Malvern Hills with Minor Poems, and Essays. By Joseph Cottle. Fourth Edition |
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THE CAMBRIAN WAR SONG.
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 | Malvern Hills |  |
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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.
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;
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!
Cambria, oft her might display'd;
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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!
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!—
Lo! the frighted lion flies,
Whelm'd in scorn and infamy!
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!—
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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!
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!
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!
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