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ELEANOR DE MONTFORD's LAMENT.

ADDRESSED TO LLEWELLYN, THE LAST PRINCE OF CAMBRIA.

Llewellyn was attached to Eleanor, the daughter of Simon de Montford, Earl of Leicester. Eleanor being a guest at the court of Philip, King of France, Llewellyn transmitted to him a request, that Eleanor might be sent to Cambria. “The French King granted his request, and sent the Lady Eleanor, under the conduct of her brother Amoury, to be conveyed into Wales, to Llewellyn, but ere they approach to Wales, at the Isles of Scilly, both the brother and sister were taken prisoners by some ships from Brystow.” Holinshead.

172

ELEANOR, thy promised bride,
From thine arms, is torn away;
By old Severn's rapid tide,
She is sad, who once was gay,
Desolate as maid may be,
Yet, Llewellyn! true to thee.
At the summons Love convey'd,
To the waiting bark I sped;
In the breeze the streamer play'd;
The sun, around, his glories shed;
Birds chanted loud their carols wild,
Whilst heaven, and earth, and ocean smiled.
Ah! little thought I of the fate,
So soon to whelm me in despair;—
That I should to my prison grate
Fly, to breathe the balmy air,
And ever, mid tumultuous fear,
Find friend, nor soothing parent near!
Down to the beach my mother came,
Cheerful, as she strove to be;—
I saw her turn, dear sainted name,
And shed a tear, a tear for me!
Of her captive daughter's woe,
May she never, never, know!
O'er the curling billows borne,
Fast I left the Gallic shore;
Thy Eleanor forgot to mourn,
For Love, inviting, sailed before:
Joy proclaim'd her jubilee—
I, Llewellyn, thought of thee!
173

A sudden cloud o'ercasts the sky!
At hand, two hostile ships appear!—
The scenes are past, and I will try
To check the unavailing tear!
Born to grief, and sorrow's heir,
I, alone, my portion bear!
The best of brothers, good, and kind,
From my side, nor succour near,
He, by war, with fury blind,
Was dragg'd to dungeon, dark, and drear:
His frantic grief, his last adieu,
Still, with shuddering heart, I view!
Amoury! thy life is sought;
All our promised joys are o'er;
I shall see, O piteous thought!
I shall see thy face no more!
Yet, thy memory, sweet to me,
Amoury! will ever be.
The dearest friend, of many, dear,
Thus, with me, I call to weep;
Yet, while thou drop'st affection's tear,
Still thy stately tenor keep!
Wield the sword of Roderi,
Till thy foes beneath thee lie!
Wherefore, from a maid like me,
Should these warlike accents flow?
I would not endanger thee,
For all the choicest gifts below.
174

Terrors, that new terrors wake,
Round, and round, their circuit take!
Mourn not, though the piercing blast
O'er my head, unshelter'd, flies;
May thy evil days be past!
May thy prosperous star arise!
Yet, sometimes, though vain it be,
Wilt thou, sighing, think of me?
At evening's still and solemn close,
I look toward Cambria's mountain bound;
And bless the river, as it flows
From meads and hills, where thou art found:
In its waters, hurrying by,
Oft Llewellyn's form I spy.
Must I, from my spirit cold,
Tear the last hope glimmering there?
Must I watch the hours unfold
With the fixed eye of despair?
Amid the bleak and wintry sky,
Expect no joy, no summer nigh?
Though it be delusion vain,
On which my faithless dreams recline;
I will banish grief and pain;
The dawn of fortune still may shine;
Hope, that glistens through my tear,
Whispers, Happier days are near!
Ah! I hear, mid Severn's roar,
A voice, as of a seraph mild;
Which says, that thou wilt never more
See De Montford's sorrowing child!
175

Farewell, Llewellyn! round my head,
Still deeper mists and shadows spread!
Yet, as before me, earth declines,
The sun, upon thy brow, appears!
His fairest beam, there, lingering shines!
Thou source of all my hopes and fears,
When I am dead, which soon will be,
I know that thou wilt think of me!

ELEANOR DE MONTFORD's PRISON SONG.

I

THE sun is up, the air is still,
The firmament is fair and glowing;
All things with joy their chalice fill,
And softly Severn now is flowing;
But what to me can joyance bear,
While bolts, and prison bars surround me?
Forms of delight, so sweet that were,
Like ghosts of long-lost friends, confound me.

II

The captive in a foreign clime,
Who on the breeze may waft his ditty;
Who chants, to soothe the tedious time,
The song which rocks might move to pity;
What are his cares compared with mine?
The sad, deserted, child of sorrow!
His prospects, with the morn, may shine,
But I expect no glad to-morrow.
176

III

The joys which once I call'd my own,
Like happy spirits, pass before me;
From anguish and the ceaseles moan,
Their fairy smiles again restore me;
Once more the sportive maid I seem,
Which late, thy groves, Montargis! found me;
Till, starting from the faithless dream,
A thousand terrors rise around me.

IV

Thy daughter, best of friends, and true!
Couldst thou behold her, O my Mother!
Oh! couldst thou now thy sister view,
Brave Amoury, my noble brother;
Alas! withhold your grief for me,
Oh! precious names! the one, the other,
I have a tear to shed for ye,
My Amoury! my wretched mother!

V

And, O Llewellyn! brave as free,
Above all spirits proudly soaring;
Shall I forget thy cause, and thee,
When other gifts, devout, imploring?
While 'tiring from the mortal fray,
Or on thy foes vindictive pressing;
My heart, O Prince! shall earnest pray
That thou may'st share heaven's choicest blessing!
177

THE SONG OF THE PATRIOT,

BY LHYRARCH, A CAMBRIAN BARD, SUNG, WITH THE HARP, BEFORE LLEWELLYN.

I

LHYRARCH's harp, unknown to guile,
In the Patriot's praise shall swell.
Every kingdom, every isle,
On the planet where we dwell,
Boasts its lords, in long array,
With titles high, and trappings gay,
But the proudest man is he,
Who, in slavery's evil hour,
Grapples with the tyrant's power,
And would set his country free.

