The Poetical Works of William Julius Mickle :: :: University of Virginia Library

'Twas thus the hoary Cadwell rais'd the strain;
Cadwell, the master of the lyric band,
The sacred Bards, who join'd the Druid's train,
When solemn feasts their hallow'd rites demand.

“Awake, my sons,” he cried, and struck his lyre:
When swelling down old Snowdon's side,
A thousand harps the note reply'd:
And soon a thousand white-robed bards
March'd round their hoary sire.
The birds of song in every grove
Awoke, and rais'd the strain of love;
The lark sprung joyous from his grassy nest,
And fluttering round, their powers confest,
And join'd the tuneful choir.

And now the mutter'd spell
Groan'd solemn to the sky:
And soon the dark dispersing shades
And night's foul demons with the twilight fly:
And soon the bleating race the fold forsook,
And o'er the thyme-clad mountain hoar with dew,
And o'er the willow-shaded brook
The floating mists withdrew.

When hastening to the sacred grove,
With white and purple blossoms crown'd,
Their mystic staves with wreaths of oak enwove,
The choral bands their sovereign chief surround.

'Twas thus while yet Monaeses liv'd,
While hoary Cadwell yet surviv'd,
Their solemn feasts the blameless Druids held:
Ere human blood their shrines distain'd,
Ere hell-taught rites their lore profan'd,
'Twas thus o'er Snowdon's brow their sacred anthems swell'd.

Their chief, Monaeses, march'd before;
Monaeses, sprung from Heber's line,
Who leaving Midian's fertile shore,
When scepter'd Belus challeng'd rites divine;
When tyranny his native fields defa'cd,
Far to the peaceful west
His kindred led—Phœnicia spread the sail,
'Till where the groves of Albion rise,
Where Snowdon's front ascends the skies,
He bade his mates their happy mansions hail.

And now the sacred Morn appears,
That through the depth of rolling years
To celebrate creation claims the lay;
The Morn that gave the heavens their birth,
That saw the green, the beauteous earth
All blooming rise beneath the smiles of May.

“Then loud the hallow'd anthem raise,
“And bid the mountain-summits blaze”—
The hallow'd song the Bards and Druids rais'd,
Glad echo caught the sound,
And on the mountain-tops far round,
The sacred altars blaz'd .

“And, hail, auspicious Morn!
“Still may the lively pulse of joy
“Confess thy glad return;
“Still may the harp and song employ
“The sacred hour when first thy trembling beams
“The nodding groves and purling streams,
“And shady grots adorn.”

'Twas thus the hoary Druids rais'd the song,
While by the sacred hill and grove,
Where misletoe the oaks enwove,
All clad in snowy white, august, they march'd along.

100

The fawns came trooping o'er the furrow'd land,
On Snowdon's cliffs the kids attentive stand,
While to Creation's Morn, the opening May,
The Master Druid thus resum'd the lay:
“Awake, ye gales, your fragrance shed;
“Ye mountain cedars, bend the head;
“Ye clouds of incense, from Arabia rise;
“Balmy, as after vernal rains,
“Display, fair East, thy beauteous plains,
“As one great altar fuming to the skies!
“'Tis nature's birth demands the lay,
“Ye western isles, the grateful tribute pay;
“Ye flocks, that clothe with fleecy white
“The steep ascending mountain's height,
“Or round the hamlet bleat along the lea,
“Your voices raise;—ye heifers, low,
“And from the furzy dells below,
“Ye falling riv'lets, swell the harmony!

“Retain, ye hills, the solemn sound,
“Till Echo thro' her fairy round
“Repeat it to the silent list'ning vale;
“Raise, raise, ye Bards, the melody,
“Wide spread the hands, low bend the knee,
“And on Creation's Morn the great Creator hail!”

“Attend,” they sung, “ye aërial bands—
“O from the blood polluted East,
“Hither, ye guardian spirits, haste!
“Here each flower of fragrant smell,
“Each plant that aids the Druid's spell
“Your fostering care demands.

“For you the blossom'd boughs embower
“The craggy glittering steep,
“Along whose rifts the cowslips creep,
“And dashing fountains pour:
“For you the sweet-briar clothes the bank,
“For you, along the bordering mead,
“The white and yellow flowers that love the dank,
“Their watery carpets spread.

101

“O come, propitious, and our rites befriend,
“Till o'er the nodding towers the silent night descend!
“O join the song, and far shall fly
“Each demon, who beneath the midnight sky,
“Rides on the screech-owl's wing, and far around
“Scatters disease, and strife, and friendship's rankling wound.

“Then happy o'er our blissful bowers,
“Here shall the peaceful day decline,
“While fled from scenes of blood and woe,
Th'aërial friendly powers
“In every stream's melodious flow,
“In ev'ry concert of the grove shall join,
“Shall lightly touch the shadowy lyre,
“While with the dawn our joyous choir
“Renew the holy rites from heaven receiv'd,
“When with the sons of God our godlike fathers liv'd.

“Wave, my sons, the misletoe;
“Wave the sacred branch on high:
“Round our steps the spring-flowers strew,
“Flowers of bright and cheerful dye,
“Symbols of untainted youth,
“Of glowing love and holy truth.

“Strew, my sons, the mystic grove.”
He spake—and instant round they spread
Chaplets, where the yellow hue
Was mix'd with flowers of lively blue,
Where snow-white lilies with the blossoms red,
The apple boughs enwove.

“All hail, ye venerable shades!”
Thus rose the hallow'd strain,
“Ye cloudy steeps, and winding glades,
“All hail! and by your silver rills,
“Your rosy dells, and thymy hills
“Shall lasting freedom reign.”

May-day by the Druids, according to Dr. Stukeley, was observed as the day of the creation; and on that morn they kindled what they called holy fires on the tops of the mountains.