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III. 1.

"Edward, lo! to sudden fate

"Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) "Half of thy heart we consecrate.


(The web is wove. The work is done.)" Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn,


'Leave me unblest, 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. 'All-hail, ye genuine kings, Britannia's issue, • hail!

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With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
A voice, as of the cherub-choir,
"Gales from blooming Eden bear;
And distant warblings lessen on my ear,
That lost in long futurity expire. [cloud,
Fond impious man! think'st thou yon sanguine
Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, [day?
And warms the nations with redoubled ray.
Enough for me: with joy I see

III. 3.

The verse adorn again 'Fierce War, and faithful Love,

Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line;
'Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face,
'Attemper'd sweet to virgin grace.
What string symphonious tremble in the air!
What strains of vocal transport round her play!
Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear;
They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.
Bright Rapture calls, and, soaring as she sings,
Wave in the eye of Heaven her inany-color'd

⚫ wings.

"And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction dress'd. In buskin'd measures move

Pale Grief, aud pleasing Pain,


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The diff'rent doom our fates assign. Be thine Despair, and sceptred Care; To triumph, and to die, are mine. [height. He spoke; and, headlong from the mountain's Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endless night.

$77. The Fatal Sisters. An Ode. GRAY. Now the storm begins to low'r (Haste, the loom of hell prepare); Iron slect of arrowy show'r Hurtles in the darken'd air.

Glitt'ring lances are the loom
Where the dusky warp we strain,
Weaving many a soldier's doom,
's woe, and Randver's bane.
See the grisly 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.

Mista, black terrific maid,
Sangrida, and Hilda, see!
Join the wayward work to aid :
Tis the woof of victory.
Ere the ruddy sun be set,
Pikes must shiver, jav'lings sing,
Blade with clatt'ring buckler incet,
Hauberk crash, and helmet ring.
(Weave the crimson web of war.)
Let us go, and let us fly,
Where our friends the confliet share,
Where they triumph, where they die.
As the paths of fate we tread,
Wading thro' th' ensanguin'd field,
Gondula, and Geira, spread
O'er the youthful king your shield.
We the reigns to slaughter give,
Ours to kill, and ours to spare:
Spite of danger he shall live.
(Weave the crimson web of war.)
They, whom once the desert beach
Pent within its bleak domain,
Soon their ample sway shall stretch)
O'er the plenty of the plain.

Low the dauntless earl is laid, Gor'd with inany a gaping wound:

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Fate demands a nobler head ;
Soon a king shall bite the ground.
Long his loss shall Eirin weep,
Ne'er again his likeness see;
Long her strains in sorrow steep,
Strains of immortality!
Horror 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 bauds;
Triumph to the younger king.
Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale,
Learn the tenor of our song.
Scotland, througʼn each winding, vale,
Far and wide the notes prolong.
Sisters, hence with spurs of speed!
Each her thund'ring falchion wield;
Each bestride her sable steed.

Hurry, hurry, to the field!


$78. The Descent of Odin. An Ode.
UPROSE the king of men with speed,
And saddled straight his coal-black steed:
Down the yawning steep he rode,
That leads to Hela's drear abode.
Him the dog of darkness spied:
His shaggy throat he open'd wide;
While from his jaws, with carnage fill'd,
Foam and human gore distill'd.
Hoarse he bays with hideous din,
Eyes that glow, and fangs that grin;
And long pursues, with fruitless yell,
The father of the powerful spell.
Onward still his way he takes
(The groaning earth beneath him shakes),
Till full before his fearless eyes
The portals nine of hell arise.

Right against the eastern gate,
By the moss-grown pile he sat,
Where long of yore to sleep was laid
The dust of the prophetic Maid.
Facing to the northern clime,
Thrice he trac'd the Runic rhyme;
Thrice pronounc'd, in accents dread;
The thrilling verse that wakes the dead;
Till from out the hollow ground
Slowly breath'd a sullen sound.


What call unknown, what charms, presume To break the quiet of the tomb? Who thus afflicts my troubled sprite, And drags me from the realms of night? Long on these mould'ring bones have beat The winter's snow, the summer's heat, The drenching dews, and driving rain! Let me, let me sleep again. Who is he, with voice unblest, That calls me from the bed of rest?.

