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. 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: Mark the year, and mark the night, When Severn shall re-echo with affright 50 The shrieks of death through Berkley's roofs 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 Heav'n: what terrors round him wait! Amazement in his van, with Flight combined, And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind. 60 II. 2 "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 Warriour fled? 65 Thy son is gone; he rests among the dead. The swarm that in thy noontide beam were born? 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, Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway, That, hushed in grim repose, expects his evening prey. 75 II. 3 "Fill high the sparkling bowl, The rich repast prepare; Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast: Fell Thirst and Famine scowl A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. Lance to lance, and horse to horse? 80 Long years of havoc urge their destined course, 85 And through the kindred squadrons mow their way. Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murther fed, Now, brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom, Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom! III. I "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.) 90 95 100 Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn Leave me unblest, unpitied, here to mourn! In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, But oh what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height, 105 Descending slow, their glitt'ring skirts unroll? Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul! No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail: 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! 115 Her eye proclaims her of the Briton line; Attempered sweet to virgin-grace. What strings symphonious tremble in the air, What strains of vocal transport round her play! They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. III. 3 "The verse adorn again Fierce War and faithful Love And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest. In buskined measures move Pale Grief and Pleasing Pain, With Horrour, tyrant of the throbbing breast. A voice, as of the cherub-choir, Gales from blooming Eden bear; 120 125 130 And distant warblings lessen on my ear, That, lost in long futurity, expire. 135 Raised by thy breath, has quenched the orb of day? Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud, To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, And warms the nations with redoubled ray. The different doom our Fates assign: Be thine Despair and sceptred Care; To triumph and to die are mine." He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height 140 1754-57. 1757. ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE Now the golden Morn aloft Waves her dew-bespangled wing; With vermeil cheek and whisper soft She wooes the tardy Spring; Till April starts, and calls around The sleeping fragrance from the ground, Scatters his freshest, tenderest green. New-born flocks, in rustic dance, Frisking ply their feeble feet; But chief the sky-lark warbles high 5 10 |