Thine too thefe golden keys, immortal boy ! This can unlock the gates of joy; Of horror, that, and thrilling fears,
Or ope the facred fource of fympathetic tears. III. 2.
Nor fecond he, that rode fublime Upon the feraph wings of ecftafy, The fecrets of th' abyfs to fpy.
He pafs'd the flaming bounds of place and time. The living throne, the fapphire blaze, Where angels tremble while they gaze, He faw: but, blafted with excefs of light, Clos'd his eyes in endless night.
Behold, where Dryden's lefs prefumptuous car Wide o'er the fields of glory bear
Two courfers of ethereal race, [founding pace. With necks in thunder cloth'd, and long re-
Hark, his hands the lyre explore! Bright-eyed fancy, hov'ring o'er, Scatters from her pictur'd urn
Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. But, ah! tis heard no more——
ivre divine! what daring fpirit Wakes thee now? Tho' he inherit Nor the pride nor ample pinion, That the Theban eagle bear, Sailing with fupreme dominion Thro' the azure deep of air;
Yet oft before his infant eyes would run Such forms as glitter in the Mufe's With orient hues, unborrow'd of the fun: Yet fhall he mount, and keep his diftant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, [Great! Beneath the Good how far-but far above the
RUIN feize thee, ruthlefs king!
Confufion on thy banners wait!
• Tho' fann'd by conqueft's crimson wing, They mock the air with idle ftate! Helm, nor hauberk's twifted mail, Nor even thy virtues, Tyrant, fhall avail To fave thy fecret foul from nightly fears, From Cambria's curfe, from Cambria's tears !' Such were the founds that o'er the crested pride Of the firft Edward featter'd wild difmay, As down the steep of Snowdon's fhaggy fide He wound with toilfome march his long array. Stout Glo'fter ftood aghaft in fpeechlefs trance: To arms cried Mortimer, and couch'd his qui- vering lance.
Revenge on thee in hoarfer murmurs breathe; Vocal no more, fince Cambria's fatal day, flay. To high-born Hoel's harp, or foft Llewellyn's 1. 3.
Cold is Cadwallo's tongue,
That hufh'd the stormy main: Brave Urien fleeps upon his craggy bed: 'Mountains, ye mourn in vain Modred, whofe magic fong
Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topp'd 'On dreary Arvon's fhore they lie, Smear'd with gore, and ghaftly pale; Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens fail: The famifh'd eagle fereams, and paffes by. Dear loft companions of my tuneful art, Dear, as the light that vifits thefe fad eyes, Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — No more I weep. They do not fleep. On yonder cliffs, a grifly band,
I fee them fit: they linger yet,
Avengers of their native land:
With me in dreadful harmony they join, [line." And weave with bloody hands the tiffue of thy II. 1.
"Weave the warp, and weave the woof, "The winding-fheet 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 fhall re-echo with affright "The fhrieks of death, thro' Berkley's roofs that "Shricks of an agonizing king! (ringi "She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs, "That tear'ft the bowels of thy mangled mate, "From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs "The fcourge of Heaven. What terrors round "him wait!
"Amazement in his van with flight combin'd, "And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind. II. 2.
"Mighty Victor, mighty Lord, "Low on his fun'ral couch he lies! "No pitying heart, no eye, afford "A tear to grace his obfèquies. "Is the fable warrior fled? "Thy fon is gone. He refts among the dead. "The fwarm that in thy noon-tide beam were "Gone to falute the rifing morn. [born? "Fair laughs the morn, and foft the zephyr blows, "While proudly riding o'er the azure realm "In gallant trim the gilded veffel goes; "Youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm; Regardless of the fweeping whirlwind's fway, That, hufh'd in grim repole, expects his even- “ing.prey.
"Edward, lo! to fudden fate
'With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. A voice, as of the cherub-choir, Gales from blooming Eden bear; And diftant warblings leffen on my ear, That loft in long futurity expire.
(cloud, Fond impious man! think it thou yon fanguine Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, [day? 'And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me: with joy I fee The diffrent doom our fates affign. Be thine Defpair, and fceptred Care; [height, To triumph, and to die, are mine.' He fpoke; and, headlong from the mountain's Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endless night.
