in his van, with Flight combined,
And sorrow’s faded form, and solitude behind.”
“Mighty Victor, mighty Lord!
Low on his funeral couch he lies!31
No pitying heart, no eye, afford
A tear to grace his obsequies.
Is the sable Warrior fled?32
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,33
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.”
“Fill high the sparkling bowl,34
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,35
Lance to lance, and horse to horse?
Long Years of havoc urge their destined course,
And thro’ the kindred squadrons mow their way.
Ye Towers of Julius, London’s lasting shame,36
With many a foul and midnight murther fed,
Revere his Consort’s faith, his Father’s fame,3738
And spare the meek Usurper’s holy head.39
Above, below, the rose of snow,40
Twined with her blushing foe, we spread;
The bristled Boar in infant-gore41
Wallows beneath the thorny shade.
Now, Brothers, bending o’er th’ accursed loom
Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.”
“Edward, lo! to sudden fate
(Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.)
Half of thy heart we consecrate.42
(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 glitt’ring 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.43
All hail, ye genuine Kings, Britannia’s Issue, hail!”44
“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,45
Attempered sweet to virgin-grace.
What strings symphonious tremble in the air,
What strains of vocal transport round her play!
Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear;46
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.”
“The verse adorn again
Fierce War, and faithful Love,47
And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest.
In buskined measures move48
Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain,
With Horror, Tyrant of the throbbing breast.
A Voice as of the Cherub-Choir,49
Gales from blooming Eden bear;
And distant warblings lessen on my ear,50
That lost in long futurity expire.
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.
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.
Awake, Aeolian lyre, awake,51
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings.
From Helicon’s harmonious springs
A thousand rills their mazy progress take;
The laughing flowers, that round them blow,
Drink life and fragrance as they flow.
Now the rich stream of music winds along,
Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong,
Through verdant vales, and Ceres’ golden reign;
Now rolling down the steep amain,
Headlong, impetuous, see it pour;
The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar.
Oh! Sovereign of the willing soul,52
Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs,
Enchanting shell! the sullen Cares
And frantic Passions hear thy soft control.
On Thracia’s hills the Lord of War
Has curbed the fury of his car,
And dropped his thirsty lance at thy command.
Perching on the sceptred hand53
Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feathered king
With ruffled plumes and flagging wing;
Quenched in dark clouds of slumber lie
The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye.
Thee the voice, the dance, obey,54
Tempered to thy warbled lay.
O’er Idalia’s velvet-green
The rosy-crowned Loves are seen
On Cytherea’s day
With antic Sports, and blue-eyed Pleasures,
Frisking light in frolic measures;
Now pursuing, now retreating,
Now in circling troops they meet;
To brisk notes in cadence beating
Glance their many-twinkling feet.55
Slow melting strains their Queen’s approach declare;
Where’er she turns the Graces homage pay.
With arms sublime, that float upon the air,
In gliding state she wins her easy way;
O’er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move
The bloom of young Desire, and purple light of Love.56
Man’s feeble race what ills await!57
Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain,
Disease, and Sorrow’s weeping train,
And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate!
The fond complaint, my Song, disprove,
And justify the laws of Jove.
Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse?
Night, and all her sickly dews,
Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry,
He gives to range the dreary sky;
Till down the eastern cliffs afar58
Hyperion’s march they spy, and glittering shafts of war.
In climes beyond the solar road,5960
Where shaggy forms o’er ice-built mountains roam,
The Muse has broke the twilight gloom
To cheer the shivering native’s dull abode.
And oft, beneath the odorous shade
Of
