Heard ye the din of battle bray 20, Lance to lance, and horse to horse! Long years of havoc urge their destin'd course, Twin'd with her blushing foe we spread: Wallows beneath the thorny shade. Now, brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom, Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom. III. "Edward, lo! to sudden fate (Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn: But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height All-hail, ye genuine kings 29; Britannia's issue, hail! 25 The white and red roses, devices of York and Lancaster. 26 The silver-boar was the badge of Richard the Third; whence he was usually known in his own time by the name of The Boar. 27 Eleanor of Castile died a few years after the conquest of Wales. The heroic proof she gave of her affection for her lord is well known. The monuments of his regret, and sorrow for the loss of! Speed, rlating an audience given by queen Flizabeth to Paul Dzialinski, ambassador of Poland, says, And thus she, lion-like rising, daunted the malapert orator no less with her stately port and majestical deporture, than with the tartne-se of her pricelie chekes. 31 Taliessin, chif of the bards, flourished in the sixth century. His works are still preserved, and her, are still to be seen at Northampton, Gedding-h's memory held in high veneration among his ton, Waltham, and other places. 28 It was the common belief of the Welsh nation, that king Arthur was still alive in Fairy-land, and should return again to reign over Britain. 29 Both Merlin and Taliessin had prophesied, that the Welsh should regain their sovereignty over this island; which seemed to be accomplished in the house of Tudor. Countrymen. 32 Fierce wars and faithful loves shall moralize ance of Sictryg with the Silken Beard, who was then making war on his father-in-law Brian, king of Dublin: the earl and all his forces were cut to pieces; and Sictryg was in danger of a total defeat; but the enemy had a greater loss, by the death of Brian, their king, who fell in the action. On Christmas-day, (the day of the battle) a native of Caithness, in Scotland, saw at a distance, a number of persons on horseback, riding full speed towards a hill, and seeming to enter into it. Curiosity led him to follow them, till, looking through an opening in the rocks, he saw twelve gigantic figures, resembling women: they were all employed about a loom; and as they wove, they sung the following dreadful song; which when they had finished, they tore the web into twelve pieces, and (each taking her portion) galloped six to the north, and as many to the south. THE FATAL SISTERS. Now the storm begins to lour, Hurtles 4 in the darken'd air. Glittering lances are the loom, Where the dusky warp we strain, Weaving many a soldier's doom, Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane. See the griesly texture grow, ('Tis of human entrails made) And the weights that play below, Each a gasping warrior's head. Shafts for shuttles, dipt in gore, Shoot the trembling cords along; Sword, that once a monarch bore, Keep the tissue close and strong. In the introduction to it he meant to have produced some specimens of the style that reigned in ancient times among the neighbouring nations, or those who had subdued the greater part of this island, and were our progenitors; the following three imitations made a part of them. He has long since dropped his design, especially after he had heard that it was already in the hands of a person well qualified to do it justice, both by his taste, and his researches into antiquity. 2 The Valkyriur were female divinities, servants of Odin (or Woden) in the Gothic mythology. Their name signifies choosers of the slain. They were mounted on swift horses, with drawn swords in their hands; and in the throng of battle selected such as were destined to slaughter, and conducted them to Valkalla, the hall of Odin, or paradise of the brave; where they attended the banquet, and served the departed heroes with horns of mead and ale. 3 How quick they wheel'd; and flying, behind them shot Sharp sleet of arrowy shower Milton's Paradise Regained. 4 The noise of battle hurtled in the air. Shakspeare's Julius Cæsar. 