II

The sun, that lights our earth, is fair,
And lovely is creation's face:
Wheree'er we look, on sea, or air,
Fresh beauties, rising still, we trace,
Whilst flowers, with their transcendent dyes,
On every side, spontaneous, rise!
Ah! who, when laughing life began,
E'er deem'd this world, so sweet, so mild,
The element of tempests wild,
Where man the torment is of man!

III

The strong, who should delight to bless,
Wring, from the weak, the bitter tear;
No little nook of quietness,
Where wrong and outrage disappear!
If, on the soil we call our own,
No blood-drunk despot fill the throne,
178

Some monster in the human form,
From far, with his ferocious band,
To strew with wrecks the happy land,
Advances, like the winter storm.

IV

High heaven, for all the ills that are,
Provides some cure, our Father kind!
He saw Oppression mount his car,
Vengeance before, and death behind;
And, to resist his baneful sway,
Call'd the Patriot into day!
He, warring with corruption's brood,
Heedless of calumny the while,
Moves on, with a disdainful smile,
And thinks, and speaks, and acts, for others' good.

V

The health and strength of every land
Are they whom truth and justice guide:
A small, but an intrepid band,
By frown, nor interest, turn'd aside;
Through mists, who, with an eagle's eye,
Their country's friend, or foe, descry;
And, oft as base-born sons appear,
With strenuous and effectual might,
Drag forth their victims to the light,
Scorning all perils in their great career.

VI

What gratitude to those we owe,
Who dared the roughest road to tread;—
Our valiant sires!—now mouldering low!
In many a strife, their blood who shed,
179

That we, their offspring, might be free,
And taste the sweets of liberty.
That gift, the purchase of the brave,
To all our children we will send;
Their heritage till time doth end!—
The blessings which their fathers gave!

VII

If men, in humbler station born,
Thus strew with gems their mortal way;
What clouds, refulgent, him adorn,
Who rises like the orb of day—
The Patriot Prince!—with liberal hand,
Who scatters blessings round his land;—
On equity who rears his throne;—
Disdains each low, each sordid end,
Proclaims himself his people's friend,
And from their happiness derives his own.

VIII

O prince! if I my ardour chide,
And curb what every string would tell;
It is, that thou art satisfied
In planning right, in doing well.
To fire thy spirit, nerve thy hand,
The noble dead before thee stand!
In elder days, when men arose
To quench old Cambria's hope in night,
Thy ancestors, in glory bright,
Triumphant scatter'd all her foes!

IX

Impetuous, as our torrents, rise!
Llewellyn! guardian of our name!
180

The Saxon, and his threat, despise,
And strengthen still our tower of fame!
Whilst England's slaves pollute our soil,
Thou scornest danger, scornest toil!
I see, aloft, thy scabbard thrown!
August, let Cambria yet appear,
Bulwak'd with the hero's spear,
Her genius, Thou; and all her praise, thy own!

SONG OF THE OCEAN.

I.

BENEATH this crag, that, huge and high,
Forms a proud rampart to the tide;
Serene, I mark the evening sky,
And sky-encircled waters wide.
The heavens, in all their pomp, recline,
Now, on the bosom of the sea,
And Nature wears the form divine
Of beauty in its sanctity.
While viewing thus the flood of fire,
Unearthly dreams my soul inspire;
I drink strange life, and, in amaze,
Round, with delirious rapture, gaze,
Till, rising, soaring, borne away—
I spurn this manacle of clay.
What crowds of every hue, and dye,
Now upon the waters lie!—
Amid the glow of radiance round,
A lordly line of light is found:
181

There the young waves, with lightning glance,
In their hour of pastime, dance
O'er their sleeping parents' breast,
Too light to break their peaceful rest.
Again as I look, it seems to be
A column of fire, that rises high,
From the fathomless depths of sea—
Faith-like, pointing to the sky!
O path of loveliness! O fair highway!
Through which, methinks, celestial beings run,
When they, in earnestness, and bright array,
Would overtake the fast-declining sun.

II.

Descending from the airy car,
Now, other objects fill my sight;
I view the first faint trembling star,
Leading on the train of night.
To charm the eye, to soothe the ear,
New sounds are heard; new forms appear.
To this inhospitable shore—
Whose dark-brow'd caverns ceaseless roar
To the stately trees on high,
Waving endless melody;
Whilst the billows at their feet,
Still the answering note repeat:
To this shore, the waves are bound,
(With foam, or floating sea-weeds, crown'd,)
Through the night, and through the day,
In an undisturb'd array:
Far as the aching eye can trace,
On they come, with solemn pace;
Wanderers wild from sea to sea,
Strangers to tranquillity.
182

For everlasting, doom'd to roam—
To seek, but never find, a home.
Here, with earnest course they throng,
And bear their buoyant spoils along,
Where, having cast them, with disdain,
Again they plunge into the main,
Till they rise, with vigour new,
And their ancient course pursue.

III.

Upon the utmost verge of ocean,
A homeward-destined bark appears;
Though sailing fast—so slow its motion—
It emblems life's departing years!
What transport in yon vessel dwells!
While gazing on his native shore,
The seaman's ardent bosom swells
With happiness unknown before.—
Exultant, still, he lifts his hand;
Still bids the friendly gale arise;
And bear him swifter to the land
Which he has ever call'd the pride
Of earth, in her dominion wide,
But which, by absence taught, he now doth idolize!
Whilst the strain'd canvass courts the breeze,
His bosom labours with delight,
And pleasures dance before his sight,
As the long line of purple coast he sees:
Though sailing o'er the ocean green,
With many a rolling surge between;
Disdaining space, he sees! he hears!
No shape of fancy it appears!
He presses to his heart, the maid,
Who, bashful, to salute her lover flies!
183

Or, rushes through the geeen-wood shade,
Where his low cot of comfort lies!
The faithful wife, with triumph proud,
The hearty welcome pours aloud,
Whilst his young children clasp his knee,
And weep and smile, and smile and weep,
That from the dangers of the deep,
Their long lost sire they see!

IV.

