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Here wave his amber locks; unfold
His pinions clothed with downy gold; Here smiling stretch his tutelary wand ?
And you, ye host of Saints, for ye have known Each dreary path in life's perplexing maze,
Though now ye circle yon eternal throne With harpings high of inexpressible praise, 10
Will not your train descend in radiant state, [Fate ? To break with Mercy's beam this gathering cloud of
No train of radiant Saints descend.
If guilt, if fraud has stain'd your mind, Or Saint to hear, or Angel to defend."
So Truth proclaims. I hear the sacred sound Burst from the centre of her burning throne; 20
Where aye she sits with star-wreathed lustre A bright sun clasps her adamantine zone. [crown'd:
So Truth proclaims : her awful voice I hear: With many a solemn pause it slowly meets my ear.
I. 3. “Attend, ye sons of men ; attend, and say, Does not enough of my refulgent ray
Break through the veil of your mortality ?
Say, does not reason in this form descry Unnumber'd, nameless glories, that surpass 29 The Angel's floating pomp, the Seraph's glowing grace?
II. 1. “Shall then your earth-born daughters vie With me? Shall she, whose brightest eye
But emulates the diamond's blaze,
Whose breath the hyacinth's perfume, 35 Whose melting voice the warbling woodlark's lays,
Shall she be deem'd my rival ? Shall a form Of elemental dross, of mouldering clay,
Vie with these charms imperial? The poor worm Shall prove her contest vain. Life's little day 40
Shall pass, and she is gone; while I appear [year. Flush'd with the bloom of youth thro' Heaven's eternal
45 These eyes beheld Creation's day,
This voice began the choral lay,
Pleased I survey'd bright Nature's gradual birth, Saw infant light with kindling lustre spread, 50
Soft vernal fragrance clothe the flowering earth, And Ocean heave on his extended bed;
Saw the tall pine aspiring pierce the sky,
That I alone, of all the host of Heaven,
Confusion on thy banners wait;
They mock the air with idle state.
Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail,
From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears !"
Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, 10 As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side
He wound with toilsome march his long array. Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance : “To arms!” cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quivering lance.
'I. 2. 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) 20 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,
Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath!
Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe;
That hush'd the stormy main :
Mountains, ye mourn in vain
Modred, whose magic song
35 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 criesNo 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, 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;
50 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 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.
No pitying heart, no eye, afford
While proudly riding o’er the azure realm
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 ?
Long years of havoc urge their destined course, 85 And through the kindred squadrons mow their way.