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To break my iron sleep again,


Till Lok has burst his tenfold chain tap
Never, till substantial Night
Has re-assum'd her antient right ?
Till wrapt in flames, in ruin hurl'd,
Sinks the fabric of the world.


From yonder realms of empyrean day
Bursts on my ear th' indignant lay:
by There sit the sainted Sage, the Bard divine,
The few whom Genius gave to shine
Thro' ev'ry unborn age, and undiscover'd clime,
Rapt in celestial transport they;

Yet hither of a glance from high
They send of tender sympathy,

$79. The Triumphs of Owen. A Fragment. To bliss the place where on their op'ning soul GRAY, First the genuine ardor stole.

'Twas Milton struck the deep-ton'd shell;
And, as the choral warblings round him swell,
Meek Newton's self bends from his state sublime,
And nods his hoary head, and listens to the

OWEN's praise demands my song,
Owen swift, and Owen strong;
Fairest flow'r of Roderic's stem
Gwyneth's shield, and Britain's gem.
He nor heaps his brooded stores,
Ner on all profusely pours;
Lord of ev'ry regal art,
Lib'ral hand, and. open heart.

Big with hosts of mighty name,
Squadrons three against him came;
This the force of Eirin hiding;
Side by side as proudly riding,
On her shadow long and gay
Locklin ploughs the wat'ry way;
There the Norman sails afar
Catch the winds, and join the war :
Black and huge along they sweep,
Burtheus of the angry deep.

Dauntless on his native sands
The dragon-son of Mona stands;
In glitt'ring 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.
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 honorable death.

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HENCE, avaunt ('tis holy ground!) "Comus, and his midnight crew, "And Ignorance with looks profound, "And dreaming Sloth of palid hue, "Mad Sedition's cry profane, "Servitude that hugs her chain; "Nor in these consecrated bow'rs

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"Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain, "Dare the Muse's walk to stain,

se Ye brown o'er-arching groves,

"That contemplation loves,

Where willowy Camus lingers with delight!
Oft at the blush of dawn

"I trod your level lawn,

§ 80. Ode on the Installation of the Duke of Heavier toil, superior pain.


Grufton. Irregular." GRAY.

"While bright-eyed Science watches round: Hence away, 'tis holy ground !”

Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia silver bright
In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folly,
With Freedom by my side, and soft-eyed

But, hark! the portals sound, and pacing forth,
With solemir steps and slow,

High Potentates, and Dames of royal birth,
And mitred Fathers, in long order go:
Great Edward, with the lilies on his brow
From haughty Gallia torn;

And sad Chatillon, on her bridal morn
That wept her bleeding love; and princely Clare;
And Anjou's heroine; and the paler Rose,
The rival of her crown and of her woes,
And either Henry there,

The murder'd Saint, and the majestic Lord
That broke the bonds of Rome

"What the bright reward we gain ?
"The grateful memory of the Good.


Sweet is the breath of vernal show'r, "The bee's collected treasures sweet, "Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet "The still small voice of Gratitude." Foremost, and leaning from her gold'n cloud, The venerable Margaret see!



"Let painted Flatt'ry hide her serpent-train in Welcome my noble son (she cries aloud), To this thy kindred train, and me: Pleas'd in thy lineaments we trace "A Tudor's fire, a Beaufort's grace. Thy lib'ral heart, thy judging eye, "The flow'r unheeded shall descry.



(Their tears, their little triumphs o'er
Their human passions now no more,
Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb).
All that on Granta's fruitful plain
Rich streams of regal bounty pour'd,
And bade these awful fanes and turrets rise,
To hail their Fitzroy's festal morning come;
And thus they speak in soft accord
The liquid language of the skies:

"What is grandeur? what is pow'r ?ef

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"And bid it round heaven's altars shed: "The fragrance of its blushing head gate **Shall raise from earth the latent gem: "To glitter on the diadem.


Lo, Granta waits to lead her blooming Band: "Not obvious, not obtrusive, she "No vulgar praise, no venal incense flings Nor dares with courtly tongue refin'd "Profane thy inborn royalty of mind: "She reveres herself and thee.