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) Let us go, and let us fly, Where our friends the conflict share, Where they triumph, where they die. As the paths of Fate we tread, Wading through th' ensanguin'd 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) Low the dauntless earl is laid, Soon a king shall bite the ground. Ne'er again his likeness see; Long her strains in sorrow steep, Strains of immortality! Horrour covers all the heath, Clouds of carnage blot the Sun, Sisters, weave the web of death; Sisters, cease, the work is done. Hail the task, and hail the hands! Songs of joy and triumph sing! Joy to the victorious bands: Triumph to the younger king. Learn the tenour of our song. THE DESCENT OF ODIN. AN ODE. [FROM THE NORSE-TONGUE.] IN BARTHOLINUS, DE CAUSIS CONTEMNENDÆ MORTIS; HAFNIA, 1689, QUARTO. Upreis Odinn allda gauir, &c. UPROSE the King of Men with speed, Down the yawning steep he rode, (The groaning Earth beneath him shakes) Right against the eastern gate, PR. What call unknown, what charms presume To break the quiet of the tomb; And drags me from the realms of night? That calls me from the bed of rest? O. A traveller, to thee unknown, For whom yon glittering board is spread, PR. Mantling in the goblet, see O. Once again my call obey, PR. In Hoder's hand the hero's doom: O. Prophetess, my spell obey. Niflheimr, the Hell of the Gothic nations, consisted of nine worlds, to which were devoted all such as died of sickness, old age, or by any other means than in battle: over it presided Hela, the goddess of death. Nor wash his visage in the stream, O. Yet a while my call obey, And snowy veils, that float in air. PR. Ha! no traveller art thou O. No boding maid of skill divine Art thou, nor prophetess of good; But mother of the giant-brood! PR. Hie thee hence, and boast at home, That never shall inquirer come To break my iron-sleep again; Till Lok has burst his tenfold chain. Has reassum'd her ancient right; THE TRIUMPHS OF OWEN 3. A FRAGMENT. FROM MR. EVANS'S SPECIMENS OF THE WELSH POETRY; LONDON, 1764, QUARTO. OWEN's praise demands my song, Big with hosts of nighty name, 2 Lok is the evil being, who continues in chains till the twilight of the gods approaches, when he shall break his bonds; the human race, the stars, and Sun, shall disappear; the earth sink in the seas, and fire consume the skies: even Odin himself and his kindred deities shall perish. For a further explanation of this mythology, see Mallet's Introduction to the History of Denmark, 1755, quarto. 3 Owen succeeded his father Griffin in the principality of North Wales, A. D. 112. This battle was fought near forty years afterwards. 4 North Wales. 5 Denmark. Black and huge along they sweep, Burthens of the angry deep. Dauntless on his native sands The dragon-son 6 of Mona stands; In glittering arms and glory drest, High he rears his ruby crest. There the thundering strokes begin, There the press, and there the din; Talymalfra's rocky shore Echoing to the battle's roar, 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, Terrour's child, Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild, Agony, that pants for breath, Despair and honourable Death. EPITAPH, AT BECKENHAM, ON MRS. CLARKE 7. Lo! where this silent marble weeps, STANZAS SUGGESTED BY A VIEW OF THE SEAT AND RUINS AT OLD and abandon'd by each venal friend, To smuggle a few years, and strive to mend On this congenial spot he fix'd his choice; Earl Goodwin trembled for his neighb'ring sand; Here sea-gulls screain, and cormorants rejoice, And mariners, though ship-wreck'd, fear to land. Here reign the blustering North and blighting Fast, The red dragon is the device of Cadwallader, which all his descendants bore on their bamers. Wife to a physician at Epsom; she died April 27, 1757. Now mouldering fanes and battlements arise, Turrets and arches nodding to their fall, Unpeopled monasteries delude our eyes, And mimic desolation covers all. "Ah!" said the sighing peer, "had B-te been true, Nor G 's, nɔr B -d's promises been vain, Far other scenes than this had grac'd our view, And realis'd the horrours which we feign. "Purg'd by the sword, and purify'd by fire, ODE FOR MUȘIC. PERFORMED IN THE SENATE-HOUSE AT CAMBRIDGE, JULY "HENCE, avaunt, ('tis holy ground) Nor in these consecrated bowers Let painted Flattery hide her serpent-train in flowers. Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain, Dare the Muse's walk to stain, While bright-ey'd Science watches round: From yonder realms of empyrean day Bursts on my ear th' indignant lay: There sit the sainted sage, the bard divine, The few, whom genius gave to shine Through every unborn age and undiscover'd clime. Rapt in celestial transport they, Yet hither oft a glance from high They send of tender sympathy To bless the place, where on their opening soul 'Twas Milton struck the deep-ton'd shell, "Ye brown o'er-arching groves, That Contemplation loves, Where willowy Camus lingers with delicht! Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia silver-bright But hark! the portals sound, and pacing forth High potentates and dames of royal birth, And mitred fathers in long order go: Great Edward with the lilies on his brow, ■ Edward the Third; who added the fleur de lys of France to the aims of England. He founded Trinity College. 6 And either Henry there, The murder'd saint, and the majestic lord, Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb) And bade these awful fanes and turrets rise, "What is grandeur, what is power? 2 Mary de Valentia, countess of Pembroke, daughter of Guy de Chatillon, comte de St. Paul in France: of whom tradition says, that her husband, Audemar de Valentia, earl of Pembroke, was slain at a tournament on the day of his nuptials. She was the foundress of Pembroke College or Hall, under the name of Aula Mariæ de Valentia. 3 Elizabeth de Burg, countess of Clare, was wife of John de Burg, son and heir of the earl of Ulster, and daughter of Gilbert de Clare, earl of Gloucester, by Joan of Acres, daughter of Edward the First. Hence the poet gives her the epithet of princely. She founded Clare Hall. 4 Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry the Sixth, foundress of Queen's College. The poet has celebrated her conjugal fidelity in a former ode. 5 Elizabeth Widville, wife of Edward the Fourth (hence called the paler rose, as being of the house of York). She added to the foundation of Margaret of Anjou. 6 Henry the Sixth and Eighth. The former the founder of King's, the latter the greatest benefactor to Trinity College. 7 Countess of Richmond and Derby; the mother of Henry the Seventh, foundress of St. John's and Christ's Colleges. 8 The countess was a Beaufort, and married to a Tudor; hence the application of this line to the duke of Grafton, who claims descent from both these families. Shall raise from Earth the latent gem, "Lo, Granta waits to lead her blooming band, Not obvious, not obtrusive, she No vulgar praise, no venal incense flings; She reveres herself and thee. With modest pride to grace thy youthful brow While spirits blest above and men below Join with glad voice the loud symphonious lay. A LONG STORY'. Is Britain's isle, no matter where, An ancient pile of building stands: The Huntingdons and Hattons there Employ'd the power of fairy hands 9 Lord treasurer Burleigh was chancellor of the university, in the reign of queen Elizabeth. When Mr. Gray had put his last hand to the celebrated Elegy in the Country Church-yard, he communicated it to his friend Mr. Walpole, whose good taste was too much charmed with it to suffer him to withhold the sight of it from his acquaintance; accordingly it was shown about for some time in manuscript, and received with all the applause it so justly merited. Amongst the rest of the fashionable world, for to those only it was at present communicated, lady Cobham, who now lived at the mansion-house at Stoke-Pogis, had read and admired it. She wished to be acquainted with the author; accordingly her relation, miss Speed, and lady Schaub, then at her house, undertook to bring this about by making him the first visit. He happened to be from home when the ladies arrived at his aunt's solitary mansion; and, when he returned, was surpris'd to find, written on one of his papers in the parlour where he usually read, the following note: " Lady Schaub's compliments to Mr. Gray; she is sorry not to have found him at home, to tell him that lady Brown is very well." This necessarily obliged him to return the visit, and soon after induced him to compose a ludicrous account of this little adventure, for the amusement of the ladies in question. He wrote it in ballad measure, and entitled it a Long Story: when it was handed about in manuscript, nothing could be more various than the opinions concerning it; by some it was thought a masterpiece of original humour, by others a wild and fantastic farrago; and when it was published, the sentiments of good judges were equally divided about it. Sec Mr. Mason's Memoirs, vol, iii. p. 122. |