$79. The Fatal Sifters. An Ode. GRAY. NOW the form begins to low'r
(Hafte, the loom of hell prepare); Iron fleet of arrowy show'r Hurtles in the darken'd air. Glitt'ring lances are the loom Where the dusky warp we ftrain, Weaving many a foldier's doom,
"(Weave we the woof. The thread is fpun.) Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane.
"Half of thy heart we confecrate.
"(The web is wove. The work is done.)”. Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn,
Leave me unbleft, unpitied, here to mourn: In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, They melt, they vanish from my eyes.
But oh! what folemn fcenes on Snowdon's height
Defcending flow their glitt'ring fkirts unroll • Vifions of glory, fpare my aching fight! "Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my foul! No more our long-loft Arthur we bewail. All-hail, ye genuine kings, Britannia's iffue, •hail!
• Girt with many a baron bold Sublime their starry fronts they rear ; And gorgeous dames, and ftatefimen old In bearded majefty, appear.
In the midft a form divine!
Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line; Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face, Attemper'd fweet to virgin grace.
What ftrings fymphonious tremble in the air! What strains of vocal transport round her play Hear from the grave, great Talicffin, hear; They breathe a foul to animate thy clay. Bright Rapture calls, and, foaring as the fings, Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-colour'd ⚫ wings.
III. The verse adorn again Fierce War, and faithful Love, 'And Truth fevere, by fairy Fiction drefs'd. In bufkin'd measures move Pale Grief, and pleafing Pain,
See the grisly texture grow! ('Tis of human entrails made) And the weights that play below, Each a gafping warrior's head. Shafts for fhuttles, dipt in gore,
Shoot the trembling cords along: Sword, that once a monarch bore, Keep the tiffue clofe and strong. Mifta, black terrific maid, Sangrida, and Hilda, fee! Join the wayward work to aid: 'Tis the woof of victory. Ere the ruddy fun be fet, Pikes muft fhiver, jav'lins fing, Blade with clatt'ring buckler meet, Hauberk crash, and helmet ring. (Weave the crimfon web of war.) Let us go, and let us fly, Where our friends the conflict share, Where they triumph, where they die. As the paths of fate we tread, Wading thro' th' enfanguin'd field, Gondula, and Geira, fpread
O'er the youthful king your fhield. We the reins to flaughter give, Ours to kill, and ours to fpare: Spite of danger he fhall live. (Weave the crimfön web of war.) They, whom once the defert beach Pent within its bleak domain, Soon their ample fway fhall ftretch O'er the plenty of the plain. Low the dauntless carl is laid, Gor'd with many a gaping wound:
Fate demands a nobler head; Soon a king fhall bite the ground. Long his lofs fhall Eirin weep, Ne'er again his likeness fee; Long her strains in forrow steep, Strains of immortality! Horror covers all the heath,
Clouds of carnage blot the fun. Sifters, weave the web of death. Sifters, ceafe: the work is done. Hail the task, and hail the hands! Songs of joy and triumph fing: Joy to the victorious bands; Triumph to the younger king. Mortal, thou that hear'ft the tale, Learn the tenour of our fong. Scotland, thro' each winding vale, Far and wide the notes prolong. Sifters, hence with fpurs of fpeed! Each her thund'ring faulchion wield; Each beftride her fable fteed. Hurry, hurry, to the field !
$80. The Defcent of Odin. An Ode. UPROSE the king of men with speed,
And faddled ftraight his coal-black steed: Down the yawning steep he rode, That leads to Hela's drear abode. Him the dog of darkness spied: His fhaggy throat he open'd wide; While from his jaws, with carnage fill'd, Foam and human gore diftill'd. Iloarfe he bays with hideous din, Eyes that glow, and fangs that grin; And long purfues, with fruitlefs yell, The father of the powerful spell. Onward ftill his way he takes (The groaning carth beneath him shakes), Till full before his fearless eyes The portals nine of hell arife.
Right against the eastern gate, By the mols-grown pile he fat, Where long of yore to fleep was laid The duft of the prophetic Maid. Facing to the northern clime, Thrice he trac'd the Runic rhyme; Thrice pronounc'd, in accents dread, The thrilling verfe that wakes the dead; Till from out the hollow ground Slowly breath'd a fullen found.
