,

Shoot the trembling cords along; Sword, that once a monarch bore,

Keep the tissue close and strong. Shakspeare. + Milton. # The succession of poets after Milton's time.

$ The Valkyriur were female divinities, servants of Odin (or Woden) in the Gothic mythology. Their name signifies choosers of the slain. They were mounted on swift horses, with drawn swords in their hands; and in the throng of battle selected such as were destined to slaughter, and conducted them to Valkalla, the hall of Odin, or paradise of the brave; where they attended the banquet, and served the departed heroes with horns i of mead and ale.

Hail the task, and hail the hands!

Songs of joy and triumph sing!
Joy to the victorious bands ;

Triumph to the younger king.
Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale,

Learn the tenour of our song.
Scotland, through each winding vale

Far and wide the notes prolong.
Sisters, hence, with spurs of speed;

Each her thundering falchion wield;
Each bestride her sable steed:

Hurry, hurry to the field.

AN ODE.

What dangers Odin's child await,

Who the author of his fate?
THE DESCENT OF ODIN.

Pr. In Hoder's hand the hero's doom :
His brother sends him to the tomb.
Now my weary lips I close :

Leave me, leave me, to repose.
[From the same.)

0. Prophetess, my spell obey :

Once again arise, and say,
IN BARTHOLINUS, DE CAUSIS CONTEMNENDR MORTIS;
HAFNIR, 1689, QUARTO.

Who th' avenger of his guilt,

By whom shall Hoder's blood be spilt?
Upreis Odinn allda gauir, &c.

Pr. In the caverns of the west,

By Odin's fierce embrace comprest, UPROSE the King of Men with speed,

A wondrous boy shall Rinda bear, And saddled straight his coal-black steed;

Who ne'er shall comb his raven-hair, Down the yawning steep he rode,

Nor wash his visage in the stream, That leads to Hela's * drear abode.

Nor see the Sun's departing beam: Him the Dog of Darkness spied,

Till he on Hoder's corse shall smile His shaggy throat he open'd wide,

Flaming on the funeral pile. While from his jaws, with carnage fillid,

Now my weary lips I close : Foam and human gore distill’d;

Leave me, leave me, to repose. Hoarse he bays with hideous din,

0. Yet awhile my call obey, Eyes that glow, and fangs that grin ;

Prophetess, awake, and say, And long pursues, with fruitless yell,

What virgins these, in speechless woe, The father of the powerful spell.

That bend to earth their solemn brow, Onward still his way he takes,

That their flaxen tresses tear, (The groaning Earth beneath him shakes,)

And snowy veils, that float in air. Till full before his fearless eyes

Tell me whence their sorrows rose :
The portals nine of Hell arise.

Then I leave thee to repose.
Right against the eastern gate,

Pr. Ha! no traveller art thou,
By the moss-grown pile he sate;

King of Men, I know thee now, Where long of yore to sleep was laid

Mightiest of a mighty line. The dust of the prophetic maid.

0. No boding maid of skill divine Facing to the northern clime,

Art thou, nor prophetess of good; Thrice he trac'd the Runic rhyme;

But mother of the giant-brood ! Thrice pronounc'd, in accents dread,

Pr. Hie thee hence, and boast at home, The thrilling verse that wakes the dead;

That never shall inquirer come
Till from out the hollow ground

To break my iron-sleep again;
Slowly breath'd a sullen sound. (sume, Till Lok + has burst his ten-fold chain.

Pr. What call unknown, what charms pre- Never, till substantial Night
To break the quiet of the tomb ?

Has re-assum'd her ancient right; Who thus afflicts my troubled sprite,

Till wrapp'd in flames, in ruin hurl'd,
And drags me from the realms of night?

Sinks the fabric of the world.
Long on these mouldering bones have beat
The winter's snow, the summer's heat,
The drenching dews, and driving rain !
Let me, let me sleep again.
Who is he, with voice unblest,

THE TRIUMPHS OF OWEN.
That calls me from the bed of rest ?

0. A traveller, to thee unknown, Is he that calls, a warrior's son.

FROM MR. EVANS'S SPECIMENS OF THE WELSH POETRY; Thou the deeds of light shalt know;

LONDON, 1764, QUARTO.
Tell me what is done below,
For whom yon glittering board is spread,

Owen's praise demands my song,
Drest for whom yon golden bed ?

Owen swift, and Owen strong;
Pr. Mantling in the goblet see

Fairest flower of Roderic's stem,
The pure beverage of the bee,

Gwyneth's g shield, and Britain's gem. O'er it hangs the shield of gold; *T is the drink of Balder bold :

+ Lok is the evil being, who continues in chains Balder's head to death is given,

till the twilight of the gods approaches, when he Pain can reach the sons of Heaven !

shall break his bonds; the human race, the stars, Unwilling I my lips unclose:

and Sun, shall disappear; the earth sink in the Leave me, leave me, to repose.

seas, and fire consume the skies : even Odin him0. Once again my call obey,

self and his kindred deities shall perish. Por a Prophetess, arise, and say,

further explanation of this mythology, see Mallet's

Introduction to the History of Denmark, 1755, • Niflheimr, the Hell of the Gothic nations, con- quarto. sisted of nine worlds, to which were devoted all | Owen succeeded his father Griffin in the prinsuch as died of sickness, old age, or by any other cipality of North Wales, A. D. 112. This battle Eneans than in battle: over it presided Hela, the was fought near forty years afterwards. goddess of death.

