The Wiccamical Chaplet a selection of original poetry; comprising smaller poems, serious and comic; classical trifles; sonnets; inscriptions and epitaphs; songs and ballads; mock-heroics, epigrams, fragments, &c. &c. Edited by George Huddesford |
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ODE, WRITTEN AT THE FOOT OF SNOWDON,
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 | The Wiccamical Chaplet |  |
11
ODE, WRITTEN AT THE FOOT OF SNOWDON,
In the Name of a Gentleman who was much struck, in the Isle of Anglesey, with a Miss Wright.
On rocky Mona's sea-girt shore
What scenes could wild Imagination trace?
Around the western blast should howl and roar,
The clashing flood its deaf'ning surges pour;
While Cromlechs, steep'd in human gore,
With barb'rous laws and rites mark'd a rude savage race.
What scenes could wild Imagination trace?
Around the western blast should howl and roar,
The clashing flood its deaf'ning surges pour;
While Cromlechs, steep'd in human gore,
With barb'rous laws and rites mark'd a rude savage race.
Ferocious manners, and an uncouth tongue,
Convivial joy, dash'd with tumultuous strife,
Harsh features of an untam'd spirit breathe;
And to the hardy boist'rous native leave,
Save now and then the soft harp, sweetly strung,
Scarce one of all the blandishments of life.—
Convivial joy, dash'd with tumultuous strife,
Harsh features of an untam'd spirit breathe;
And to the hardy boist'rous native leave,
Save now and then the soft harp, sweetly strung,
Scarce one of all the blandishments of life.—
Total Reverse! to these gay scenes belong
Beauty, fair order, and the choral song,
The hospitable roof and sprightly dance,
And temper'd mirth, and dress and elegance.
Beauty, fair order, and the choral song,
The hospitable roof and sprightly dance,
And temper'd mirth, and dress and elegance.
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No! 'twas no Druid's blood-stain'd
grove
First struck my aching sight;
But in a grove,
The haunt of love,
It was the form of beauty, mild and bright.
First struck my aching sight;
But in a grove,
The haunt of love,
It was the form of beauty, mild and bright.
The Flame that from that Altar mildly shone,
Was touch'd (I fable not) with heav'n's own fire
No Druid worship there, no heart of stone:
There pure Devotion dwelt and young Desire.
But my fears say, when I approach this Shrine,
With awful step and downcast eyes,
One barb'rous Rite remains:—tho' else divine,
It still may love the human Sacrifice!
Was touch'd (I fable not) with heav'n's own fire
No Druid worship there, no heart of stone:
There pure Devotion dwelt and young Desire.
But my fears say, when I approach this Shrine,
With awful step and downcast eyes,
One barb'rous Rite remains:—tho' else divine,
It still may love the human Sacrifice!
| The Wiccamical Chaplet | |