Orb of glory! to the west,
Thou speedest fast thy stately form;
In robes of pearl, and sapphire, drest,
Whilst, starting from their bed of rest,
Th' imperious winds arouse the slumbering storm:
Yet, as Night erects her throne,
In one dark corner of the sky,
And voices, with portentous moan,
Sound on the gale that sweeps impetuous by;
O'er the vex'd and boundless tide,
Far-scatter'd sun-beams still delight to play,
And the fair departing day,
In silent grandeur, sends its lustre wide.
Earthly pageants! veil your head!
Here, behold, mid floods of light,
Heaven his gorgeous vesture spread!
Streaming fire, and liquid gold,
That, as they change beneath the sight,
New, and nobler forms unfold.

V.

Ah! what a change is here!
Fill'd with terror and amaze,
The scene grows darker as I gaze,
The vengeance of the deep is near!
184

While dark-blue clouds the heavens o'ercast,
The sun hath left the western sky;
And, sailing on the stormy blast,
The venturous sea-birds, hurrying, homeward fly.
The waves, that late disporting play'd,
Are now in ten-fold wrath array'd,
Darting quick flashes from their thousand eyes;
With anger, heighten'd by the Wind,
Which fain their giant limbs would bind,
When, to fierce strife, the Heavens and Ocean rise!
Lo! sounding their defiance far,
The ancient rivals rush to war!
Each, with fearful strength attired!
Each, with maddening fury fired!—
Dreadful, in unavailing ire,
Th' indignant Winds awhile retire!
Whilst the proud victor gazes round
For some new foe, on whom to pour his rage!
That other foe he now hath found!
See the combatants engage!
Ocean, collecting all his might,
With Earth proclaims a baneful fight,
And with inebriate reel, assaults the shore!
Earth, that many a shock hath stood
From wrathful sky and stormy flood,
Smiles in her granite strength, and braves his deafening roar!

VI.

No friendly moon, no stars appear!
From dreams of death, roused by the stormy tide,
The demons of the tempest ride
Triumphant, through the dark and troubled air;
Or, hand in hand,
A ghastly band,
185

Whilst the sinking wretch they spy,
With their songs of ecstasy
Pace the ocean-beaten strand.
To swell the horrors of the night,
Lightnings flash their forked light,
Quenching their fervour in the boisterous main!
Again! again!
And, what a sound,
Bursts in lengthen'd peal around!
Though fears, that spring from Nature, move my soul,
Terrific pleasures on that voice await!
Ye unseen powers, prolong the strain sublime,
Allied to neither earth nor time,
Which raise within me, as through heaven they roll,
The thought, in shadows dress'd, unutterably great!
When the elements conspire
To sweep their deep and awful lyre,
The rattling thunders, as they fly,
Complete the dreadful harmony!

VII.

Pity! whither art thou fled?
Hast thou left this stormy scene
For rivers smooth, and meadows green,
Where Peace reclines upon her roseate bed?
From thy haunt, wheree'er it be,
Darling child of sympathy!
Haste! th' afflicted heart to cheer!
Lo! a moving sight is here!
In this shuddering hour of need,
On thy swiftest pinion speed!
The bark, that long hath borne the beating wave,
And now beholds her haven near,
Trembles o'er the yawning grave!
Fly to succour! fly to save!
186

Amid the ravings of the main,
Thou oft art call'd, though call'd in vain!
Whilst “Help!” faint heard, that doleful sound!
Floats on the darken'd air, till with the tempest drown'd!

VIII.

The storm increases! by the light
Of heaven's fierce splendours, I behold
The mariners, late brave and bold,
Chain'd, steadfast, to the deck, in wild affright.
Through distraction's starting tear,
They view their wives and children dear,
Whom they had fondly hoped, ere long, to greet
With all a husband's, all a father's joy,
And feel domestic comforts sweet,
The end of all their toil, without alloy;
But now, (while those they love rejoice
In the bless'd interview at hand,
And every heart, and every voice,
Already hails them to their native land,)
They mark th' unruly sails disdain
The weak control of mortal rein;
Dissever'd, on the winds they ride,
Rent by ocean in his pride!
Whilst languid hope points to one glimmering star,
Forebodings dread, disclose their wretched state,
They view the sails, plung'd in the wave afar,
And read their own inevitable fate!
The lightnings, as they flash, display
The rocky shore, to which they onward drive!
In vain with destiny they strive,
Whilst ocean, bellowing loud, demands his prey.
Now swifter borne before the hurrying blast,
(Their last brave anchor vainly cast!)
187

They view, dismay'd, the white waves glare at hand,
Roaring o'er the rocky strand!
To the near cliffs their course they urge,
In dark funereal terrors drest!—
Ere long, and in the wrathful surge,
Each palpitating heart shall rest!
Still nearer, now, the vessel draws!
Fear suspends their labouring breath!
A horrid pause!
One moment more!
The strife is o'er!
Heard you that shriek? It was the shriek of Death!

THE SONG OF THE CAMBRIAN PROPHETESS.

ADDRESSED TO THE ENGLISH ARMY, UPON THEIR ENTRANCE INTO WALES.

I

“VENTUROUS Saxon! Tell me where
Edward, his proud falchion rears!
I have a song for him alone,
Which shall shake his reins on his iron throne.
Point thou the road
To thy King's abode,
Or I will call, with winged fears,
A thousand lightning-barbed spears,
One flash of which might, through the air,
Thy soul to the realms of Tophet bear.

II

Ah! 'tis Edward! Thou shalt know
Ere long the weight of Cambria's ire;
188

And, in thy last and great o'erthrow,
Whilst gallant men inflict the blow,
Crown'd with faded wreaths, expire.
Whilst mad furies dance,
No longer advance,
To the bleak hills, where Freedom sits laughing at Care,
Haste! Haste! Or, too late,
Thou shalt grapple with fate,
And leave to thy country disgrace and despair!

III

Edward! Edward! Back return,
Swifter than the passing ray;
A flaming cauldron now doth burn!
And my eyes devour the funeral urn,
Preparing for thy dying day!
Soon Arthur shall haste,
And, his country (laid waste)
189

Redeem from the Saxons, who vanquish'd retire;
Thou, Edward! shalt fly
At the glance of his eye,
And his sword, beaming vengeance, consume thee like fire.