What call unknown, what charms, prefume To break the quiet of the tomb? Who thus afflicts my troubled fprite, And drags me from the realms of night? Long on thefe mould'ring bones have beat The winter's fnow, the fummer's heat, The drenching dews, and driving rain! Let me, let me fleep again. Who is he, with voice unbleft, That calls me from the bed of reft?
To break my iron fleep again, Till Lok has burft his tenfold chain: Never, till fubftantial Night Has re-affum'd her ancient right; Till wrapt in flames, in ruin hurl'd, Sinks the fabric of the world.
81. The Triumphs of Owen. A Fragment.
OWEN's praife demands my song,
Owen fwift, and Owen strong; Fairest flow'r of Roderic's stem, Gwyneth's fhield, and Britain's gem. He nor heaps his brooded ftores, Nor on all profusely pours: Lord of ev'ry regal art, Liberal hand, and open heart.
Big with hofts of mighty name, Squadrons three against him came; This the force of Eirin hiding; Side by fide as proudly riding, On her fhadow long and gay Lochlin plows the wat'ry way; There the Norman fails afar Catch the winds, and join the war: Black and huge along they sweep, Burthens of the angry deep.
Dauntless on his native fands The dragon-fon of Mona stands; In glitt'ring arms and glory dreft, High he rears his ruby crest. There the thund'ring ftrokes begin, There the prefs, and there the din; Talymalfra's rocky fhore Echoing to the battle's roar. Where his glowing eye-balls turn, Thoufand banners round him burn; Where he points his purple fpear, Hafty, hafty Rout is there; Marking with indignant eye Fear to ftop, and fhame to fly. There Confufion, Terror's child; Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild; Agony, that pants for breath; Despair, and honourable Death.
From yonder realms of empyrean day Burfts on my car th' indignant lay: There fit the fainted Sage, the Bard divine, The few whom Genius gave to shine Thro' ev'ry unborn age, and undiscover'd clime. Rapt in celeftial tranfport they; Yet hither oft a glance from high They fend of tender fympathy,
To blefs the place where on their op'ning foul First the genuine ardour ftole.
'Twas Milton ftruck the deep-ton'd fhell ; And, as the choral warblings round him fwell, Meek Newton's felf bends from his ftate fublime, And nods his hoary head, and liftens to the rhyme.
"Ye brown o'er-arching groves, "That contemplation loves,
"Where willowy Camus lingers with delight! "Oft at the blush of dawn
"I trod your level lawn,
"Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia filver-bright In cloifters dim, far from the haunts of Folly,. "With Freedom by my fide, and, foft-eyed "Melancholy."
But, hark the portals found, and pacing forth, With folemn fteps and flow,
High Potentates, and Dames of royal birth, And mitred Fathers, in long order go: Great Edward, with the lilies on his brow From haughty Gallia torn;
And fad Chatillon, on her bridal morn
That wept her bleeding love; and princely Clare; And Anjou's heroine; and the paler Rofe, The rival of her crown and of her woes; And either Henry there,
The murder'd Saint, and the majestic Lord That broke the bonds of Rome
(Their tears, their little triumphs o'er, Their human paffions now no more, Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb). All that on Granta's fruitful plain Rich ftreams of regal bounty pour'd, And bade thefe awful fanes and turrets rife, To hail their Fitzroy's feftal morning come; And thus they fpeak in foft accord The liquid language of the skies:
"What is grandeur? what is pow'r? of Heavier toil, fuperior pain.
"What the bright reward we gain? "The grateful memory of the Good. "Sweet is the breath of vernal show'r, "The bee's collected treafures fweet, "Sweet mufic's melting fall, but sweeter yet The still small voice of Gratitude." Forcmoft, and leaning from her golden cloud, The venerable Margret fee!
"Let painted Flatt'ry hide her ferpent-train in Welcome, my noble Son (the cries aloud),
"Nor Envy bafe, nor creeping Gain, "Dare the Mufe's walk to stain,
"While bright-eyed Science watches round: "Hence away, 'tis holy ground!”
