Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, 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, 45 And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. II. 1. Strophe 666 Weave the warp and weave the woof 50 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 roof that ring, 55 Shrieks of an agonizing 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! 60 Amazement in his van, with flight combined, II. 2. Antistrophe 666 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. Gone to salute the rising morn. 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; 65 70 Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, II. 3. Epode ""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 Heard ye the din of battle bray, Lance to lance, and horse to horse? Twined with her blushing foe, we spread: Wallows beneath the thorny shade. Now, brothers, bending o'er the accurséd loom, III. 1. Strophe ""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.)' 75 80 85 90 95 100 -Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn: Visions of glory, spare my aching sight, Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul! No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail: All hail, ye genuine kings! Britannia's issue, hail! 110 III. 2. Antistrophe "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, 115 What strains of vocal transport round her play? 120 Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear; They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. Bright Rapture calls, and soaring as she sings, Waves in the eye of heaven her many-colour'd wings. 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. Enough for me: with joy I see The different doom our fates assign: 140 Be thine despair and sceptred care, To triumph and to die are mine." - He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night. THE PROGRESS OF POESY I. 1. Strophe AWAKE, Aeolian lyre, awake, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. A thousand rills their mazy progress take; 5 Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign; Now rolling down the steep amain 10 Headlong, impetuous, see it pour: The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the roar. I. 2. Antistrophe Oh! Sovereign of the willing soul, Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, 15 And frantic Passions hear thy soft control. The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye. With antic Sport, and blue-eyed Pleasures, 30 Frisking light in frolic measures; Now pursuing, now retreating, Now in circling troops they meet: To brisk notes in cadence beating Glance their many-twinkling feet. 35 Slow melting strains their Queen's approach declare: Where'er she turns, the Graces homage pay: With arms sublime that float upon the air In gliding state she wins her easy way: 40 O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move II. 1. Strophe Man's feeble race what ills await! Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain, Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, And Death, sad refuge from the storms of fate! 45 The fond complaint, my song, disprove, And justify the laws of Jove. Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse? In climes beyond the solar road Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, 55 Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves. Her track, where'er the goddess roves, Glory pursue, and generous Shame, Th' unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame. 65 II. 3. Epode Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep, Isles, that crown th' Aegean deep, |