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While some on earnest business bent

Their murmuring labors ply 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint

To sweeten liberty ;
Some bold adventurers disdain
The limits of their little reign,

And unknown regions dare descry:
Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in every wind,

And snatch a fearful joy.

Yet ah! why should they know their fate? Since sorrow never comes too late,

And happiness too swiftly flies. Thought would destroy their Paradise No more; where ignorance is bliss,

"Tis folly to be wise.

THE BARD.

A PINDARIC ODE.

I.

Gay Hope is theirs, by Fancy fed,

Less pleasing, when possest; The tear forgot as soon as shed,

The sun-shine of the breast; Their buxom health, of rosy hue ; Wild wit, invention ever new,

And lively cheer of vigor born; The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumbers light,

That fly th' approach of morn.

Alas, regardless of their doom,

The little victims play!
No sense have they of ills to come,

Nor care beyond to-day.
Yet see how all around them wait
The ministers of human fate,

And black Misfortune's baleful train. Ah, show them where in ambush stand To seize their prey, the murderous band !

Ah, tell them, they are men!

“Ruin seize thee, ruthless king!
Confusion on thy banners wait!
Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing,
They mock the air with idle state.

Helm, nor hauberk's* twisted mail,
Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears,
From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears !"
Such were the sounds, that o'er the crested pride
Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay,

As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side
He wound with toilsome march his long array.
Stout Glo'stert stood aghast in speechless trance :
To arms! cried Mortimer, I and couch'd his quiver

ing lance.

These sha.? the fury passions tear,

The vultures of the mind, Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear,

And Shame that skulks behind; Or pining Love, shall waste their youth, Or Jealousy, with rankling tooth,

That inly gnaws the secret heart, And Envy wan, and faded Care, Grim-visag'd comfortless Despair,

And Sorrow's piercing dart. Ambition this shall tempt to rise,

Then whirl the wretch from high, To bitter Scorn a sacrifice,

And grinning Infamy. The stings of Falsehood those shall try, And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye,

That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow; And keen Remorse, with blood defil'd, And moody Madness laughing wild

Amid severest woe.

On a rock, whose haughty brow
Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood,
Rob'd in the sable garb of woe,
With haggard eyes the poet stood ;
(Loose his beard, and hoary hair
Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air,)
And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire,
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.

“ Hark, how each giant-oak, and desert cave,
Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath!
O'er thee, oh king! their hundred arms they wave,
Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe;

Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day,
To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay.

" Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, That hush'd the stormy main ; Brave Urien sleeps upon

his craggy

bed: Mountains, ye mourn in vain Modred, whose magic song Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topp'd hcad. On dreary Arvon's shorey they lie, Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale: Far, far aloof th'affrighted ravens sail : The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by. Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, Dear, as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country's cries

Lo, in the vale of years beneath

A grisly troop are seen, The painful family of Death,

More hideous than their queen:
This racks the joints, this fires the veins,
That every laboring sinew strains,

Those in the deeper vitals rage:
Lo, Poverty, to fill the band,
That numbs the soul with icy hand,

And slow-consuming Age.
To each his sufferings : all are men,

Condemn'd alike to groan;
The tender for another's pain,

The unfeeling for his own.

* The hauberk was a texture of steel ringlets, or rings interwoven, forming a coat of mail, that sat close to the body, and adapted itself to every motion.

† Gilbert de Clare, surnamed the Red, Earl of Glouces. ter and Hertford, son-in-law to King Edward.

| Edmond de Mortimer, Lord of Wigmore. $ The shores of Caernarvonshire, opposite to the Isle of Anglesea.

No more I weep. They do not sleep.

Revere his consort's* faith, his father'st fame, On yonder cliffs, a grisly band,

And spare the meek usurper'st holy head.
I see them sit, they linger yet,

Above, below, the rosey of snow,
Avengers of their native land :

Twin'd with her blushing foe we spread :
With me in dreadful harmony they join, The bristled boar|| in infant gore
And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. Wallows beneath the thorny shade.

Now, brothers, bending o'er th'accursed loom,
II.

Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom. "• Weave the warp, and weave the woof, The winding-sheet of Edward's race:

III. Give ample room, and verge enough

“ • Edward, lo! to sudden fate The characters of Hell to trace.

(Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) Mark the year, and mark the night,

Half of thy heart we consecrate. I
When Severn shall re-echo with affright
The shrieks of death, through Berkeley's roofs that The web is wove. The work is done.)
ring,*

Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn

Leave me unbless'd, un pitied, here to mourn: Shrieks of an agonizing king; She-wolf of France,t with unrelenting fangs,

In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, That tears the bowels of thy mangled mate,

They melt, they vanish from my eyes. From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs

But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height The scourge of Heaven. What terrors round him Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll ?

Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! wait!

Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul ! Amazement in his van, with Flight combin'd;

No more our long-lost Arthur** we bewail. And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.

All-hail, ye genuine kings;tt Britannia's issue, hail ! "• Mighty Victor, mighty Lord, Low on his funeral couch he lies!

“Girt with many a baron bold, No pitying heart, no eye, afford

Sublime their starry fronts they rear; A tear to grace his obsequies.

