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On a rock, whose haughty brow
Stream'd like a meteor, to the troubled air),
Hark, how each giant-oak, and desert cave,
O'er thee, oh King! their hundred arms they wave,
"Cold is Cadwallo's tongue,
That hushed the stormy main:
Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed:
Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-top'd head.
The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by.
Dear, as the light that visits these sad 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 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.
"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.
"Mighty Victor, mighty Lord! Low on his funeral couch he lies!
Mark the year, and mark the night,
The shrieks of death thro' Berkley's roofs that ring,
She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs
From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs The scourge of heaven. What terrors round him wait! 60 Amazement in his van, with Flight combined, And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.
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.
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;
"Fill high the sparkling bowl,
The rich repast prepare,
Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast: Close by the regal chair
Fell Thirst and Famine scowl
A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. Heard ye the din of battle bray,
Lance to lance, and horse to horse?
Long years of havock urge their destin'd course, And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their way.
Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed,
Revere his Consort's faith, his Father's fame, And spare the meek Usurper's holy head! Above, below, the rose of snow,
Twin'd with her blushing foe, we spread: The bristled Boar in infant-gore
Wallows beneath the thorny shade.
Now, brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom,
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:
But oh what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height
Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
"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!
Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line;
They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.
"The verse adorn again
Fierce War and faithful Love
And Truth severe - by fairy Fiction drest.
In buskin'd measures move
Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain
With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
And distant warblings lessen on my ear,
That lost in long futurity expire.
He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height
Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud, 135
And warms the nations with redoubled ray.
The different doom our fates assign: Be thine Despair, and scept'red Care; To triumph and to die are mine."
THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
SWEET AUBURN! loveliest village of the plain;