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A PINDARIC ODE.
The following Ode is founded on a tradition current in Wales, that Edward the First, when he completed the conquest of that country, ordered all the Bards that fell into his hands to be put to death.—GRAY.
“RUIN seize thee, ruthless King!
Confusion on thy banners wait;
They mock the air with idle state.
5 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’ster stood aghast in speechless trance: “To arms!” cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quiv'ring
On a rock whose haughty brow
Robed in the sable garb of woe,
"Hark, how each giant-oak, and desert cave,
Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe;
"Cold is Cadwallo's tongue,
That hush'd the stormy main:
Mountains, ye mourn in vain
Modred, whose magic song
On dreary Arvon's shore they lie,
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 criesNo more I weep. They do not sleep.
On yonder cliffs, a grisly band,
Avengers of their native land:
‘Weave the warp, and weave the woof, The winding sheet of Edward's race.
Give ample room, and verge enough
She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs,
From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs
"Mighty victor, mighty lord! Low on his funeral couch he lies!
No pitying heart, no eye, afford
Is the sable warrior fled ?
While proudly riding o'er the azure realm
Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm;
“ '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
A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. Heard ye the din of battle bray,
Lance to lance, and horse to horse?
Long years of havoc urge their destined course, And thro' the kindred squadrons inow their way.
Ye tower of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murther fed,
Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame, And spare the meek usurper's holy head.
Above, below, the rose of snow,
Twin'd with her blushing foe, we spread:
Wallows beneath the thorny shade.
" 'Edward, lo! to sudden fate
Half of thy heart we consecrate.
Descending slow their glitt'ring skirts unroll?
Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail.
“Girt with many a baron bold Sublime their starry fronts they rear;
And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old
What strains of vocal transport round her play
They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.
“The verse adorn again
125 Fierce War, and faithful Love, And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest.
In buskin'd measures move
That lost in long futurity expire. Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud, 135
Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day?