"To this thy kindred train, and me: "Pleas'd in thy lineaments we trace "A Tudor's fire, a Beaufort's grace. "Thy lib'ral heart, thy judging eye, "The flow'r unheeded fhall defcry,
"And bid it round heaven's altars fhed “The fragrance of its blushing head: "Shall raife from earth the latcut gem "To glitter on the diadem.
"Lo, Granta waits to lead her blooming band: "Not obvious, not obtrufive, fhe
"No vulgar praife, no venal incenfe flings; "Nor dares with courtly tongue refin'd "Profane thy inborn royalty of mind : "She reveres herself and thee.
"With modeft pride to grace thy youthful brow "The laureate wreath, that Cecil wore, fhe brings, "And to thy juft, thy gentle hand "Submits the fafces of her fway,
"While fpirits bleft above, and men below, "Join with glad voice the loud fymphonious lay. "Thro' the wild waves, as they roar, "With watchful eye and dauntless mien "Thy fteady courfe of honour keep, "Nor fear the rocks, nor feck the shore: "The Star of Brunfwick fmiles ferene, "And gilds the horrors of the deep."
$83. A Prayer for Indifference. GREVILLE. OFT I've implor'd the gods in vain,
And pray'd till I've been weary; For once I'll try my wish to gain Of Oberon the Fairy.
Sweet airy being, wanton fprite,
That lurk'ft in woods unfeen, And oft by Cynthia's filver light Tripp'ft gaily o'er the green; If e'er thy pitying heart was mov'd, As ancient stories tell,
And for th' Athenian maid who lov'd
Thou fought'ft a wondrous fpell; Oh deign once more t'exert thy pow'r ! Haply fome herb or tree, Sov'reign as juice of western flow'r, Conceals a balm for me.
I afk no kind return of love,
No tempting charm to please; Far from the heart thofe gifts remove That fighs for peace and cafe: Nor peace nor cafe the heart can know, Which, like the needle true, Turns at the touch of joy or woe,
But, turning, trembles too.
Far as diftrefs the foul can wound, 'Tis pain in each degree: 'Tis blifs but to a certain bound; Beyond, is agony.
Take then this treacherous fenfe of mine, Which dooms me ftill to fmart; Which pleasure can to pain refine, To pains new pangs impart.
Oh hafte to fhed the facred balm 1 My fhatter'd nerves new string; And for my guest, ferencly cabin, The nymph Indifference bring.
At her approach, fee Hope, fee Fear, See Expectation fly; And Difappointment in the rear, That blafts the promis'd joy.
The tear which pity taught to flow The eye fhall then difown; The heart that melts for others' woe Shall then fearce feel its own.
The wounds which now each moment bleed, Each moment then fhall close; And tranquil days fhall still fucceed To nights of calm repofe.
O fairy elf! but grant me this, This one kind comfort fend; And fo may never-fading blifs Thy flow'ry paths attend!
So may the glow-worm's glimm'ring light Thy tiny footsteps lead
To fome new region of delight,
Unknown to mortal tread:
And be thy acorn goblet fill'd
With heaven's ambrofial dew; From fweeteft, freshest, flow'rs diftill'd, That shed fresh sweets for you! And what of life remains for me I'll pass in fober ease ; Half-pleas'd, contented will I be, Content but half to please.
S4. The Fairy's Anfeer to Mrs. Grealli's Prayer for Indifference.
By the Countess of C.
WITHOUT preamble, to my friend Thefe hafty lines I'm bid to fend, Or give, if I am able:
I dare not hesitate to fay,
Tho' I have trembled all the day
It looks fo like a fable.
Laft night's adventure is my theme, And thould it ftrike you as a dream, Yet foon its high import Muft make you own the matter fuch, So delicate, it were too much To be compos'd in sport. The moon did thine ferenely bright, And ev'ry ftar did deck the night,
While Zephyr fann'd the trees; No more affail'd my mind's repole, Save that yon ftream, which murmuring flows, Did echo to the breeze.
Enwrapt in folemn thoughts I fate, Revolving o'er the turns of fate,
Yet void of hope or fear; When, lo! behold an airy throng, With lighteft fteps, and jocund fong, Surpris'd my eye and ear.
A form fuperior to the reft His little voice to me address'd, And gently thus began:
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