THE TRIUMPHS OF OWEN. A Fragment. FROM THE WELSH. OWEN's praise demands my song, * Gwyneth's shield and Britain's gem. Liberal hand, and open heart. Big with hosts of mighty name, Catch the winds and join the war: Dauntless on his native sands There the thundering strokes begin, Echoing to the battle's roar. The red dragon, the device of Cadwallader, was borne on their banners by his descendants. VOL. VI. K K Check'd by the torrent tide of blood, TUDOR. FROM THE WELSH. FILL the horn of glossy blue, Have you seen the virgin snow GRAY. From the cliff sublime and hoary, And seen the whirlwind's spirit sped MATHIAS. TO A STREAM. FROM THE ERSE OF OSSIAN. OH,flow round Lutha's narrow plain, sweet stream, And let the wild woods hanging o'er thee wave, And let the sun there shed his warmest gleam, And light winds gently breathe o'er Ossian's grave! At early morn the hunter passing by No more shall hear my harp's harmonious fall; Then shall he drop the tender tear, and cry 'Where is the tuneful son of great Fingal?' Then come, Malvina, all thy music yield, Let thy soft song once more delight my breast, Then raise my tomb in Lutha's narrow field, And lull my dying spirits into rest. Where art thou, lovely maid? Where is thy song? Where are the soft sounds of thy passing feet? Thou canst not come, nor shall I call thee long, Till in my father's airy halls we meet. Oh pleasant be thy rest, thou lovely beam!' Silent and slow thy peaceful light declined: Like the pale moon upon the trembling stream, Soon hast thou set, and left us dark behind. We sit around the rock-but there no more Thy voice remains to soothe, thy light to cheer: Soon hast thou set on our deserted shore, And left us all in gloomy darkness here! MERIVALE. LOVE ELEGY. FROM THE IRISH OF EDMOND RYAN. BRIGHT her locks of beauty grew, And her eyes of smiling blue, Oh how soft! how heavenly glowing! Ah! poor plunder'd heart of pain! When wilt thou have end of mourning? Oh! would thy promise faithful prove, And to my fond, fond bosom give thee; Lightly then my steps would move, Joyful should my arms receive thee. Then, once more, at early morn, Love's fond vows and faith belying, My pale cheek with blushes dying! Why art thou false to me and love? (While health and joy with thee are vanish'd) Is it because forlorn I rove, Without a crime *, unjustly banish'd? Safe thy charms with me should rest, O, might I call thee now my own! No added rapture joy could borrow: 'Twould be like heaven, when life is flown, To cheer the soul and heal its sorrow. See thy falsehood, cruel maid! See my cheek no longer glowing; Strength departed, health decay'd; Life in tears of sorrow flowing! Why do I thus my anguish tell? Why pride in woe, and boast in ruin? O lost treasure!-fare thee well!Loved to madness-to undoing. * Ryan was one of the proscribed partisans of James II. and commanded a company of Rapparees. |