IV

Arthur still doth being share,
Though none his warrior form may see;
Oft mid moonlight evening fair,
When the leaf hangs listless in the air,
He whispers solemn truths to me.
The moment hastes on;
The sun-beam hath shone
Of the morning, which lights him to glory anew;
The noon is at hand,
When from Cambria's land,
To destruction, his sword shall proud Edward pursue.

V

Other words, O Prince, attend!
Truths unwelcome thou must hear,
Before thy mortal course shall end,
And earth-worms hail their royal friend,
Crown'd, mid London, shall appear,
190

Like a ghost from his grave,
Llewellyn the brave,
Whilst crowds, thronging round, shall exult at the sight.
Fly! Fly! Or, too late,
Thou shalt grapple with fate,
And thy name, and thy glory, expire in night.

THE WELCOME.

CARADOC'S ADDRESS TO THE ENGLISH WARRIORS, UPON THEIR APPROACHING MONA.

HAIL! Ye sons of valour, hail!
Come, and learn our mystic lore;
Welcome to this forest pale,
Where the Druid dwelt of yore.
Mona's bards, with harp and song,
Here have found a peaceful home;
And, mid concords, loud and long,
Nightly watch the planets roam.
191

They have here a compact made,
With the harp and woodland shade.
Heroes! long to glory known,
Late, in the tumultuous hour;
Though not to idol terrors prone,
We saw our tranquil zenith lower;
Now, disdaining fears that were,
We the peaceful olive wave;
In the moment of despair,
We forgot that you were brave!
Welcome to this forest pale!
Sons of war, and valour, hail!

THE WARNING.

LHYRARCH, THE CAMBRIAN BARD'S ADDRESS TO THE ENGLISH CHIEFTAIN, EARL TALBOT, WHEN, SCATTERING DESTRUCTION AROUND HIM, HE HAD PENETRATED TO THE SACRED GROVES OF MONA.

WHENCE, O Warriors, clad in mail,
Thus our happy land assail?
Have we, witless, done you wrong?
Do you war with harp and song?
192

Or, have those who are no more,
Prostrate on the bloody shore,
Call'd you from your homes afar,
Thus to drive Destruction's car?
We are few, and peaceful, here,
And our hearths and homes are dear!
Know, O Warriors! clad in mail,
Where the stars through ether sail,
There is One, who looks below,
Greater than our mightiest foe!—
There is One, whom you should fear,
Wielding an Almighty spear!
Should you traverse Mona more,
Tracking thus your path with gore,
List, O Warriors, clad in mail!
Hear the threat, which cannot fail!
He who bids the thunders roll—
He whose lightnings scare the soul,
He, for Mona's children slain,
Will blast you with his fierce disdain.
193

You are men, though clad in mail;
Shall the voice of mercy fail?
Have you not, on Albion's shore,
Whom you prize, and whom adore?
Have you not, in order fair,
Father, mother, brother, there?
Do you not, while far you roam,
Oft, turning, linger round your home,
And homage pay, with bended knees,
To Nature's tender charities?
Do not your rosy offspring rise,
Nightly to a father's eyes?
By the love to these you bear,
Mona's happy children spare!
I see the tiger in your eye,
Slay me! I disdain to fly!
Did I talk, O Men! to you
Of peaceful joys you never knew?—
With sweet words that move the tear,
Father, mother, brother, dear;
Did I hope to make you feel,
Whose blood is ice, whose hearts are steel?
Hence! The milder word I scorn!
Demons, hence, of darkness born!
Lift once more the bloody spear!
See my breast! O plunge it here!
Infuriate, I will head the train,
The ghosts of thousands you have slain:
Swords of proof, and glittering mail,
What, O Men, shall then avail?
Our happiness shall be delay'd
To meet you in the land of shade!”
194

THE DISTRACTED MINSTREL.

THE SONG OF A SURVIVING BARD, AFTER THE SLAUGHTER OF HIS BRETHREN AT MONA.

LIKE a watch-tower, I stand, on the verge of the sea,
Whilst the tempest aroused in his vehemence raves;
The deep tones of ocean, how fearful they be,
When the storm wraps in darkness the mountainous waves!
What transports are these! like myself, in despair,
The white-headed billows dash madly the shore:
I love the rude tumult, the rocking of air,
And music to me is this perilous roar.
Behold! the red thunderbolt ranges the sky!
Beside, rides a Spirit! Ere beheld, he is past!
Ah! seize in thine anger the bolts as they fly,
And crush me, an atom, upwhirl'd on the blast.
I once dwelt with men; I have laugh'd o'er their tomb,
Ah, no, I have wept, and fresh tears I will shed.
What shadow is that—which still deepens the gloom?
I see it! It speaks! ah, the vision is fled!
Ye lightnings burst round me! your terrors I hail!
Come, drest in fresh vengeance, thou torrent of fire!
With destruction, o'erwhelming, all Nature assail,
And let the last gleam of existence expire.
The earth with foul spells hence to Demons is bound,
If I look to the sky, their dread legions appear;
If I mark the wide waters conflicting around,
Each wave is a car for the beings I fear.
195

My Harp! is it thou? hast thou seen me forlorn?—
In his anguish, one friend cheers old Caradoc's sight.
Thou art dearer to me than the blush of the morn
To the mariner wreck'd in the blackness of night.
Oppress'd, and forsaken, thy sympathies bear;
O come, whilst I lean on thy joys as I go,
I will strive to forget a vile world with its care,
And pluck from my heart the deep arrow of woe.
196

Off! Off! fiends accursed! In confounding array,
They have seized my sweet harp! From the clouds, dark and dread,
Lo! a whirlwind advances! O, bear me away
On thy wild wing of fury to rest with the dead.

CARADOC's SONG OVER THE SLAUGHTERED BARDS.

Scene, the Druid's Circle in the Island of Mona.

I.

GATHER fast, ye clouds of night!
Let no star this deed behold!
Be it blotted from the light!
Be it but to demons told!
Thy honor'd Bards, O Cambria fair!
Whose harps, so oft, have lull'd thy care,
And taught thy sons, to pity prone,
To make another's pang their own,
O friends revered! O brethren dear!
For you I shed the fervent tear!
In the hour supreme of woe,
Iron war hath laid you low!—
While I am left, forlorn, alone,
To heave the sigh, and pour the groan!

