More remote and buxom-brown, The Queen of vintage bow'd before his throne ; A rich pomegranate gemm'd her crown, A ripe sheaf bound her zone. But howling Winter fled afar, The shaft that drives him to his polar field, O sire of storms! whose savage ear Fast descending as thou art, Spells to touch thy stony heart? Of innocence descend. But chiefly spare, O king of clouds, The sailor on his airy shrouds, When wrecks and beacons strew the steep, And spectres walk along the deep; Milder yet thy snowy breezes To many a deep and dying groan; At shrieks and thunders louder than your own. May spare the victim fallen low; But man will ask no truce to death,— THE BARD. CAMPBELL. “RUIN seize thee, ruthless king! "Confusion on thy banners wait; "Though fann'd by conquest's crimson wing, "They mock the air with idle state! Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail, Nor even thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail "To arms!” cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quiv'ring lance. On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foamy flood, Rob'd 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, "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 Llewellyn's lay. "Cold is Cadwalla's tongue, That hush'd the stormy main: "Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topt head. "Far, far aloof, the affrighted ravens sail; 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, "L Avengers of their native land! "With me in dreadful harmony they join, And weave, with bloody hands, the tissue of thy line. "Weave the warp, and weave the woof "The winding-sheet of Edward's race; "The shrieks of death through Berkeley's roof that ring, "Shrieks of an agonising king! "She wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs, "That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate, "From thee be borne, who o'er thy country hangs "The scourge of heaven. What terrors round him wait! "Amazement in his van, with flight combined, "And sorrow's faded form, and solitude behind. 66 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, 66 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 evening prey. "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, 66 Lance to lance, and horse to horse? Long years of havoc urge their destin'd course, "And through the kindred squadrons mow their way. Ye towers of Julius-London's lasting shame, "With many a foul and midnight murder fed, "Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame, “And spare the meek usurper's holy head! 66 'Above, below, the rose of snow, "Twin'd with her blushing foe we spread; "The bristled boar, in infant gore, "Wallows beneath the thorny shade. "Now, brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom, "Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom! "Edward, lo! to sudden fate 66 (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, unpity'd, here to mourn ! "In yon bright tract, that fires the western skies 'They melt-they vanish from my eyes. "But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height, "Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul! "Girt with many a baron bold, "Sublime, their starry fronts they rear; "In the midst, a form divine! "Her eye proclaims her of the Briton line : "Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face, Attemper'd sweet to virgin grace. "What strains symphonious tremble in the air! 66 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. "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 yon sanguine cloud, "Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day? "To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, "And warms the nations with redoubled ray. |