And seem'd, while shuddering borne through Mona's wood,
To tread the confines of the Stygian flood.
What direful rites these gloomy haunts disgrace,
Bane of the mind, and shame of man's high race!
'Twas deem'd, the circles of the waving wand,
The mystic figures, and the muttering band,
Held o'er all Nature's works as powerful sway,
As the great Lord and Maker of the day.
Rocks, by infernal spells and magic prayer,
Shook from their base, and trembled high in air.
The blasted stars their fading light withdrew;
The labouring moon shed down a baleful dew;
Spirits of hell aerial dances led;
And rifted graves gave up the pale cold dead.
Imperial Man, creation's Lord and Pride,
To crown the sacrificial horrors, died:
That Hesus, direly pleas'd, in joyous mood,
Might flesh their swords, and glut their scythes with
blood;
And Taranis, amidst his tempests, smile,
And roll innocuous thunders o'er their isle.
By rites thus dread the Druid Priests impress'd
A sacred horror on the savage breast.
Hail heav'n-born Seers, whose magic fingers strung The Cambrian lyre; who Locrine's triumphs sung To the dark haunts of Snowdon's icy caves, Plinlimmon's cliffs, and Deva's haunted waves; Or where, as Vaga roll'd her winding flood, High on the grey rocks wav'd the hanging wood. Ye, wandering frequent by romantic streams, With harps*, that glitter'd to the moon's pale beams,
For the image in this line the author is indebted to Mr. Mason's Caractacus.
Sooth'd by your midnight hymns the warrior's ghost,
Whose cold bones whiten'd Arvon's dreary coast.
Ye sung the courses of the wandering moon;
The sun-beam darken'd in the blaze of noon;
The stars unerring in their glittering spheres;
The sure procession of the circling years;
And the dread Powers, that rule the world on high,
And hold celestial synods in the sky.
When hostile nations met with barbarous clang,
And the wild heath with yelling squadrons rang;
When beams of light from serried lances stream'd;
And vivid flashes o'er the high heavens gleam'd:
Fir'd by your magic songs, the Briton pour'd
A tenfold fury; dar'd the uplifted sword;
Envy'd the shades of chiefs in battle slain;
And burn'd to join them on the etherial plain.
For warrior souls, ye sung, would deathless bloom,
When the cold limbs lay mouldering in the tomb:
From the pale stiffning corses wing their flight,
And rise in kindred mould to life and light;
Again in arms fill the dire yell of war;
Again to havoc drive the scythed car,
Till earth and air and seas should sink in flame,
The fiery deluge melting Nature's frame :
When, amidst blazing orbs, the warrior-soul,
Borne through the milky way and starry pole,
Would painless tenant through eternal years.
Mansions of purest bliss in brighter spheres:
In martial sports engage its kindred shades,
Tame the wild steeds, and brandish gleaming blades :
Or on the clouds reclin'd, with breast on fire,
List the heroic strains of Cadwall's lyre;
In Mador's verse renew its mortal toils;
And shine through Hoel's songs in hostile spoils.
In Albion's ancient days, midst northern snows, Hardy and bold, inmortal FREEDOM rose. She roam'd the sounding margin of the deep, Conway's wild bank, and Cader's craggy steep: A bloody wolf-skin o'er her back was spread; An axe she bore; and wild weeds * grac'd her head. On Snowdon's cliffs reclin'd the watch'd on high The tempest-driven clouds, that cross'd the sky; Or caught with listening ear the sounding gale, When the dread war-song shook the distant dale. At battle's close she roam'd the ensanguin'd plain, And gaz'd the threatening aspects of the slain. Now from ignoble sloth she rarely rose,
For savage freedom sinks to mute repose;
Now to wild joys, and the bowl's maddening powers
Gave up
the torpid sense and listless hours;
Now joyful saw the naked sword display'd,
Though brother's blood flow'd reeking from the blade.
By tyrants sunk she rose more proudly great,
As ocean swells indignant in the strait;
And, borne in chains † from Cambria's mountains bleak,
Rais'd virtue's generous blush on Cæsar's cheek.
But ah! full many a dark and stormy year
She dropt o'er Albion's isle the patriot tear.
Retir'd to mountains from the craggy dell
She caught the Norman curfeu's tyrant knell :
Sad to her view the Baron's castle frown'd
Bold from the steep, and aw'd the plains around:
She sorrowing heard the papal thunders roll,
And mourn'd the ignoble bondage of the soul:
* Vide Chatterton's Ode to Freedom.
+ Vide Tacitus's account of Caractacus at the throne of Claudius.
She blush'd, O Cromwell, blush'd at Charles's doom ;
And wept, misguided Sidney, o'er thy tomb.
But now reviv'd she boasts a purer cause,
Refin'd by science, form'd by generous laws:
High hangs her helmet in the banner'd hall,
Nor sounds her clarion but at honor's call.
Now walks the land with olivé chaplets crown'd,
Exalting worth, and beaming safety round:
With secret joy and conscious pride admires
The patriot spirit, which herself inspires:
Sees barren wastes with unknown fruitage bloom;
Sees Labour bending patient o'er the loom;
Sees Science rove through academic bowers;
And peopled cities lift their spiry towers:
Trade swells her sails, wherever ocean rolls,
Glows at the line, and freezes at the poles:
While through unwater'd plains and wondering meads
Waves not its own the obedient River leads.
But chief the god-like Mind, which bears impress'd Its Maker's glorious image full confest ;
Noblest of works created; more divine,
Than all the starry worlds, that nightly shine;
Form'd to live on, unconscious of decay,
When the wide universe shall melt away:
The Mind, which hid in savage breasts of yore,
Lay, like Golconda's gems, an useless ore;
Now greatly dares sublimest aims to scan;
Enriches science, and ennobles man;
Unveils the semblance, which it's God bestow'd;
And draws more near the fount, from whence it flow'd.
For which he received the Prize of the Gold Cup from the Harmonic Society.
COME, thou soul-reviving CUP,
And try thy healing art;
Light the Fancy's visions up-
And warm my wasted heart!
Touch with glowing tints of bliss
Mem'ry's fading dream;
Give me, while thy lip I kiss,
The heav'n that's in thy stream!
In thy fount the LYRIC MUSE
Ever dipp'd her wing,
ANACREON fed upon thy dews,
And HORACE drain'd thy spring!
I, too, humblest of the train,
There my spirit find,
Freshen there my languid brain-
And store my vacant mind!
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