II.

Masters of the sacred lyre!
Spirits bathed in Fancy's fire!
On daring pinion born to ride;
Who only sojourn'd here awhile
Sorrow's children to beguile
With the songs to heaven allied:
197

When shall I again withdraw
My jarring chords to learn of ye?
When listen, lost in silent awe,
To your towering harmony?
In happier days, for ever gone!
Which memory loves to linger on,
Mid glittering hopes, and sunny dreams,
We haunted oft the dashing streams;
Or, wilds remote from human eye,
When lightnings flash'd athwart the sky,
And thunders, with long-lengthen'd sound,
In ghastly dread, the fearful bound:
Or the soul-enchanting mountains,
Stately rivers, hallow'd fountains,
While night, in panoply and prime,
Marshall'd her starry hosts sublime:
Hoary fathers! spirits pure!
To heaven's selectest treasures free,
Earth your like shall never see,
While the sun and moon endure!
Meads, and hills, and torrents rude,
Mourn your widow'd solitude!
Who shall now your praises tell!
They are dead who loved you well!
O my country! Cambria dear!
In deep silence drop the tear,
For never more at closing eve
Shall thy ancient woods receive,
While radiance lingers in the sky,
Thy loved, thy bards' sweet melody!
On the lonely willow-tree,
Shall their drooping harps be found;
And the winds that round them flee,
Wake, unbeard, the solemn sound!
198

III.

O, that in Oblivion's tide,
I could plunge, and wash away
The memory of this evil day,
And its deeds of darkness hide.
Though the mortal groan hath past;
Though is hush'd the raging blast;
Though my brethren all are slain,
Still, upon my burning brain,
The image rests! the shrieks arise!
The beaming spear affrights my eyes!
The hand is raised! the knee is bent!
And “Mercy!” throngs the firmament.
Why, in this vindictive hour,
Was I spared, a wretched end!
To behold the bloody shower
Thus, on Mona's Bards, descend!

IV.

Sons of innocence and song!
Shall o'er your fate no lofty spirits weep?—
Cambria shall bewail you long
When these weary eye-balls sleep!
While succeeding ages roll,
You shall move the feeling soul!
To this spot, thus holy made,
To this lone, and peaceful shade,
From a callous world, and proud,
Cambria's better sons shall crowd;—
They, upon this mound, shall stand,
And, whilst their labouring hearts expand,
They shall drop a tear for you,
And, faultering, cry,—“Sweet bards, adieu!”
199

V.

Grey my lock, and dim mine eye,
On another state I gaze!
The end of time, with me, is nigh,
Yet, in these my parting days,
Bitter is the cup of woe,
Which I must drink before I go!
The world, to me, is blank and dead,
All its vagrant joys are fled;
False and fleeting lights they gave,
Brief as the sun-illumined wave.
Confusion thickens! mists abound!
Forms, mysterious, gather round!
Like the stars that seem to fly,
When the clouds are sailing by,
All things swim before my sight!
Dreams of dread! and visions bright!
Oh! what lawless revels reign
In my strain'd, and labouring brain!
I see no home beneath the sky!
I hear no harp's sweet minstrelsy!
I view no bard a brother made,
All beneath the turf are laid!—
I am left, and left alone,
To heave the sigh, and pour the groan!
Hence, of happiness bereaved,
Still pursuing, still deceived!—
From the storms that round me rave,
There is a refuge in the grave!

VI.

Ah! a foe, for mortal fray,
Starts forth, in terrible array!
All must die! our earthly span
Oppress'd with ample grief is found;
200

But tenfold wretched is the man
Who dies with none but strangers round.
No friend to bid his anguish cease;
When terrors rise, to whisper peace;
To hang upon his parting breath,
And smooth the rugged road to death:
Whose head is laid, where all must lie,
Without a tear, without a sigh.
Pity near, when we complain,
Sorrow loses half its pain;
The feeling heart is not for me;
Mine is lonely misery!
They who would have rush'd to share
All my joy, and all my care,
(Their memory blessings rest upon!)
To their long, long home are gone!

VII.

Hope, farewell! thine end I view!
Pleasure! take my last adieu!
I, where tempests rave around,
In a lonely bark am bound:
From care to care, with none to save,
Toss'd, like a locust, on the wave.
As fix'd as repose, and as earnest as fear,
I will gaze at the sky, till the planets appear;
As passive my spirit, as dreary and chill
As the cloud, which December drives whither he will.
The past recedes, new prospects shine;
Farewell, O earth! O harp divine!
Soon must I attune my ear
To other cadence, soft and clear,
To songs that suit the upper sky,
To strains of immortality!
201

VIII.

God of majesty, and might!
Let thy winged lightning fly!
Let thy thunder-bolts alight
On the monster chieftains nigh!
At this hour of tears and sighs,
Hark! their horrid laughters rise!
Scorn'd of every heart and clime,
May they wither in their prime!
Hope, the balm of human care,
May they barter for despair!
May thy mercy, Judge of all!
Never to their souls extend,
But confusion on them fall!
And perdition, without end!
Anguish, like a flaming dart
Deeper let it pierce their heart!
And, when on life's tempestuous brink,
Whilst her wormwood dregs they drink,
Let them pass the torrent wild,
Not like Virtue's peaceful child,—
By their own uplifted hand,
May they perish from the land!
Or, Justice, with remorseless fang,
Tear them from these happy skies,
And the still-increasing pang
Be their worm, that never dies!—
Oh! I err! the storm within
My heart hath hurried on to sin!—
This sudden tumult in my vein
Hath dragg'd me back to earth again.
Anger! child of hell! away!
I will look to heaven, and say,
God of mercy! o'er the past,
Thy forgiving mantle cast!—
202

Now let me to the forests fly—
There to sorrow—there to die!

THE WARRIOR's GRAVE ON SNOWDON.

LHYRARCH'S SONG OVER THE GRAVE OF PRINCE DAVID, AND HIS FRIEND, THE GALLANT EDWALL.

I.

