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Dauntless on his native sands The dragon-son of Mona stands; In glittring arms and glory drest, High he rears his ruby crest. There the thund'ring strokes begin, There the press, and there the din; Talymalfra's rocky shore Echoing to the battle's roar. Check'd by the torrent-tide of blood, Backward Meinai rolls his flood; While, heap'd his master's feet around, Prostrate warriors gnaw the ground. Where his glowing eye-balls turn, Thousand banners round him burn: Where he points his purple spear, Hasty, hasty Rout is there, Marking with indignant eye Fear to stop, and shame to fly. There Confusion, Terror's child, Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild, Agony, that pants for breath, Despair, and honourable Death.
A PINDARIC ODE."
I. 1. Ruin seize thee, ruthless King ! • Confusion on thy banners wait; • Though fan'd by Conquest's crimson wing,
They mock the air with idle state. , • Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail, • Nor ev'n thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail • To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, • From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!" "Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, 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
* This Ode is founded on a tradition current in Wales, that Edward the First, when he completed the conquest of that country, ordered all the Bards that fell into his hands to be put to death.
On a rock, whose haughty brow
Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath! • O'er thee, oh King! their hundred arms they wave,
Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe ; • Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay.
• Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, • That hush'd the stormy main: • Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed : • Mountains, ye mourn in vain • Modred, whose magic song • Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-top'd head. On dreary Arvon's shore* they lie,
* The shores of Caernarvonshire, opposite the isle of Anglesey.
• Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale:
Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart,
They do not sleep. On yonder cliffs, 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.'
“ 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 “ The sbrieks of death, through Berkley's roof that ring, “ Shrieks of an agonizing King !
Cambden and others observe, that eagles used annually to build their aerie among the rocks of Snowdon.
+ Edward the Second, cruelly butchered in Berkley-Castle.
“ 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 “ The scourge of Heav'n.t What Terrors round him
wait! “ Amazement in his van, with Flight combin'd, “ And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.
“ 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 noon-tide 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; “ Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm;
* Isabel of France, Edward the Second's adulterous queen. + Triumphs of Edward the Third in France.
# Death of that King, abandoned by his children, and even robbed in his last moments by his courtiers and his mistress. || Edward, the Black Prince, dead some time before his father.
Magnificence of Richard the Second's reign.