With modest pride to grace thy youthful "The laureate, wreath, that Cecil wore, she "And to thy just, thy gentle hand εἰς Submits the fasces of her sway, "While spirits blest above, and men below, "Join with glad voice the loud symphonious lay. "Thro' the wild waves, as they roar,


With watchful eye and dauntless mien. "Thy steady course of honor keep, "Nor fear the rocks, nor seek the shore: "The star of Brunswick smiles serene, v "And gilds the horrors of the deep."


I than 17

§ 81. A Prayer for Indifference. GREVILLE.
Qrr I've implor'd the gods in vain,
And pray'd' till I've been weary ...
For once I'll try my wish to gain
Of Oberon the Fairy,

Sweet airy being, wanton sprite,

That lurk'st in woods tinseen,' And oft by Cynthia's silver light, Tripp'st gaily o'er the green ;` `If e'et thy pitying heart was mov'd, As antient stories tell,

And for th' Athenian maid who lov'd Thou sought'st a wondrous spell;

Oh deign once more t'exert thy pow'r!
Haply some herb of tree
Sov'reign as juice of western flow'r,
Conceals a balın for me:

I ask no kind return of love,


No tempting charm to please; Far from the heart those gifts remove That sighs for peace and ease : Nor peace nor ease the heart can know, Which, like the needle true, Turns at the touch of joy or woe, But, turning, trembles too.. Far as distress the soul can wound, 'Tis pain in each degree :: 'Tis bliss but to a certain bound; Beyond, is agony. !. Take then this treacherous sense of mine, Which dooins me still to smart; Which pleasure can to pain refine,

To pains new pangs impart." Oh haste to shed the sacred balm

My shatter d nerves new string; And for my guest, serenely calm, The nymph Indifference bring. LEA"

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At her approach, see Hope, see Fear,
See Expectation fly;

And Disappointment in the rear,
That blasts the promis'd joy.

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From sweetest, freshest, Row'rs distill'd, That shed fresh sweets for you!

And what of life remains for me
I'll pass in sober ease;

bu Half-pleas'd, contented will I be, Content but half to please.

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Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor!
Here as I crav'd a morsel of their bread,
A pamper'd menial drove me from the door
To seek a shelter in an humbler shed.

Oh take me to your hospitable doom!
Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold!
Short is my passage to the friendly tomb!
For I am poor, and miserably old.

Should I reveal the sources of my grief,
If soft humanity e'er touch'd your breast,
Your hands would not withhold the kind relief,
And tears of pity would not be repress'd.
Heaven sends misfortunes; why should we re-

'Tis Heaven has brought me to the state you see; And your condition may be soon like mine, The Child of Sorrow and of Misery.

A little farm was my paternal lot;
Then like the lark I sprightly hail'd the morn ;-
But, ah! oppression forc'd me from my cot;
My cattle died, and hlighted was my corn.
My daughter, once the comfort of my age,
Lur'd by a villain from her native home,
Is cast abandon'd on the world's wide stage,
And doom'd in scanty poverty to roam.
My tender wife, sweet soother of my care!
Struck with sad anguish at the stern decree,
Fell, ling'ring fell, a victim to despair!
And left the world to wretchedness and me.

Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, [door, Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span; Oh give relief and Heaven will bless your store!

$ 84. Pollio. En Elegiac Ode; written to the Wood near R- Castle, 1762. MICKLE.



Hæc Jovem sentire, deosque cunctos,
Spem bonam certamque domum reporto.
THE peaceful evening breathes her balmy store,

The playful school-boys wanton o'er the green, Where spreading poplars shade the cottage-door, The villagers in rustic joy convene.

Amid the secret windings of the wood,

With solemn Meditation let me stray; This is the hour when to the wise and goodThe heavenly maid repays the toils of day. The river murmurs, and the breathing gale

The star of evening glimmers o'er the dale, Whispers the gently-heaving boughs among:

And leads the silent host of heaven along. How bright, emerging o'er yon broom-clad height,

The silver empress of the night appears! Yon limpid pool reflects a stream of light,

And faintly in its breast the woodland bears. The waters tumbling o'er their rocky bed, Solemn and constant, from yon dell resound; H. h 2


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