THE MEETING OF THE BARDS.

Song and Chorus.

Air-The Melody of North Wales.

By a Lady.

STRIKE, strike the harp! for now no more alarms
The tramp of fiery steeds, or the clang of arms;
Cambrian bards assembled, throng,

Wake the lyre of proudest song,
Pouring far the hills among,

The strain that mem'ry warms.

Strike, minstrel, strike! around the sacred oak
The spirit of your sires, their sons invoke;

And see, in native lustre bright,

Thy lore resume its pristine light,

That erst, 'mid discord's hapless night,

Sunk 'neath oppression's yoke!

Strike! strike again! thy genius now appears
O'er Snowdon's lofty brow, her head she rears:
Again shall music's heavenly note

O'er hill and valley sweetly float,
And bards with tales of days remote,

Wake love and beauty's tears.

THE NORMAN HORSE SHOE.

Air.-The War-song of the Men of Glamorgan.
By Sir Walter Scott.

THIS ballad celebrates a defeat, by the Britons, of Clare, earl o Striguil and Pembroke, and of Neville, baron of Chepstow, Lord

Marchers of Monmouthshire. Rhymni, (erroneously written Rymny,) is a stream which divides the counties of Monmouth and Glamorgan: Caerphili, the scene of the supposed battle, is a vale upon its banks, dignifled and rendered memorable by the stupendous ruins of a very ancient castle.

I.

RED glows the forge in Striguil's bounds,
And hammer's din, and anvil sounds,
And armourers, with iron toil,

Barb many a steed for battle's broil.
Foul fall the hand which bends the steel
Around the courser's thundering heel,
That e'er shall dint a sable wound
On fair Glamorgan's velvet ground!

II.

From Chepstowe's towers, ere dawn of morn,
Was heard afar the bugle-horn;

And forth, in banded pomp and pride,

Stout Clare and fiery Neville ride.

They swore their banners broad should gleam,
In crimson light on Rhymni's stream;
They vow'd, Caerphili's sod should feel
The Norman charger's spurning heel.

III.

And sooth they swore-the sun arose,
And Rhymni's wave with crimson glows;
For Clare's red banner, floating wide,
Roll'd down the stream to Severn's tide!
And sooth they vow'd-the trampled green
Shew'd where hot Neville's charge had been :
In every sable hoof-tramp stood

A Norman horse-man's curdling blood!

IV.

Old Chepstowe's brides may curse the toil,
That arm'd stout Clare for Cambrian broil;
Their orphans long the art may rue,
For Neville's war-horse forged the shoe.
No more the stamp of armed steed
Shall dint Glamorgan's velvet mead;
Nor trace be there, in early spring,
Save of the Fairies' emerald ring.

MEGAN HAS LOST HER GARTER.

Air.-Megan a gollodd ei Gardas.

By John F. M. Dovaston, A. M.

HOWEVER this ancient air may have originated, the words here adapted to it, refer to the institution of the order of the Garter. King Edward I, at a court ball, picked up the garter of the countess of Salisbury, and retorting the sneers of his courtiers with its celebrated motto, Honi soit qui mal y pense, Evil be to him that evil thinks, he afterwards made the garter the highest order of knighthood in the kingdom, confined to 32 in number, generally princes and peers. Since its instituion it has soothed the vanity of 8 emperors, 21 kings. and a very great number of sovereign princes.

LIGHTSOME and lovely the damsels were dancing,
With knights, lords, and nobles, in courtly attire,
Setting, pursuing, receding, advancing,

In measures that mock'd the sweet lays of the lyre;
All features in blossom, all floatingly blending,
Their nimble feet waving on wings of delight;
Or sinking, or circling, declining, or bending,
Their motions seemed music address'd to the sight.

Edward led Margaret, modest and sprightly,
When ah! from her light limb the garter fell down,
Smiling, the king caught it gallant and lightly,

Thus checking his courtiers' sly looks with a frown ;
"Who hence in brave dignities highest ascendeth,
The badge of his pride be this bright silken toy;
So evil to him be that evil intendeth,

And joy to the bosom that's open to joy."

THE DEE'S DRUID WATER.

Air-Cadair Idris.

By Mr. Wiffen.

I.

I CROSS'D in its beauty thy Dee's Druid water,
The waves, as I pass'd, rippled lowly and lone;
For the brave on their borders had perished in slaughter,
The noble were vanish'd, the gifted were gone!
I pass'd by thy pillar,* firm-rooted to waken
Long mem'ry of chiefs that in battle had sunk :
But the earthquake of ruin its basis had shaken,
The voice of the thunder had shatter'd its trunk.

II.

I pass'd by thy castle,+ once mirthful and splendid,
Its court was too truly the emblem of thine;

• Eliseg Pillar-a British column, considered one of the most ancient existing, erected by Concenn, to the memory of his grandfather Eliseg, who was killed in a battle fought with the Saxons, near Chester, in 607. The pillar stands in the vale of Crusis, near Llangollen.

Chirk Castle.

1 pass'd by thy abbey,*—its worship was ended, The ivy hung dark over portal and shrine.

Yet weep not, fair Cambria, though shorn of thy glory, Thy star shall yet rise in ascendance again,

Song and science are treas'ring the leaves of thy story, Nor a page shall appeal to our bosoms in vain.

TALIESIN'S PROPHECY.

Air.-Toriad y Dydd; or, The Dawn.
By Mrs. Hemans.

A POEM founded on this prophecy will be found in another part of this work, but this elegant version of it, adapted to a popular melody, and recommended by the name of its fair and highly gifted author, cannot but prove most acceptable to the reader of taste. Vide Parry's Welsh Melodies, Vol. I.

I.

A VOICE from time departed yet floats thy hills among,
Oh Cambria! thus thy prophet-bard, thy Taliesin sung
"The path of unborn ages is traced upon my soul,
The clouds that mantle things unseen away before me roll.

II.

"A light, the depths revealing, hath o'er my spirit pass'd. A rushing sound, from days to be, swells fitful in the blast

The beautiful ruins of Valle Crucis Abbey, founded in 1200, by Madoc ab Griffith Maelor.

The prophesy is to the following effect:

"Their God they shall worship,
Their language they shall retain,
Their land they shall lose,

Except Wild Wales."