I. 2. On a rock, whose haughty brow (Loose his beard, and hoary hair Stream'd like a meteor, to the troubled air), 66 Hark, how each giant-oak, and desert cave, O'er thee, oh King! their hundred arms they wave, Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. I. 3. "Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, That hushed the stormy main : 15 20 25 30 Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed: Mountains, ye mourn in vain Modred, whose magic song Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-top'd head. Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale: 35 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 griesly 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. 40 45 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. 50 Mark the year, and mark the night, When Severn shall re-echo with affright The shrieks of death thro' Berkley's roofs that ring, 55 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 heaven. What terrors round him wait! 60 Amazement in his van, with Flight combined, And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind. II. 2. 66 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. 65 The swarm that in thy noontide beam were born? Gone to salute the rising morn. 70 Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the Zephyr blows, In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm; Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway, 75 That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening-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 80 85 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 havock urge their destin'd course, Twin'd with her blushing foe, we spread: Wallows beneath the thorny shade. Now, brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom, III. I. 66 Edward, lo! to sudden fate (Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) Half of thy heart we consecrate. (The web is wove. The work is done.) Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn: In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, But oh what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height 105 Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul! No more our long-ost Arthur we bewail. All hail, ye genuine kings, Britannia's issue, hail! 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 ! Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line; What strings symphonious tremble in the air, They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. Bright Rapture calls, and soaring, as she sings, Waves in the eye of Heav'n her many-colour'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 115 I 20 125 Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud, 135 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 scept'red Care; To triumph and to die are mine." He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height 140 GOLDSMITH. THE DESERTED VILLAGE. SWEET AUBURN! loveliest village of the plain; Where health and plenty cheered the labouring swain, Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed: 5 Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, Where humble happiness endeared each scene! The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, IO The decent church that topt the neighbouring hill, For talking age and whispering lovers made! 15 When toil remitting lent its turn to play, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree, While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old surveyed; 20 And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round. And still, as each repeated pleasure tired, Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired; 25 By holding out to tire each other down; |