THOUGH sorrow mark no cheek but mine;
Though hostile spears around me shine;
Shall the Bard his thoughts dissemble,
Or at danger deign to tremble,
Whose presence (freedom-like) alone
Shakes the despot on his throne?—
Bard! who holds the sacred lyre,
Prodigal of earth's applause,
To whom, in Truth and Virtue's cause,
The Highest delegates his fire?
Shall he to idols lift his hands—
He, flattery to the abject breathe,
Who, mid the humble, humblest stands,
And on the proudest looks beneath?
Pretenders vile may touch the string,
And incense to the tyrant raise,
Who buys, for gold, his worthless praise;
But who, at Inspiration's spring,
Drinks deep, and feels the power within,
Mines, in vain, might strive to win.
Like the sun-shine and the sun,
Liberty and Bard are one.
He, while cowards feel despair,
The pinnacle of right shall dare.
203

If ever slavery should maintain
An empire, boundless as the main,
To his breast, no fortress higher,
Independence shall retire,
And, to a threatening world, reply
But with the disdainful eye.

II.

O Scorn! no more deform my brow,
Milder thoughts oppress me now.
This day hath closed the mortal span
Of a great, a gallant man;
Old in fame, though young in years,
For whom a thousand sighs arise,
Faithful, generous, valiant, wise,
For whom are shed a thousand tears.
Hark! the spirits of the air,
They, who weep o'er human woe,
With the hurrying hand or slow,
Wake by turns the note of care;
Now declining, now ascending,
With the gale of midnight blending,
For David is dead;
On the bier lies his head,
And his corse we convey to the home of the dead.

III.

Whilst on earth our friends we bear,
Whose sun below no more shall rise;
What so soothing, and so fair,
As the planet-spangled skies?
When, as the deepening shade prevails,
Night, her sister Silence, hails,
And Heaven's verge, in sober grey,
Lengthens long the closing day.
204

Such scenes profound instructions yield,
Deep truths are to our hearts reveal'd—
Soften'd, mellow'd, taught to feel
That Nature, Nature's wounds can heal.
While glows the concave, calm, and clear,
Our little mole-hills disappear;
We forget affliction's wave,
The worm, the mattock, and the grave.
Amid the hour, to mourning due,
A gentle joy the heart beguiles;
As around she scatters rue,
Sorrow, for a moment, smiles.

IV.

Tell me, men! who roam to see
Sights renown'd of majesty,
What so grand as here to bow,
Thus on Snowdon's awful brow,
Raised so high, scarce knowing where,
Suspended, like a lamp, in air,
When no forms arrest the sight,
But the sailing clouds of night,
Or, the countless orbs that shine
Through the canopy divine;—
Here some lonely planet fair,
Many a well-known cluster there:
Gems that stud the heavenly throne,
(Which speak of worlds beyond our own;)
View'd with rapture, oft of yore,
Yet now lovelier than before;—
Awe-inspiring as we gaze;—
While oft the vagrant meteors blaze,;
Some, darting far their lines of fire,
Which, ere we look, in night expire;
205

Some, like monarchs in their car,
Gliding, slow, from star to star,
To the subjects of their mind,
Paying visitations kind,
Downward then to cast our eye,
From our stand amid the sky,
And view the misty vale below,
Through which peaceful rivers flow,
Whilst upon the winding streams,
Day, expiring, faintly beams.
Fill'd with thoughts of amplest sweep,
We, a holy silence, keep,
And half, to our own selves, appear,
Beings of another sphere,
As we to Death had bent the knee,
And quaff'd our immortality.

V.

Roving Fancy, I abjure thee!
Now substantial tears shall flow;
O prince! before the grave immure thee,
I will pour the song of woe.
In her strength, for David's sake,
The bold, the trembling harp shall wake.
Why should friend the truth withhold,
The praise which from affection springs?
Thou art fallen, thou art cold,
Heir, and hope, of mighty kings!
When last the sun arose sublime,
We David saw, a mountain strong,
Beneath his shade we march'd along,
Nor fear'd the wasting hand of Time,
Him we thought ordain'd for praise,
Cambria, drooping, born to raise
206

To some eminence of power,
Great as when our Roderic reign'd;
That unwreath'd, immortal hour,
When we the loftiest foe disdain'd;
But our hero is fled,
On the bier lies his head,
And his corse we now bear to the home of the dead.

VI.

Earth hath still her charms to boast,
Some, abiding, short-lived, most;
Such as to the soul pertain,
Spurn at life's contracted chain,
Ocean, narrow'd to a span,
Germ of heaven abides in man—
One little light to cheer his cell,
One spark of his primeval mind;
Not all was lost when Adam fell,
For Friendship linger'd yet behind.
Edwall! in the prosperous day,
Thou didst well thy truth display;
And the adverse hour, for thee,
Was to shew thy constancy.
Thou, in battle fierce, wast torn
From the man whom now we mourn.
Here, friend from friend must be divided,
Like the sands on the sea-beat shore;
But in a world, far off provided,
They shall meet, to part no more!
O, hear and rejoice,
With your heart and your voice!
Blessings, and great,
For the good await,
After the storms of this mortal state!
207

VII.

Generous youth! so true, so brave,
We consign thee to the grave,
While the stifled groans reveal
That even foes for thee can feel.—
These are honours due to none,
But to high-born Valour's son.
Upon the bud that low doth lie,
We bestow the passing sigh;
But the youth, like morning red,
Adorn'd with virtue's choicest bloom,
Hurried to the silent tomb,
Who beholds, nor droops the head?
On the mound where he is laid,
The glow-worm, calm, and constant, shines,
The broken bull-rush slow declines;—
O'er the spot, so precious made,
The star of evening lingers long,
Whilst from the ancient yew-tree's shade,
Through the stillness, warbling clear,
Till the first faint dawn appear,
The bird of sorrow pours his song.
Village maidens, chaste, as fair,
Often bow in silence there;
And let fall, memento true,
Some sweet flower of tender hue.
E'en the old sexton, whom no common fate
Stops in his road, and leads to contemplate,
Here pauses sad—feels for a father's woe,
And wipes the tear that will, unbidden, flow.

VIII.

