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'I pass, like night, from land to land ;
“What loud uproar bursts from that door !
O sweeter than the marriage-feast,
'He prayeth best, who lovest best
The Mariner, whose eye is bright,
He went like one that hath been stunned,
The Haunted Palace
IN the greenest of our valleys,
By good angels tenanted,
Radiant palace, reared its head.
It stood there;
Over fabric half so fair !
Banners-yellow, glorious, golden
On its roof did Aoat and flow (This, all this, was in the olden
Time, long ago);
In that sweet day,
A winged odour went away.
Wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows saw
To a lute's well-tuned law,
The ruler of the realm was seen.
And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace-door, Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
The wit and wisdom of their king.
But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate.
Shall dawn upon him desolate ;)
That blushed and bloomed,
Through the red-litten windows see
To a discordant melody,
Through the pale door,
*Ruin seize thee, ruthless King !
Confusion on thy banners wait,
They mock the air with idle state.
Of the first Edward scattered wild dismay,
He wound with toilsome march his long array. Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance : "To arms !' cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quivering
On a rock, whose haughty brow
Robed in the sable garb of woe,
And with a Master's hand and Prophet's fire
Sighs to the torrent's aweful voice beneath ! O’er thee, oh 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 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 cloud-topp'd 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 criesNo 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. • 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' Berkley's roofs 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 born, 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. Mighty victor, mighty Lord !
Low on his funeral couch he lies !
A tear to grace his obsequies.
While proudly riding o'er the azure realm
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,
Lance to lance, and horse to horse ?
Long years of havock urge their destined course, And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their way.
Ye towers 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,
Twined with her blushing foe, we spread:
Wallows beneath the thorny shade.