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Modred, whose magic song

Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topt head.
On dreary Arvon's shore they lie,

Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale:
Far, far aloof the affrighted ravens sail

The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by.
Dear lost companions of my tuneful art,

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 cliff, a grisly band,

I see them sit; they linger yet,
Avengers of their native land:

With me in dreadful harmony they join,

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And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line."

II. 1.

"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.
Mark the year, and mark the night,

When Severn shall re-echo with affright

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The shrieks of death thro' Berkeley's roof that ring, 55

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 59 The scourge of Heaven. What terrors round him wait! Amazement in his van, with Flight combined, And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.

II. 2.

"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;

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Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm, Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, 75 That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey. II. 3.

"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?

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Long years of havoc urge their destined course, 85 And through 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,

Twined with her blushing foe we spread:
The bristled Boar in infant gore

Wallows beneath the thorny shade.

Now, brothers, bending o'er the accursed loom, Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.

III. I.

"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, O, 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.

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But, O! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height 105 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! 110 III. 2.

"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:

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Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face,
Attemper'd sweet to virgin-grace.

What strings symphonious tremble in the air!
What strains of vocal transport round her play! 120
Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear;

They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.

Bright Rapture calls, and soaring as she sings,
Waves in the eye of heaven her many-colour'd wings.

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Fond, impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud,

Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day?

To-morrow he repairs the golden flood,

And warms the nations with redoubled ray.

Enough for me: with joy I see

The different doom our fates assign.

Be thine despair, and sceptred care;

To triumph, and to die, are mine."

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He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height, Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night.

GRAY.

PARADISE LOST.

BOOK XII.

THE ARGUMENT.

The Angel Michael continues, from the Flood, to relate what shall succeed; then, in the mention of Abraham, comes by degrees to explain, who that Seed of the Woman shall be, which was promised Adam and Eve in the Fall; his incarnation, death, resurrection, and ascension; the state of the church till his second coming. Adam, greatly satisfied and recomforted by these relations and promises, descends the hill with Michael; wakens Eve, who all this while had slept, but with gentle dreams composed to quietness of mind and submission. Michael in either hand leads them out of Paradise, the fiery sword waving behind them, and the Cherubim taking their stations to guard the place.

"THUS thou hast seen one world begin and end;
And Man, as from a second stock, proceed.
Much thou hast yet to see; but I perceive
Thy mortal sight to fail; objects divine
Must needs impair and weary human sense:
Henceforth what is to come I will relate;
Thou therefore give due audience, and attend.
"This second source of Men, while yet but few,
And while the dread of judgment past remains
Fresh in their minds, fearing the Deity,
With some regard to what is just and right
Shall lead their lives, and multiply apace;
Labouring the soil, and reaping plenteous crop,
Corn, wine, and oil; and, from the herd or flock,
Oft sacrificing bullock, lamb, or kid,

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With large wine-offerings pour'd and sacred feast, Shall spend their davs in joys unblamed; and dwell Long time in peace, by families and tribes,

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