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And see Plinlimmon! ev'n the youthful sight

Scales the proud hill's ethereal cliffs with pain ! Such, Caer-Caradoc! thy stupendous height,

Whose ample shade obscures the’ Iernian main. • Bleak, joyless regions ! where, by Science fird,

Some prying sage his lonely step may bend; There, by the love of novel plants inspir'd,

Invidious view the clambering goats ascend. • Yet for those mountains, clad with lasting snow,

The freeborn Briton left his greenest mead, Receding sullen from his mightier foe,

For here he saw fair Liberty recede. " Then if a chief perform’d a patriot's part,

Sustain'd her drooping sons, repell’d her foes, Above or Persian luxe or Attic art,

The rude majestic monument arose. • Progressive ages carolld forth his fame,

Sires to his praise attun'd their children's tongue, The hoary druid fed the generous flame,

While in such strains the reverend wizard sung: “ Go forth, my sons !—for what is vital breath,

Your gods expell’d, your liberty resign'd? Go forth, my sons !—for what is instant death

To souls secure perennial joys to find ? « For scenes there are, unknown to war or pain,

Where drops the balm that heals a tyrant's wound; Where patriots, bless'd with boundless freedom,

reign, With misletoe's mysterious garlands crown'd. . VOL. I.

« Such are the names that grace your mystic songs,

Your solemn woods resound their martial fire; To you, my Sons! the ritual meed belongs,

If in the cause you vanquish or expire. “ Hark! from the sacred oak that crowns the groves

What awful voice my raptur'd bosom warms ! This is the favour'd moment Heav'n approves, Sound the shrill trunp; this instant sound, to

arms." “Theirs was the science of a martial race,

To shape the lance or decorate the shield; Ev'n the fair virgin stain'd her native grace

To give new horrors to the tented field. • Now for some cheek where guilty blushes glow,

For some false Florimel's impure disguise, The listed youth nor War's loud signal know,

Nor Virtue's call, nor Fame's imperial prize. • Then, if soft concord lull'd their fears to sleep,

Inert and silent slept the manly car, But rush'd horrific o'er the fearful steep,

If Freedom's awful clarion breath'd to war. • Now the sleek courtier, indolent and vain,

Thron'd in the splendid carriage, glides supine, To taint his virtue with a foreign strain,

Or at a favourite's board his faith resign. • Leave then, O Luxury! this happy soil;

Chase her, Britannia! to some hostile shore; Or fleece the baneful pest with annual spoil', And let thy virtuous offspring weep no more.'

i Alludes to a tax upon luxury, then in debate.

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR WHEN THE RIGHTS OF SEPULTURE WERE SO FREQUENTLY VIOLATED.

Say, gentle Sleep! that lovist the gloom of night,

Parent of dreams! thou great magician! say, Whence my late vision thus endures the light,

Thus haunts my fancy through the glare of day. The silent moon bad scal'd the vaulted skies,

And anxious Care resign'd my limbs to rest; A sudden lustre struck my wondering eyes,

And Silvia stood before my couch confest. Ah! not the nymph so blooming and so gay,

That led the dance beneath the festive shade, But she that in the morning of her day

Entomb'd beneath the grass-green sod was laid. No more her eyes their wonted radiance cast,

No more her breast inspird the lover's flame; No more her cheek the Pæstan rose surpast,

Yet seem'd her lip's ethereal smile the same. Nor such her hair as deck'd her living face,

Nor such her voice as charm'd the listening crowd; Nor such her dress as heighten'd every grace ;

Alas! all vanish'd for the mournful shroud ! Yet seem'd her lip's ethereal charm the same;

That dear distinction every doubt remov'd; Perish the lover whose imperfect flame

Forgets one feature of the nymph he lov'd! • Damon,' she said, “mine hour allotted flies;

Oh! do not waste it with a fruitless tear! Though griev'd to see thy Silvia's pale disguise,

Suspend thy sorrow, and attentive hear.

So may thy Muse with virtuous fame be blest !

So be thy love with mutual love repaid ! So may thy bones in sacred silence rest!

Fast by the reliques of some happier maid ! “Thou know'st how, lingering on a distant shore,

Disease invidious nipt my flowery prime; And, oh! what pangs my tender bosom tore,

To think I ne'er must view my native clime ! No friend was near to raise my drooping head,

No dear companion wept to see me die ; Lodge me within my native soil, I said,

There my fond parents' honour'd reliques lie. "Though now debarrd of each domestic tear,

Unknown, forgot, I meet the fatal blow; There many a friend shall grace my woeful bier,

And many a sigh shall rise and tear shall flow. " I spoke, nor Fate forebore his trembling spoil ;

Some venal mourner lent his careless aid, And soon they bore me to my native soil,

Where my fond parents' dear remains were laid. ( 'Twas then the youths from every plain and grove

Adorn'd with mournful verse thy Silvia's bier; 'Twas then the nymphs their votive garlands wove,

And strew'd the fragrance of the youthful year. < But why, alas! the tender scene display?

Could Damon's foot the pious path decline? Ah, no! 'twas Damon first attun’d his lay,

And sure no sonnet was so dear as thine. · Thus was I bosom'd in the peaceful grave,

My placid ghost no longer wept its doom, When savage robbers every sanction brave,

And with outrageous guilt defraud the tomb.

Shall my poor corse, from hostile realms convey'd,

Lose the cheap portion of my native sands?
Or, in my kindred's dear embraces laid,

Mourn the vile ravage of barbarian hands?
Say, would thy breast no deathlike torture feel,

To see my limbs the felon's gripe obey?
To see them gash'd beneath the daring steel?

To crowds a spectre, and to dogs a prey ? • If Pæan's sons these horrid rites require,

If Health's fair science be by these retin'd; Let guilty convicts for their use expire,

And let their breathless corse avail mankind. " Yet hard it seems, when Guilt's last fine is paid,

To see the victim's corse denied repose; Now, more severe, the poor offenceless maid

Dreads the dire outrage of inhuman foes. • Where is the faith of ancient pagans fled?

Where the fond care the wandering manes claim? Nature, instinctive, cries, “ Protect the dead,

And sacred be their ashes and their fame !" • Arise, dear youth! ev'n now the danger calls;

Ev'n now the villain snuffs his wonted prey: See! see! I lead thee to yon sacred walls

Oh! fly to chase these human wolves away.'

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