§ North Wales.

Å FRAGMENT.

He nor heaps his brooded stores,
Nor all profusely pours;
Lord of every regal art,
Liberal hand, and open heart.

Big with hosts of mighty name,
Squadrons three against him came ;
This the force of Eirin hiding,
Side by side as proudly riding,
On her shadow long and gay
Lochlin * plows the watery way:
There the Norman sails afar
Catch the winds, and join the war ;
Black and huge along they sweep,
Burthens of the angry deep.

Dauntless on his native sands The dragon-son t of Mona stands ;

In glittering arms and glory drest,
High he rears his ruby crest.
There the thundering strokes begin,
There the press, and there the din;
Talymalfra's rocky shore
Echoing to the battle's roar,
Where his glowing eye-balls turn,
Thousand banners round him burn.
Where he points his purple spear,
Hasty, hasty rout is there,
Marking with indignant eye
Fear to stop, and shame to fly.
There Confusion, Terrour's child,
Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild,
Agony, that pants for breath,
Despair and honourable Death.

• Denmark.

† The red dragon is the device of Cadwallader, which all his descendants bore on their banners.

663

TOBIAS SMOLLETT.

« Ode to

TOBIAS SMOLLETT, well known in his time for the in this collection, as the author of « The Tears variety and multiplicity of his publications, was of Scotland,” the “Ode to Leven-Water,” and born in 1720, at Dalquhurn, in the county of Dum- some other short pieces, which are polished, tender, barton. He was educated under a surgeon in and picturesque; and, especially, of an Glasgow, where he also attended the medical lec- Independence," which aims at a loftier Aight, and tures of the University; and at this early period he perhaps has few superiors in the lyric style. gave some specimens of a talent for writing verses. Smollett married a lady of Jamaica : he was, As it is on this ground that he has obtained a place unfortunately, of an irritable disposition, which in the present collection, we shall pass over his involved him in frequent quarrels, and finally various characters of surgeon's mate, physician, shortened his life. He died in the neighbourhood historiographer, politician, miscellaneous writer, of Leghorn, in October, 1771, in the fifty-first and especially novellist, and consider his claims as year of his age. a minor poet of no mean rank. He will be found,

THE TEARS OF SCOTLAND.

O baneful cause, oh, fatal morn,
Accurs'd to ages yet unborn !
The sons against their fathers stood,
The parent shed his children's blood.
Yet, when the rage of battle ceas'd,
The victor's soul was not appeas'd :
The naked and forlorn must feel
Devouring flames, and murd'ring steel!

Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn
Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn!
Thy sons, for valour long renown'd,
Lie slaughter'd on their native ground;
Thy hospitable roofs no more,
Invite the stranger to the door ;
In smoky ruins sunk they lie,
The monuments of cruelty.
The wretched owner sees afar
His all become the prey of war;
Bethinks him of his babes and wife,
Then smites his breast, and curses life.
Thy swains are famish'd on the rock
Where once they fed their wanton flocks:
Thy ravish'd virgins shriek in vain ;
Thy infants perish on the plain.
What boots it then, in every clime,
Through the wide-spreading waste of time,
Thy martial glory, crown'd with praise,
Still shone with undiminish'd blaze?
Thy tow'ring spirit now is broke,
Thy neck is bended to the yoke.
What foreign arms could never quell,
By civil rage and rancour fell.
The rural pipe and merry lay
No more shall cheer the happy day :
No social scenes of gay delight
Beguile the dreary winter night :
No strains but those of sorrow flow,
And nought be heard but sounds of woe,
While the pale phantoms of the slain
Glide nightly o'er the silent plain.

The pious mother doom'd to death,
Forsaken wanders o'er the heath,
The bleak wind whistles round her head,
Her helpless orphans cry for bread ;
Bereft of shelter, food, and friend,
She views the shades of night descend,
And, stretch'd beneath th' inclement skies,
Weeps o'er her tender babes, and dies.
While the warm blood bedews my veins,
And unimpair'd remembrance reigns,
Resentment of my country's fate
Within my filial breast shall beat;
And, spite of her insulting foe,
My sympathizing verse shall flow :
“ Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn
Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn!"

ODE TO LEVEN-WATER.

On Leven's banks, while free to rove,
And tune the rural pipe to love;
I envied not the happiest swain
That ever trod the Arcadian plain.

Pure stream ! in whose transparent wave
My youthful limbs I wont to lave;

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