"I am arm'd for the forest-chase, not for | O'er thee, O King! their hundred arms they "Now the mercy you dealt to my brothers Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, As he spake, there was blood on the spear Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed: Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country's cries tears!" -Such were the sounds that o'er the No more I weep. They do not sleep. On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, crested pride Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dis- I see them sit; they linger yet, may, Avengers of their native land: As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy With me in dreadful harmony they join, side He wound with toilsome march his long array. Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance; And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. "Weave the warp and weave the woof, The winding-sheet of Edward's race: "To arms!" cried Mortimer, and couch'd Give ample room and verge enough his quiv'ring lance. On a rock whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed 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 Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre: "Hark, how each giant oak and desert cave 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, 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 Sighs to the torrent's awful voice be- The scourge of Heaven! What terrors neath! round him wait! Amazement in his van, with flight com- | Now, brothers, bending o'er the accursed And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify behind. "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. The swarm that in thy noontide beam were born? -Gone to salute the rising morn. Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows, 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; his doom. "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.) Stay, oh, stay! nor thus forlorn Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn: In yon bright track that fires the western skies They melt, they vanish from my eyes. But oh, what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height Descending slow their glittering 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:All hail, ye genuine kings! Britannia's issue, hail! "Girt with many a baron bold Sublime their starry fronts they rear; And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old Reft of a crown, he yet may share the In bearded majesty, appear. feast: Close by the regal chair Fell Thirst and Famine scowl In the midst a form divine! Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line: A baleful smile upon their baffled Attemper'd sweet to virgin grace. guest. What strings symphonious tremble in the air, What strains of vocal transport round |