And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old,
Is the sable warriorll fled ?

In bearded majesty, appear.
Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead. In the midst a form divine !
The swarm, that in the noontide beam were born; Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line ;
Gone to salute the rising Morn.

Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face,
Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows, Attemper'd sweet to virgin-grace.
While proudly riding o'er the azure realm What strings symphonious tremble in the air,
In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes ;

What strains of vocal transport round her play ; Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm; Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, 11 hear; Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway,

They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening. Bright Rapture calls, and soaring, as she sings, prey.

Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-color'd

wings. « • Fill high the sparkling bowl, The rich repast prepare : Rest of a crown, he yet may share the feast :

* Margaret of Anjou, a woman of heroic spirit, who Close by the regal chair

struggled hard to save her husband and her crown. Fell Thirst and Famine scowl A baleful smile upon their baffled guest.

† Henry the Fifth. Heard ye the din of battle bray, T

1 Henry the Sixth, very near being canonized. The Lance to lance, and horse to horse ?

line of Lancaster had no right of inheritance to the Long years of havoc urge their destin'd course, And through the kindred squadrons mow their way. § The white and red roses, devices of York and Lan. Ye towers of Julius,** London's lasting shame, caster. With many a foul and midnight murther fed,

| The silver-boar was the badge of Richard the Third ; whence he was usually known in his own time by the

name of The Boar. * Edward the Second, cruelly butchered in Berkeley

I Eleanor of Castile died a few years after the conquest castle. † Isabel of France, Edward the Second's adulterous of Wales. The heroic proof she gave of her affection for

her lord is well known. The monuments of his regret queen.

and sorrow for the loss of her, are still to be seen at | Triumphs of Edward the Third in France.

Northampton, Geddington, Waltham, and other places. § Death of that king, abandoned by his children, and even robbed in his last moments by his courtiers and his

** It was the common belief of the Welsh nation, that mistress.

King Arthur was still alive in Fairy-land, and should re. . | Edward the Black Prince, dead some time before his

turn again to reign over Britain. father

Both Merlin and Taliessin had prophesied, that the | Ruinous civil wars of York and Lancaster.

Welsh should regain their sovereignty over this island; ** Henry the Sixth, George Duke of Clarence, Edward which seemed to be accomplished in the house of Tudor. the Finh, Richard Duke of York, &c. believed to be mur. 11 Taliessin, chief of the bards, flourished in the sixth dered secretly in the Tower of London. The oldest part century. His works are still preserved, and his memory of that structure is vulgarly attributed to Julius Cæsar. held in high veneration among his countrymen.

crown.

:

Shafts for shuttles, dipt in gore,

Shoot the trembling cords along; Sword, that once a monarch bore,

Keep the tissue close and strong.

Mista, black terrific maid,

Sangrida, and Hilda, see, Join the wayward work to aid :

'Tis the woof of victory.

“ The verse adorn again
Fierce War, and faithful Love,
And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest.
In buskin'd measures* move
Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain,
With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
A voice,t as of the cherub-choir,
Gales from blooming Eden bear;
And distant warblingst lessen on my ear,
That lost in long futurity expire.
Fond impious man, think'st thou, yon sanguine

cloud,
Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day?
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood,
And warms the nations with redoubled ray.
Enough for me: with joy I see
The different doom our Fates assign.
Be thine Despair, and scepter'd Care :
To triumph, and to die, are mine."
He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height
Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endless night.

Ere the ruddy Sun be set,

Pikes must shiver, javelins sing, Blade with clattering buckler meet,

Hauberk crash, and helmet ring.

(Weave the crimson web of war,,

Let us go, and let us fly,
Where our friends the conflict share,

Where they triumph, where they die.

As the paths of Fate we tread,

Wading through th' ensanguin'd field; Gondula, and Geira, spread

O'er the youthful king your shield.

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Hail the task, and hail the hands!

Songs of joy and triumph sing! Joy to the victorious bands;

Triumph to the younger king.

* Shakspeare.
† Milton.
I The succession of poets after Milton's time.

$ The Valkyriur were female divinities, servants of Odin (or Woden) in the Gothic mythology. Their name signifies choosers of the slain. They were mounted on swift horses, with drawn swords in their hands; and in the throng of battle selected such as were destined to slaughter, and conducted them to Valkalla, the hall of Odin, or paradise of the brave; where they attended the banquet, and served the departed heroes with horns of mead and ale.

Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale,

Learn the tenor of our song. Scotland, through each winding vale

Far and wide the notes prolong.

Sisters, hence, with spurs of speed;

Each her thundering falchion wield Each bestride her sable steed:

Hurry, hurry to the field.

What danger Odin's child await,

Who the author of his fate?
THE DESCENT OF ODIN.

Pr. In Hoder's hand the hero's doom:

His brother sends him to the tomb.
AN ODE.

Now my weary lips I close :

Leave me, leave me, to repose. [From the same.]

0. Prophetess, my spell obey :

Once again arise, and say,
IN BARTHOLINUS, DE CAUSIS CONTEMNENDE

Who th' avenger of his guilt,
MORTIS; HAFNIÆ, 1689, QUARTO.

