For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,

Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind?

On some fond breast the parting soul relies,

Some pious drops the closing eye requires ;

Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,

Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires.

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead,

Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;

If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn,

Brushing with hasty steps the dew away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

"There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,

That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,

His listless length at noontide would he stretch,

And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

"The next, with dirges due, in sad array,

Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne.

Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay,

Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."

THE EPITAPH.

HERE rests his head upon the lap of

Earth

A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown:

Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,

And Melancholy mark'd him for her

own.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,

Heav'n did a recompense as largely send :
He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear;
He gain'd from Heav'n, 't was all he
wish'd, a friend.

No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread
abode :

(There they alike in trembling hope repose)

The bosom of his Father and his God.

THE BARD. I. I.

Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless

trance :

"To arms!" cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quiv'ring lance.

I. 2.

On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er cold Conway's foaming flood, Robed 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, O 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 Llew. ellyn's lay.

I. 3.

"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 cloudtopt head.

On dreary Arvon's shore 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

No more I weep. They do not sleep.

On yonder cliffs, a grisly band,

I see them sit, they linger yet,
Avengers of their native land:

With me in dreadful harmony they join,

And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.

II. I.

"Weave the warp, and weave the
woof,

The winding-sheet of Edward's race.
Give ample room, and verge enough
The characters of hell to trace.
Mark the year, and mark the night,
When Severn shall re-echo with affright
The shrieks of death, thro' Berkely's roof
that ring,

Shrieks of an agonizing king!

She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs,

That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate,

From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs The scourge of Heav'n. round him wait!

What Terrors

Amazement in his van, with Flight com. bin'd,

And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.

II. 2.

"Mighty victor, mighty lord!
Low on his funeral couch he lies!
No pitying heart, no eye, afford
A tear to grace his obsequies.
Is the sable warrior fled?

Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead.

The swarm, that in thy noon-tide beam were born.

Gone to salute the rising morn.

Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows,

While proudly riding o'er the azure realm

In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes;

Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm :

Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's

sway,

That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his ev'ning prey.

II. 3.

"Fill high the sparkling bowl,

The rich repast prepare,

Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast:

Close by the regal chair

Fell Thirst and Famine scowl

III. 2.

"Girt with many a baron bold Sublime their starry fronts they rear; And gorgeous dames, and statesmen

old

In bearded majesty, appear.

In the midst a form divine!

Heard ye the din of battle bray,

Lance to lance, and horse to horse? Long years of havock urge their destined

line;

Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face,

Attemper'd sweet to virgin-grace. What strings symphonious tremble in the air,

What strains of vocal transport round her play!

Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear;

They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.

Bright Rapture calls, and soaring as she sings,

Waves in the eye of heav'n her manycolour'd wings.

III. 3.

"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, as of the cherub-choir,
Gales from blooming Eden bear;
And distant warblings lessen on my ear,
That lost in long futurity expire.
Fond impious man, think'st thou you
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 diff'rent doom our fates assign. Be thine Despair, and sceptred Care,

To triumph, and to die, are mine." He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height

Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night.

THE DESCENT OF ODIN.

UPROSE the King of men with speed,
And saddled straight his coal-black steed;
Down the yawning steep he rode,
That leads to Hela's drear abode.
Him the dog of darkness spied;
His shaggy throat he open'd wide,
While from his jaws, with carnage fill'd,
Foam and human gore distill'd:
Hoarse he bays with hideous din,
Eyes that glow, and fangs that grin;
And long pursues with fruitless yell,
The father of the powerful spell.
Onward still his way he takes,
(The groaning earth beneath him shakes,)
Till full before his fearless eyes
The portals nine of hell arise.

Right against the eastern gate,
By the moss-grown pile he sate;
Where long of yore to sleep was laid
The dust of the prophetic maid.
Facing to the northern clime,
Thrice he traced the Runic rhyme ;
Thrice pronounced, in accents dread,
The thrilling verse that wakes the dead:
Till from out the hollow ground
Slowly breath'd a sullen sound.

PROPHETESS.

By Odin's fierce embrace comprest,
A wond'rous boy shall Rinda bear,
Who ne'er shall comb his raven hair,
Nor wash his visage in the stream,
Nor see the sun's departing beam,

Till he on Hoder's corse shall smile
Flaming on the funeral pile.
Now my weary lips I close:
Leave me, leave me to repose.

ODIN.

Yet awhile my call obey;
Prophetess, awake, and say,
What virgins these, in speechless woe,
That bend to earth their solemn brow
That their flaxen tresses tear,
And snowy veils that float in air?
Tell me whence their sorrows rose :
Then I leave thee to repose.