 | Poems on several occasions |  |
87
THE COMPLAINT OF CAMBRIA
TO Miss K--- P---, Setting to Music, and singing English Verses.
Degenerate maid, no longer ours!
Can Saxon ditties suit thy lyre?
Accents untun'd, that breathe no powers
To melt the soul, or kindle martial fire?
It ill becomes thee to combine
Such hostile airs with notes divine,
In Cambrian shades, the Druids hallow'd bounds,
Whose infant voice has lisp'd the liquid Celtic sounds.
Can Saxon ditties suit thy lyre?
Accents untun'd, that breathe no powers
To melt the soul, or kindle martial fire?
88
Such hostile airs with notes divine,
In Cambrian shades, the Druids hallow'd bounds,
Whose infant voice has lisp'd the liquid Celtic sounds.
Revere thy Cambria's flowing tongue!
Tho' high-born Hoel's lips are dumb,
Cadwallo's harp no more is strung,
And Silence sits on soft Lluellyn's tomb:
Yet songs of British bards remain
That, wedded to thy vocal strain,
Would swell melodious on the mountain breeze,
And roll on Millford's wave to distant echoing seas.—
Tho' high-born Hoel's lips are dumb,
Cadwallo's harp no more is strung,
And Silence sits on soft Lluellyn's tomb:
Yet songs of British bards remain
That, wedded to thy vocal strain,
Would swell melodious on the mountain breeze,
And roll on Millford's wave to distant echoing seas.—
O sing thy sires in genuine strains!
When Rome's resistless arm prevail'd,
When Edward delug'd all my plains ,
And all the music of my mountains fail'd;
When all her flames Rebellion spread,
Firmly they stood—O sing the dead!
The theme majestic to thy lyre belongs,
To Picton's lofty walls, and Cambrian virgins songs.
When Rome's resistless arm prevail'd,
When Edward delug'd all my plains ,
And all the music of my mountains fail'd;
89
Firmly they stood—O sing the dead!
The theme majestic to thy lyre belongs,
To Picton's lofty walls, and Cambrian virgins songs.
| Poems on several occasions | |