By whom shall Hoder's blood be spilt ?

Pr. In the caverns of the west,
Upreis Odinn allda gauir, &c.

By Odin's fierce embrace comprest,
UPROSE the King of Men with speed,

A wondrous boy shall Rinda bear, And saddled straight his coal-black steed;

Who ne'er shall comb his raven-hair, Down the yawning steep he rode,

Nor wash his visage in the stream, That leads to Hela's* drear abode.

Nor see the Sun's departing beam : Him the Dog of Darkness spied,

Till he on Hoder's corse shall smile, His shaggy throat he open'd wide,

Flaming on the funeral pile. While from his jaws, with carnage fillid,

Now my weary lips I close : Foam and human gore distillid;

Leave me, leave me, to repose. Hoarse he bays with hideous din,

0. Yet awhile my call obey, Eyes that glow, and fangs that grin;

Prophetess, awake, and say, And long pursues, with fruitless yell,

What virgins these, in speechless woe, The father of the powerful spell.

That bend to earth their solemn brow, Onward still his way he takes,

That their flaxen tresses tear, (The groaning Earth beneath him shakes,)

And snowy veils, that float in air. Till full before bis fearless eyes

Tell me whence their sorrows rose : The portals nine of Hell arise.

Then I leave thee to repose. Right against the eastern gate,

Pr. Ha! no traveller art thou, By the moss-grown pile he sate ;

King of Men, I know thee now, Where long of yore to sleep was laid

Mightiest of a mighty line.The dust of the prophetic maid.

0. No boding maid of skill divine Facing to the northern clime,

Art thou, nor prophetess of good; Thrice he trac'd the Runic rhyme;

But mother of the giant-brood! Thrice pronounc'd, in accents dread,

Pr. Hie thee hence, and boast at home, The thrilling verse that wakes the dead;

That never shall inquirer come Till from out the hollow ground

To break my iron-sleep again;
Slowly breath'd a sullen sound.

Till Lokt has burst his ten-fold chain.
Pr. What call unknown, what charms presume, Never, till substantial Night
To break the quiet of the tomb?

Has reassum'd her ancient right;
Who thus afflicts my troubled sprite,

Till wrapp'd in flames, in ruin hurl's,
And drags me from the realms of night?

Sinks the fabric of the world.
Long on these mouldering bones have beat
The winter's snow, the summer's heat,
The drenching dews, and driving rain!
Let me, let me sleep again.
Who is he, with voice unblest,

THE TRIUMPHS OF OWEN.I
That calls me from the bed of rest ?

A FRAGMENT. 0. A traveller, to thee unknown, Is he that calls, a warrior's son.

FROM MR. EVANS'S SPECIMENS OF THE WELSH Thou the deeds of light shalt know; Tell me what is done below,

POETRY ; LONDON, 1764, QUARTO. For whom yon glittering board is spread,

Owen's praise demands my song, Drest for whom yon golden bed ?

Owen swift, and Owen strong; Pr. Mantling in the goblet see

Fairest flower of Roderic's stem,
The pure beverage of the bee,

Gwyneth'sy shield, and Britain's gem.
O'er it hangs the shield of gold ;
'Tis the drink of Balder bold :
Balder's head to death is given,

| Lok is the evil being, who continues in chains till Pain can reach the sons of Heaven!

the twilight of the gods approaches, when he shall break Unwilling I my lips unclose :

his bonds; the human race, the stars, and Sun, shall dis. Leave me, leave me, to repose.

appear; the earth sink in the seas, and fire consume the 0. Once again my call obey,

skies: even Odin himself and his kindred deities shall Prophetess, arise, and say

perish. For a further explanation of this mythology, see Mallet's Introduction to the History of Denmark, 1755,

quarto. * Niflheimr, the Hell of the Gothic nations, consisted

1 Owen succeeded his father Griffin in the principality of nine worlds, to which were devoted all such as died of of North Wales, A. D. 112. This battle was fought near sickness, old age, or by any other means than in battle : forty years afterwards. over it presided Hela, the goddess of death.

f North Wales.

He nor heaps his brooded stores,
Nor all profusely pours;
Lord of every regal art,
Liberal hand, and open heart.
Big with hosts of mighty name,
Squadrons three against him came;
This the force of Eirin hiding,
Side by side as proudly riding,
On her shadow long and gay
Lochlin* plows the watery way:
There the Norman sails afar
Catch the winds, and join the war ;
Black and huge along they sweep,
Burthens of the angry deep.

Dauntless on his native sands The dragon-sont of Mona stands ;

In glittering arms and glory drest,
High he rears his ruby crest.
There the thundering strokes begin,
There the press, and there the din;
Talymalfra's rocky shore
Echoing to the battle's roar,
Where his glowing eyeballs turn,
Thousand banners round him burn.
Where he points his purple spear,
Hasty, hasty rout is there,
Marking with indignant eye
Fear to stop, and shame to fly.
There Confusion, Terror's child,
Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild,
Agony, that pants for breath,
Despair and honorable Death.

* Denmark.

1 The red dragon is the device of Cadwallader, which all his descendants bore on their banners,

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