Part 9 (1/2)

But lo, the daring hosts engage!

Dauntless hearts and flaming rage; And, ere the direful morn is o'er, Mangled limbs and reeking gore, And crimson torrents whelm the ground, Wild destruction stalking round; Fainting warriors gasp for breath, Or struggle in the toils of death.

Where the embattled fortress rose, (Gwenystrad's bulwark from the foes,) Fierce conflicting heroes meet-- Groans the earth beneath their feet.

I mark, amidst the rolling flood, Where hardy warriors stain'd with blood Drop their blunt arms, and join the dead, Grey billows curling o'er their head: Mangled with wounds, and vainly brave, At once they sink beneath the wave.

Lull'd to everlasting rest, With folded arms and gory breast-- Cold in death, and ghastly pale, Chieftains press the reeky vale, Who late, amidst their kindred throng, Prepar'd the feast, and join'd the song; Or like the sudden tempest rose, And hurl'd destruction on the foes.

Warriors I saw who led the fray, Stern desolation strew'd their way; Aloft the glitt'ring blade they bore, Their garments hung with clotted gore.

The furious thrust, the clanging s.h.i.+eld, Confound the long-disputed field.

But when Rheged's chief pursues, His way through iron ranks he hews; Hills pil'd on hills, the strangers bleed: Amaz'd I view his daring deed!

Destruction frowning on his brow, Close he urg'd the panting foe, 'Till hemm'd around, they met the shock, Before Galysten's h.o.a.ry rock.

Death and torment strew'd his path; His dreadful blade obey'd his wrath: Beneath their s.h.i.+elds the strangers lay, Shrinking from the fatal day.

Thus in victorious armour bright, Thou brave Euronwy, pant for fight: With such examples in thine eyes, Haste to grasp the hero's prize.

And till old age has left me dumb-- Till death has call'd me to the tomb-- May cheerful joys ne'er crown my days, Unless I sing of Urien's praise!

TALIESIN'S PROPHECY. {86}

BY MRS. HEMANS.

A voice from time departed, yet floats thy hills among, O Cambria! thus thy prophet bard, thy Taliesin sung, The path of unborn ages is trac'd upon my soul, The clouds, which mantle things unseen, away before me roll.

A light, the depths revealing, hath o'er my spirit pa.s.sed; A rus.h.i.+ng sound from days to be swells fitful on the blast, And tells me that for ever shall live the lofty tongue, To which the harp of Mona's woods by Freedom's hand was strung.

Green island of the mighty! {87a} I see thine ancient race Driv'n from their fathers' realm, to make the rocks their dwelling place!

I see from Uthyr's {87b} kingdom the sceptre pa.s.s away, And many a line of bards and chiefs, and princely men decay.

But long as Arvon's mountains shall lift their sovereign forms, And wear the crown to which is giv'n dominion o'er the storms, So long, their empire sharing, shall live the lofty tongue, To which the harp of Mona's woods by Freedom's hand was strung.

THE MONARCHY OF BRITAIN. {87c}

BY MRS. HEMANS.

Sons of the Fair Isle! forget not the time, Ere spoilers had breath'd the free air of your clime!

All that its eagles beheld in their flight Was yours from the deep to each storm-mantled height!

Though from your race that proud birthright be torn, Unquench'd is the spirit for monarchy born.

Darkly though clouds may hang o'er us awhile, The crown shall not pa.s.s from the Beautiful Isle! {88} Ages may roll ere your children regain The land for which heroes have perish'd in vain.

Yet in the sound of your names shall be pow'r, Around her still gath'ring, till glory's full hour.