III. 2.

Nor second he, that rode sublime

Upon the seraph wings of Ecstasy1,
The secrets of the abyss to spy.

He passed the flaming bounds of Place and Time :
The living Throne, the sapphire blaze,
Where angels tremble while they gaze,
He saw; but, blasted with excess of light,
Closed his eyes in endless night.

Behold where Dryden's less presumptuous car
Wide o'er the fields of Glory bear

Two coursers 2 of ethereal race,

With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace.

II. 3.

Hark, his hands the lyre explore!
Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er,
Scatters from her pictured urn

Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
But ah! 'tis heard no more

3

O lyre divine, what daring spirit
Wakes thee now? though he inherit
Nor the pride, nor ample pinion,
That the Theban eagle bear,
Sailing with supreme dominion
Through the azure deep of air :
Yet oft before his infant eyes would run
Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray
With orient hues, unborrowed of the sun :
Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way
Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate,
Beneath the Gods how far-

1 Milton.

2 Dignity and Harmony.

3 Since Dryden's, we have had no

but far above the Great.

ODE V.

THE BARD.

PINDARIC.

1. 1.

"Ruin seize thee, ruthless king!!
Confusion on thy banners wait!
Though fanned by Conquest's crimson wing,
They mock the air with idle state.

Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail,

Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears,
From Cambria's 2 curse, from Cambria's tears!"
Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride
Of the first Edward scattered wild dismay,
As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side

He wound with toilsome march his long array. Stout Glo'ster3 stood aghast in speechless trance: "To arms!" cried Mortimer, and couched 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

Streamed, like a meteor, to the troubled air4)
And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire,
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.

66

Hark, how each giant oak, and desert cave,
Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath!
O'er thee, O 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 5 harp, or soft Llewellyn's 5 lay.

I. 3.

"Cold is Cadwallo's tongue,

That hushed the stormy main:

1 Edward I. of England.

4 See Milton's "Paradise Lost,"

2 Cambria, the ancient name of book i. line 391.

Wales.

3 Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, married Joan, daughter of Edward I.

5 Welsh bards.

Brave Urien1 sleeps upon

his craggy bed:

Mountains, ye mourn in vain

Modred1, whose magic song

Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topped head.
On dreary Arvon's2 shore they lie,

Smeared with gore, and ghastly pale:
Far, far aloof the affrighted ravens sail :
The famished 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 amid your dying country's cries.

No more I weep. 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.

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

The shrieks of death through Berkley's roof that ring,
Shrieks of an agonising king!3

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 heaven!5 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!

1 Welsh bards.

2 The shore of Carnarvon.

3 Edward II., murdered in Berkley Castle.

4 Isabella, daughter of Philip IV. of France, Edward II.'s queen.

5 Edward III., the conqueror at Creçi and Poictiers.

No pitying heart, no eye, afford
A tear to grace his obsequies.
Is the sable warrior fled?1

Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead.

The swarm that in thy noon-tide beams 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;
Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway,

That, hushed in grim repose, expects his evening prey. п. 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.2
Heard ye the din of battle bray,

Lance to lance, and horse to horse?

Long years of havoc urge their destined course3,
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 5 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 boar9 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. 1.

6.66 Edward, lo! to sudden fate
(Weave we the woof.

1 Edward the Black Prince.
2 According to some writers, Rich-
ard II. was starved to death.

3 Wars of the Roses.

4 The tower of London, the oldest part of which is said to have been built by Julius Cæsar.

The thread is spun.)

5 Margaret of Anjou.
6 Henry V.

7 Henry VI.

8 The White and Red Roses, devices of the Houses of York and Lancaster. 9 The boar was the device of Richard III.

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 :
In yon bright track that fires the western skies,
They melt, they vanish from my eyes.

But, oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height,
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 kings1; Britannia's issue, hail!

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;
Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face,
Attempered sweet to virgin-grace.2

What strings symphonious tremble in the air,
What strains of vocal transport round her play!
Hear from the grave, great Taliessin3, 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-coloured wings.

III. 3.

"The verse adorn again

Fierce War, and faithful Love,

And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction dressed.

In buskined 4 measures move

Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain,

With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.5
A voice, as of the cherub-choir 6,
Gales from blooming Eden bear;

1 The line of Tudor.

2 Queen Elizabeth.

3 Taliessin, chief of the Welsh bards, flourished in the sixth century.

4 Tragic; the Roman tragic actors wore the buskin, or high boot; the comedians, the sock or slipper. 5 Shakspere. 6 Milton.