RURAL SKETCHES.

CORONACH,

OF DRUID BARDS OVER A BRITISH CHIEFTAIN.

"The most important and essential rite of Sepulture among the Ancient Britons was the funeral song, containing the praises of the deceased, sung by a number of bards, to the music of their harps, when the body was deposited in the grave. To want a funeral song was esteemed the greatest misfortune and disgrace; as they believed that without it, their spirits could enjoy no rest or happiness in a future state."

On Eston's promontory
Renown'd in ancient story,

A reverend Druid stood

His locks were long and hoary
His hands were red with blood.

FIRST BARD.

"Hail foremost of heroes, the godlike in might,
Beloved of the maidens, of foemen the dread
No more shall thy faulchion be wielded in fight
No more shalt thou triumph 'mid heaps of the dead

Like an oak-tree of Kempley he tower'd o'er the foe,
The tempests of battle rag'd round him in vain,

Destruction awaited each terrible blow,

As he trod like an Angel of Death o'er the plain.

He was mild as the rainbow, like morn bright and clear,
His hair soft and curling as mists of the hill

He was strong as the wild-boar and fleet as the deer
In Love and in Battle victorious still!"

With groans and piteous weeping
They mourn'd the hero sleeping,
In sadness and despair:
Whilst women's hands were reaping

Their locks of raven hair.

SECOND BARD.

"Where the wild-roe was swiftest, and fiercest the boar,

Fast as whirlwind he sped o'er each forest and dale,— Now the mountains shall echo his footsteps no more, No more shall the hunter's rejoice at his call.

No more shall his hearth ring with festival cheer,

When the minstrels awoke each melodious tone, As the maids gaily dancing, the guests quaffing near, We chanted the deeds of his forefathers gone.

Once like spring-tides of Ocean, like wolves of the plain, Like the Avelanche rolling its deluge of snow,

Like some fierce mountain torrent all swollen with rain In fury he rush'd on the ranks of the foe."

Now came the Chieftain's daughter

And to the solemn slaughter

Led forth the snow-white bull:
Whilst from the roaring rafter

The flames ascended full.

THIRD BARD.

"Now Denmark, and Norway, and Iceland rejoice,
The valiant is perish'd once first in the fray,
He is dead the brave Chieftain whose terrible voice
Scatter'd dread and despair o'er each Island and bay.

But you, grateful Britons, whilst heaping his pyre,
Remember with rapture his glorious name,

For bright as the flames of this funeral fire

Shall his deeds shine aloft in the Temple of Fame.

His bones may all crumble, his Urn may decay,
His sword and his faulchion perish with rust,
But his spirit shall flourish in brightness of day,
And a radiance Immortal illumine his dust."

CHORUS.

"He is gone!" loud rang the Chorus,

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He has reach'd the skies before us,

And he walks the sacred vale:

But his spirit hovers o'er us,

And re-echoes Glory's tale!"

RURAL SKETCHES.

EPITHALAMIUM.

Written on the marriage of the Lady Frances Anne Emily Vane, eldest daughter of the Marquis and Marchioness of Londonderry, with the Marquis of Blandford, son of the Duke of Marlborough, Wednesday, July 12, 1843.

Lady, in elder times 'twas not unmeeting

To hail such unions with a bridal greeting:

When Rome tower'd loftiest, when Greece was young,
The free-born Bard in rapturous measures sung
Of Innocence and Loveliness, displayed

Bright as Diana's in the forest shade:

Nor, deem I lady, though each brow was fair,
Eyes soft, and deep,-words liquid as the air,-
Though poets' hymns rose musical and free,
Liv'd one more blest, more beautiful than thee.

Greece had her Castaly, her Helicon,
Fountains and rivers glittering in the sun;

But thou, where Wynyard's rich and wooded plain,
Stretches afar its ample broad domain,

(Where Tees runs sweeping by old Barnard's towers, '

I

Gainford's sweet valleys,2 Dinsdale's fragrant bowers, 3