Bear the rich remains away!
As we march with solemn tread,
208

We will think upon the dead,
And for their souls devoutly pray.
Lo! the hallowed spot we reach!
The grave is deep! the grave is wide!
This lonely sepulchre might teach
Lesson stern to human pride.
Lay the heroes side by side!
They, in life, were friends sincere!
They, in death, are joined here!
Now place the sod beneath their head!
Whilst each restrains the faintest word,
While not a breath profane is heard,
Gently earth upon them spread!
Then, as the clods descending sound,
One by one, in order slow;
Let the warriors, crowding round,
With no idle pomp of woe,
While I mourn, securely feel
In their courage, and their steel,
For David is dead!
Oh! his spirit is fled!
And here, on the turf, rests his peaceable head!

IX.

What a bubble all things are,
Between this clod, and yonder star!
From youth to age we toil along,
Against a thousand currents strong,
Fierce to gain some gaudy prize,
Which the world doth idolize;—
Power—the source of killing care;
Fame—a column raised on air;
Wealth—at best, a golden chain,
Soon resign'd to men as vain;
209

Dear-bought honour; things which be
Weigh'd by wisdom—vanity!
Whilst our moments swifter fly
Than the cloud of jagged form,
Hurried fast before the storm,
Through the warring wintry sky!
Like the pageants of a day,
All earth's glories pass away!
Rode there not upon the wind
Warning notes, as mercy kind?
Again the utterance! Whispers mild,
Sent to Folly's thoughtless child!—
The tower on which the sun hath shone,
The restless vapour sailing on,
The falling leaf, the winged dart,
The friend who cheers us soon to part,
The blush of eve, the shadowy dream,
The reed that floats upon the stream,
The wave, rough foaming up the shore,
The voice of music heard no more;—
The lightning fierce, the thunder dread,
Of which remembrance long has fled;
The thought that once disturb'd the mind,
Now in the robe of twilight drest,
Calm as ocean sunk to rest;
The wind that leaves no trace behind,—
These have a voice! Where now are found
Names and nations once renown'd?
These emblem life—these all impress,
(In the hour of thoughtfulness)
The spirit, with mysterious force,
Like the unbound tempest hoarse,
Wrapp'd in midnight!—these declare
How frail is man, what grass we are,
210

Flowers, at morn, which charm the eye,
And, at even, fade and die.
Lo! to rouse our hopes and fears
For things, of small concernment, never,
Now secured, or lost for ever,
A silent monitor appears!
From the tomb, a hand I spy,
Pointing to Eternity!

X.

One leaf of cypress more I strew,
And then the long, the last adieu.
Sons of promise, your career
Terminates in darkness here;
Your rapturous joy, and your distress
In the grave's deep quietness!
If my heart might cease to swell,
For the cause in which you fell,
From life, its cares, its thorny bed,
Could I mourn that you are fled?
Brief is sorrow! brief is pleasure!
You have had your destined measure,
And to nobler life are born!—
Till the Resurrection Morn,
When our friendships we renew,
Take my long, my last adieu!
211

THE CAMBRIAN WAR SONG.

SUNG BY LHYRARCH, BEFORE LLEWELLYN, AND THE CAMBRIAN ARMY, AT THE MOMENT OF THEIR LAST CONFLICT WITH EDWARD.

TOO long the yoke hath Cambria borne;
Now, in patriot strength mature,
She wakes from grief! She scorns to mourn
What the warrior's sword may cure!
From our slumbers, lo! we rise!—
We will lay the lofty low;
And with our lightning-armed eyes,
Scare the iron-hearted foe!
Sons of valour! Sons of fame!
Roused from her abased state,
Cambria now shall vindicate
The honors of her ancient name.
In the days which are no more,
Cambria, oft her might display'd;
212

She reveal'd her glittering blade,
And from her rock-encircled shore,
Thick-cover'd with the vanquish'd slain,
Drove the Norman and the Dane.
Spake I, of the days—no more?
Manes of the mighty dead,
Pardon ye the word I said!
Till the rounds of time are o'er,
Like the planet of the sky,
Your glorious days shall never die!
What the nation of the earth,
That, in all her pride, hath given,
Like our Cambria, heroes birth,
Sent and sanctified of heaven?
From the realms of dazzling light,
Souls august, and ever dear;
From your empyrean height,
See! we march to launch the spear!
Arthur! we thy prowess own;
Thy sons, aspiring, think of thee;
Bulwarks of their father's throne,
Ten thousand Arthurs now I see!
Great and valiant were our sires;
Noble in the rolls of fame;
Whose memory, Cambria still inspires
To triumph, or to die the same.
Burst not from your marble rest,
With the fierce upbraiding eye!
We are now in vengeance drest,
And the hour of strife is nigh!
Foes, and great, before us rise!
Edward's daring hordes I see!—
213

Lo! the frighted lion flies,
Whelm'd in scorn and infamy!
Beneath the banners of the brave!
Fast, our valiant hosts advance,
To wield the sword and hurl the lance,
Whilst hovering wolves their banquet crave;
Dainty food they soon shall share,
With the carrion birds of air!
The day, so long'd for, now is nigh,
When, mid the rage of clashing shield,
To us the palm shall Edward yield!—
He, before our wrath, shall fly,
With wither'd hope, and blasted fame,
Sunk in everlasting shame!
O ye spirits of the brave!
High in valour's annals hoary,
While the beaming lances wave,
On, your children march to glory!
Warriors!—view your mortal foe!
Yonder see him pressing near!
He hastens to his last o'erthrow!
He comes to feel Llewellyn's spear!
Let the bloody pennon wave!
Now, the awful hour is nigh,
Cambria! when, thy all to save,
Thou must vanquish, or must die!
214

THE SONG OF THE UNION.

BY A CAMBRIAN BARD.

I.

