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; 70 75 Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm; Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That, hushed 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? 80 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, O 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, 10 The bristled boar° in infant-gore Wallows beneath the thorny shade. Now, brothers, bending o'er the accursed loom, 95 Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom. III. 1 "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 unblessed, unpitied, here to mourn: 100 But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height 105 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°; 115 Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face, What strings symphonious tremble in the air! 121 They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. Bright Rapture calls, and soaring as she sings, Waves in the eye of heaven her many-colored wings. III. 3 "The verse adorn again Fierce war, and faithful love,° And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest. In buskined° measures move Pale grief, and pleasing pain, With horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. Gales from blooming Eden bear; And distant warblings lessen on my ear,° 125 130 Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud, Raised by thy breath, has quenched 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. 136 140 Be thine despair, and sceptred care, To triumph, and to die, are mine." He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night. THE FATAL SISTERS AN ODE. FROM THE NORSE TONGUE Now the storm begins to lower, (Haste, the loom of hell prepare,) Iron sleet of arrowy shower Hurtles in the darkened air.° Glittering lances are the loom, Where the dusky warp we strain, Weaving many a soldier's doom, 5 See the griesly texture grow! ('Tis of human entrails made,) 10 And the weights, that play below, Shafts for shuttles, dipt in gore, Shoot the trembling cords along. Sword, that once a monarch bore, 15 Keep the tissue close and strong. Mista, black terrific maid, Ere the ruddy sun be set, Pikes must shiver, javelins sing, Blade with clattering buckler meet, Hauberk crash, and helmet ring. (Weave the crimson web of war) Where our friends the conflict share, As the paths of fate we tread, Wading through the ensanguined field, Gondula, and Geira, spread O'er the youthful king your shield. We the reins to slaughter give, Ours to kill, and ours to spare: Spite of danger he shall live. (Weave the crimson web of war.) They, whom once the desert-beach° O'er the plenty of the plain. |