Never, till fubftantial Night
Has reaffum'd her ancient right;
Till wrapt in flames, in ruin hurl'd
Sinks the fabrick of the world.
break his confinement; the human race, the stars, and fun, shall disappear; the earth fink in the feas, and fire confume the fkies: even Odin himself and his kindred
Gods shall perish. For a further explanation of this mythology, fee Mallet in his curious introduction to the hiftory of Denmark. 1755. 4to.
FRAGMENT. FROM THE WELCH. †
OWEN's praise demands my song,
Owen fwift, and Owen strong,
Fairest flower of Rod'rick's ftem,
Gwyneth's fhield, and Britain's gem.
He nor heaps his brooded stores,
Nor on all profusely pours;
Lord of every 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 shadow, long and gay,
Lochlin § plows the watry way.
* Owen fucceeded his father Griffin in the principality of North Wales, A. D. 1120. This battle was fought near forty years afterwards.
From Mr. Evans' specimens of the Welch poetry. Lond. 1764. 4to.
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 ftands;
In glittering arms and glory drest,
High he rears his ruby-crest.
There the thundering strokes begin,
There the prefs, and there the din;
Talymalfra's rocky shore
Echoing to the battle's roar.
Where his glowing eyeballs turn,
Thousand banners round him burn.
Where he points his purple spear,
Hafty, hafty Rout is there;
Marking with indignant eye
Fear to stop, and Shame to fly.
There Confufion, Terror's child,
Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild,
Agony that pants for breath,
Defpair and honourable Death.
* The dragon-fon] The red dragon is the device of Cadwallader, which all his defcendents bore on their
THE Curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind flowly o'er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darknefs, and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the fight,
And all the air a folemn ftillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the diftant folds;
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower
The mopping owl does to the moon complain
Of fuch, as wandering near her fecret bower
Moleft her ancient, folitary reign.
Beneath thofe rugged elms, that yew-tree's fhade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude Forefathers of the hamlet fleep.
-the knell of parting day,]
-fquilla di lontano
Che paia. 'I giorno pianger, che fi muore.
The breezy call of incenfe-breathing Morn,
The fwallow twittering from the ftraw-built shed,
The cock's fhrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more fhall roufe them from their lowly bed.
For them no more the blazing hearth fhall burn,
Or bufy housewife ply her evening care;
No children run to lifp their fire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kits to fhare.
Oft did the harvest to their fickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke:
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy ftroke!
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obfcure;
Nor Grandeur hear with a difdainful fmile,
The short and simple annals of the poor.
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Awaits alike th' inevitable hour.
The path of glory leads but to the grave.
Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise,
Where through the long-drawn ifle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem fwells the note of praife.
Can ftoried urn or animated buft
Back to its manfion call the fleeting breath?
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