Who th' avenger of his guilt,

By whom shall Hoder's blood be spilt.
Pr. In the caverns of the west,
By Odin's fierce embrace comprest,
A wond'rous Boy shall Rinda bear,
Who ne'er shall comb his raven-hair,
Nor wash his visage in the stream,
Nor see the sun's departing beam;
Till he on Hoder's corse shall smile
Flaming on the fun'ral pile.
Now my weary lips I close:
Leave me, leave me to repose.

O. Yet awhile my call obey,
Prophetess, awake, and say,

What Virgins these, in speechless wos,
That bend to earth their solemn brow,

That their flaxen tresses tear,

And snowy veils, that float in air.

Tell me whence their sorrows rose:
Then I leave thee to repose.

Pr. Ha! no traveller art thou,
King of Men, I know thee now,
Mightiest of a mighty line-

O. No boding maid of skill divine
Art thou, nor prophetess of good;
But mother of the giant-brood!

Pr. Hie thee hence, and boast at home,

That never shall inquirer come

To break my iron sleep again;

Till Lok has burst his tenfold chain.

♦ Lok is the evil Being, who continues in chains till the Twilight of the Gods approaches, when he shall break his bonds; the humau race, the stars, and sun shall disappear; the earth sink in the seas, and fire consume the skies: even Odin himself and his kindred-deities shall perish. For a farther explanation of this mythology, see 'im

Never, till substantial Night

Has reassumed her ancient right;

Till wrapp'd in flames, in ruin hurl'd,
Sinks the fabric of the world.

X. THE TRIUMPHS OF OWEN.❤
From the Welsh.

OWEN's praise demands my song,
Owen swift, and Owen strong;
Fairest flower of Roderic's stem,
+Gwyneth's shield, and Britain's gem.
He nor heaps his brooded stores,
Nor on all profusely pours;
Lord of every regal art,
Liberal hand, and open heart.

Big with hosts of mighty name,
Squadrons three against him came;
This the force of Eirin hiding,
Side by side as proudly riding,
On her shadow long and gay
Lochlin ploughs the watʼry way;
There the Norman sails afar

Catch the winds, and join the war :
Black and huge along they sweep,
Burthens of the angry deep.
Dauntless on his native sands

The Dragon-Son of Mona stands;

troduction à l'Histoire de Dannemarc, par Mons. Mallet,' 1755, quarto; or rather a translation of it, published in 1770, and entitled, "Northern Antiquities,' in which some mistakes in the original are judiciously corrected.

From Mr. Evans's Specimens of the Welsh Poetry; London, 1764, quarto. Owen succeeded his father Griffin in the principality of North Wales, A. D. 1120. This battle was fought near forty years afterward.

+ North Wales.

✰ Denmark.

The red dragon is the device of Cadwallader, which all his descendants bore on their bauners.

In glitt'ring arms and glory drest,
High he rears his ruby crest.
There the thund'ring strokes begin,
There the press, and there the din;
Talymalfra's rocky shore

Echoing to the battle's roar.

Check'd by the torrent-tide of blood
Backward Meinai rolls his flood

While, heap'd his master's feet around,
Prostrate warriors gnaw the ground.
While his glowing eye-balls turn,
Thousand banners round him burn.
Where he points his purple spear,
Hasty, hasty Rout is there,
Marking with indignant eye
Fear to stop, and shame to fly.
There Confusion, Terror's child,
Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild,
Agony, that pants for breath,
Despair and honourable Death.

XI. THE DEATH OF HOEL

From the Welsh.*

HAD I but the torrent's might,

With headlong rage and wild affright
Upon Deïra's squadrons hurl'd,

To rush, and sweep them from the world!

Too, too secure in youthful pride,

By them my friend, my Hoel, died,
Great Cian's son: of Madoc old

He ask'd no heaps of hoarded gold ;

* Of Aneurim, styled the Monarch of the Bards. He flourished about the time of Taliessin, A. D. 570. This Ode is extracted from the Godedin. (See Mr. Evans's Specimens, p. 71. and 73.)

Alone in Nature's wealth array'd,

He ask'd, and had the lovely Maid.
To Cattraeth's vale in glitt'ring row
Twice two hundred warriors go;
Every warrior's manly neck
Chains of regal honour deck,
Wreath'd in many a golden link:
From the golden cup they drink
Nectar, that the bees produce,
Or the grape's ecstatic juice.

Flush'd with mirth and hope they burn;
But none from Cattraeth's vale return,
Save Aëron brave, and Conan strong,
(Bursting through the bloody throng)
And I, the meanest of them all,
That live to weep, and sing their fall.

SONNET*

ON THE DEATH OF MR. RICHARD WEST

IN vain to me the smiling Mornings shine,

And redd'ning Phœbus lifts his golden fire:
The birds in vain their amorous descant join,
Or cheerful fields resume their green attire:
These ears, alas! for other notes repine,

A different object do these eyes require;
My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine,
And in my breast the imperfect joys expire.
Yet Morning smiles the busy race to cheer,

And new-born pleasure brings to happier men; The fields to all their wonted tribute bear;

To warm their little loves the birds complain :
I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear,
And weep

more, because I weep in vain.

the more,

* See Menoirs, Sect. 3.

EPITAPH I.

ON MRS. CLARKE.

Lo! where the silent Marble weeps,
A friend, a wife, a mother sleeps:
A heart, within whose sacred cell
The peaceful Virtues loved to dwell.
Affection warm, and faith sincere,
And soft humanity were there.
In agony, in death r sign'd,

She felt the wound she left behind.

Her infant image, here below,

Sits smiling on a father's woe:

Whom what awaits, while yet he strays
Along the lonely vale of days?

A

pang, to secret sorrow dear;

A sigh; an unavailing tear;

Till Time shall ev'ry grief remove,

With Life, with Memory, and with Love,

EPITAPH II.+

ON SIR WILLIAM WILLIAMS.

HERE, foremost in the dangerous paths of fame, Young Williams fought for England's fair renown; His mind each muse, each grace adorn'd his frame, Nor Envy dared to view him with a frown.

This lady, the wife of Dr. Clarke, physician at Epsom, died April 27, 1757; and is buried in the church of Beckenham, Kent.

+ This epitaph was written at the request of Mr. Frederick Montague, who intended to have inscribed it on a monument at Bellisle, at the siege of which this accomplished youth was killed, 1761; bot from some difficulty attending the erection of it, the design was not executed.