69

BOADICEA

WHEN the British warrior queen,
Bleeding from the Roman rods,
Sought, with an indignant mien,
Counsel of her country's gods,

Sage beneath a spreading oak
Sat the Druid, hoary chief,
Every burning word he spoke
Full of rage and full of grief :

'Princess! if our agèd eyes

Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 'Tis because resentment ties

All the terrors of our tongues.

'Rome shall perish,-write that word
In the blood that she has spilt;
Perish hopeless and abhorred,
Deep in ruin as in guilt.

'Rome for empire far renowned,

Tramples on a thousand states; Soon her pride shall kiss the ground,— Hark! the Gaul is at her gates.

'Other Romans shall arise,

Heedless of a soldier's name,

Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, Harmony the path to fame.

'Then the progeny that springs

From the forests of our land,

Armed with thunder, clad with wings,

Shall a wider world command.

Regions Cæsar never knew,
Thy posterity shall sway,
Where his eagles never flew,
None invincible as they.'

Such the bard's prophetic words,
Pregnant with celestial fire,
Bending as he swept the chords
Of his sweet but awful lyre.

She, with all a monarch's pride,
Felt them in her bosom glow,
Rushed to battle, fought and died,
Dying, hurled them at the foe.

‘Ruffians, pitiless as proud,

Heaven awards the vengeance due;

Empire is on us bestowed,

Shame and ruin wait for you!'

William Cowper.

70

THE TRIUMPHS OF OWEN

(From the Welsh.)

OWEN'S praise demands my song,
Owen swift, and Owen strong;
Fairest flower of Roderick's stem,
Gwyneth's shield, and Britain's gem.
He nor heaps his brooded stores,
Nor on 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 grey
Lochlin ploughs the watery way;
There the Norman sails afar
Catch the winds and join the war:
Black and huge along they sweep,
Burdens of the angry deep.

Dauntless on his native sands
The dragon-son 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 eye-balls 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 honourable death.

Thomas Gray.

71

BELINDA

(The Rape of the Lock.)

NOT with more glories, in th' ethereal plain, The sun first rises o'er the purpled main,

Than, issuing forth, the rival of his beams
Launched on the bosom of the silver Thames.
Fair nymphs, and well-dressed youths around her
shone,

But every eye was fixed on her alone.

On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore,
Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore.
Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose,
Quick as her eyes, and as unfixed as those:
Favours to none, to all she smiles extends;
Oft she rejects, but never once offends.
Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike,
And, like the sun, they shine on all alike.
Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride,
Might hide her faults, if Belles had faults to hide :
If to her share some female errors fall,

Look on her face, and you'll forget them all.

Alexander Pope.

72

MISS MARY

(A Child Five Years Old.)

LORDS, Knights, and Squires, the numerous band
That wear the fair Miss Mary's fetters,

Were summoned by her high command
To show their passions by their letters.

My pen among the rest I took,

Lest those bright eyes, that cannot read, Should dart their kindling fires, and look The power they have to be obeyed.

Nor quality, nor reputation,

Forbid me yet my flame to tell,

Dear Five-Years-Old befriends my passion,
And I may write till she can spell.

For while she makes her silk-worms beds
With all the tender things I swear,
While all the house my passion reads
In papers round her baby's hair,

She may receive and own my flame;

For, though the strictest prudes should know it, She'll pass for a most virtuous dame,

And I for an unhappy poet.

Then, too, alas when she shall tear

The lines some younger rival sends, She'll give me leave to write, I fear, And we shall still continue friends.

For, as our different ages move,

'Tis so ordained (would Fate but mend it!) That I shall be past making love

When she begins to comprehend it.

Matthew Prior.

73

THE LOVER'S PLEA

IF doughty deeds my lady please
Right soon I'll mount my steed;
And strong his arm, and fast his seat
That bears frae me the meed.
I'll wear thy colours in my cap,
Thy picture at my heart;

And he that bends not to thine eye

Shall rue it to his smart!

Then tell me how to woo thee, Love,

Oh tell me how to woo thee!

For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take
Though ne'er another trow me.

If gay attire delight thine eye

I'll dight me in array;

I'll tend thy chamber door all night,
And squire thee all the day.