ENDLESS changes, great, and small,
Time, on rapid pinion, brings!
Empires rise, and empires fall,
In the round of human things!
215

O, Cambria! Parent of the good and great,
Thy hour, so long protracted, now is nigh!
And whilst dim sorrow trembles in my eye,
I bid a last adieu, for shadows round thee wait:
Can I, from the light of day,
Thee behold, my mother dear!
Borne by hostile bands away,
Nor drop the fond, and filial tear?
When I forget thee, flower of earth!
Thou loveliest blossom in this world of blast,
Where innocence and playful mirth,
Have o'er thy scenes, so long, a lustre cast,
May the harp which still hath been
My solace, in the hour of care,
Hence, with its softest note, serene,
Plunge this my faithless heart, in horror and despair!

II.

Cambria! thou declin'st thy head,
Not like the sons of infamy and scorn!
They, for the abject fate, were born,
And sink, unwept, to their dishonor'd bed.
But when thou sought'st the land of shade,
And on the turf thy head was laid,
Whilst Sorrow, sad, upheld thy bier,
Pity dropp'd the pearly tear;
Valour, for thy braided hair,
Wove a chaplet, fresh and fair,
And all the Virtues, in a train,
Sigh'd around their Champion, slain.

III.

What voice is that of joyful measure?—
Bounding sport, and tuneful pleasure?
216

Not from earth the cadence springs;—
Heaven unlocks her stately treasure!
Hark! again the concave rings!
Roused by the immortal strain,
I will list, and list again.
In sounds that melt the ravish'd soul,
Around, the wild-notes, warbling, roll.
Now, in lulling airs, they die;
Now, they wake bold harmony;
Now, to awful grandeur, rise,
Shaking the eternal skies!
While now, by gentler themes beguiled,
All again is soft and mild.
Music, Spirits bless'd, employ,
To tell their plenitude of joy,—
In this heart-inspiring hour,
They behold the demon, War,
From his pinnacle of power,
Chain'd to Discord's fiery car,
Both plunged in dark Oblivion's tide;
They swell the concord of the spheres,
Audible to mortal ears,
And, with ambrosial songs, thro' Heaven, exultant, ride.

1.

Fairer than the evening ray,
Who is she, with dove-like wing,
Rising from the ocean spray,
Whilst attendant angels sing?
To new delight and ardent joyance born,
With eyes, that pleasure beam, she mounts on high;
And by her side, whom starry robes adorn,
A kindred shape sublime, illumes the laughing sky.
By her lofty port, and mien,
I see a parent's image there!—
217

E'en Cambria, earth's transcendent queen!
With the noble England fair!
No more their eye-balls dart around,
Envy, and wrath, and killing scorn, and hate,
In bonds of holy friendship bound,
Each visage wears the smile of love sedate.
May they, to the verge of time,
Traverse, hand in hand, along;
And Bards of every age and clime,
Inspired with Albion's praise, chant the immortal song.

2.

While scenes, august, before my vision play,
And Cambria's new-born star of glory shines;
My spirit faints, my head declines,
And dark the hue of this auspicious day!—
Can I, from my memory tear,
The image, graven deepest there!
Llewellyn, and his bitter fate,
Brave, but fallen potentate!
His soul, so high! his heart, so true!
Where generous thoughts, luxuriant, grew!
Till in dust I lay my head,
I will weep Llewellyn, dead!

3.

Ye heroes, pride of future story!
Ye who fell, or young, or hoary,
I will not bewail you dead.
The blood that left your falchions gory,
In a noble cause, was shed!
O, earth! what higher praise below
Can thy loftiest children know,
218

Than, how to guard their fathers' laws,
Than, how to die in freedom's cause.
What fearful vision fills my eyes?
The murder'd Bards before me rise!
Borne from earth, and mortal care,
Their looks, their happier state declare;
Whilst each the golden lyre sustains,
Form'd for heaven, and heavenly strains!
From clouds they come!—a long array!
With the cloud, they pass away!
While sordid spirits leave behind
Names that perish but for scorn,
Your brows shall living garlands bind,
Fragrant, as the blushing morn.
Though never more your concords sweet
Shall raise the soul to ecstasy,
Precious shall your memory be,
Whilst, at the voice of song, a Cambrian's heart shall beat.

1.

O Eleanor! for thee I sigh!
Must I not thy tomb adorn?—
Fair as a wanderer from the sky,
That just beheld her natal morn!
While feeling holds dominion o'er the heart,
And sympathy the spirit bears along;
Thy fate shall bid the tear of pity start;
And sorrow oft, for thee, awake her tenderest song!
David! though thy crimes were great,
219

I, for thee, a sigh will yield;—
Rising from thy traitor state,
Thou, the patriot's sword didst wield.
Edwall, too, shall have his fame!—
Through life's brief morn, fair did thy planet shine,
Thy heart was warm'd with friendship's flame,
And David's dust shall mingle now with thine.
Llewellyn! yet a last adieu,
I bid to thee, thy country's pride!
Cambria, o'er thy grave shall strew
Her first, and latest flowers, striving the tear to hide!

2.

Although the Eternal Fiat, thus ordains
That Cambria's towering head, in dust should lie;
Ere long, and she shall lift her lofty eye,
Whilst her Own Prince, again, triumphant, reigns!
Let our ardent spirits glow!
Noble is our Victor Foe!
Not to alien power and pride,
We the island-helm confide!
Vanquish'd in the hard-fought field,
Not to coward arm we yield!
But to Edward!—dear to Fame,
England's hope, nor Cambria's shame!
220

3.

Ah! check the tear, unbidden, flowing!
Favouring winds around are blowing!
Soon will joy our prospects crown;
Heaven is richer gifts bestowing,
Though, awhile, he seems to frown!
England bold, and Cambria fair!
Now are join'd, a happy pair!
Whilst their progeny shall rise,
Great, as good, and brave, as wise!
Far off I gaze! as years advance,
Gallia wields the bloody lance!
The base she raises to renown,
Or tramples thrones, and sceptres, down.
I see her, in her rebel pride,
O'er plains of waste, and carnage, stride!
With one, her lord, deform'd with crimes,
(The Attila of after times)
Dealing, wide, his treacherous smile,
Who, ere he stabs, his victim blinds!
While, in this wave-sequester'd isle,
Affrighted Freedom refuge finds.
New visions burst! Mid rude alarms,
Firm in their strength, our children stand;
Proud spectacle, a Spartan band,
And, with the smiles of Heaven, defy a world in arms.
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