^^nAmuR4^y . ^Mt UNIVtKi/A % ?3 o ■ ^AJjvaaii-^ o > > .^.OFCAIIFOff/ OFCAitFO% ^1 '^(?AaviiaiiiS<^ '^c?Aavaan-i^ ^^^l•llBRARYQr ^<^OJ11V3JO^ •JJUJl^YJUl' -< ) C5 >- •V/iddAINfl-3WV' '"i'mm P3 ilWDJO'f^ nl laiHV^ >0A8vaan# ^ihnvsoi'*^ '% ^ '■Cf ^>clOSMElfj> >■ = "^aaAiNa-auv :<^ >i CO ^ l~ A^ '/A s v^lOSANCElfXo. CO so "^AaaAiNnjwv^ «) l^^'^ ^ ^^HIBRARYQc .5 ^OfCAllFO/?^ ir ^ I =^ •SOl^ %a3AINn-3WV^ §1 ■3 -J LAYS FROM THE CIMBRIC LYRE, WITH VARIOUS VERSES. BY GORONVA CAMLAN . ^o^ "CIMBRI, PARVA NUNC CIVITAS, SEI) GLORIA INGENS." Tacitus. LONDON : WILLIAM PICKERING. REES, LLANDOVERY; SEACOME AND PRICHARD, CHESTER. 1846. CAMBRIDGE: PRINTED BY METCALFE AND PALMER, TRINITT STREET. TO THE LADY CHARLOTTE GUEST, WITH WHOM THE AUTHOR HAS NO PERSONAL ACaUAINTANCE, FROM WHOM HE HAS RECEIVED NO PERSONAL FAVOUR, AND FROM WHOM HE EXPECTS NONE, THESE POEMS ARE RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, IN TOKEN OF ADMIRATION AND GRATITUDE, ON ACCOUNT OF KINDNESS TO A PEOPLE OFTEN CALUMNIATED, AND STUDY OF A LITERATURE LONG NEGLECTED. 88186G CONTENTS. Page Pkeface ix The Banquet of Salisbury Plain 1 Imitation of LlyAViu-ch Hen 4 AneirLn's Escape 5 The Consolation of Owen Gwynedd . 7 Prince Madoc at Sea . 10 The Ghost of the Living 12 A Ball the last Night of the Year 20 A Bridegroom's Song 22 Woman's Choice 23 The Hall of the Nations 25 The Death of Llew-elyn 51 The Three Rmgs . 60 Oleinia .... 63 To Augusta 72 Pensieri .... 75 A HjTmi for Sacred Music . 82 Cambridge in a Long Vacation . 83 A. B. S. 85 The Execution 87 The Various Winds 89 The Exodus of Israel . 91 "AtXivou 99 Titus Manlius . 102 Roger Williams . 104 The Loss of the President . 105 The Defeat and Captivity of ^Vffghanistan 108 XXXVl CONTENTS. Farewell Hugh Pugh Sailor's Song A Wandering Fancye To a Streamlet Sonnets in Travelling Unstable as Water Our Golden Prime Opsinous Anwyl and Bronwen Freedom from Par tie Spirit Sympathie with the Unknown Lady Charlotte Guest Mrs. Hemans Welsh Rivers Doiirania The Isle of Anglesey Morys Lloyd Euthanasia The Arran's side A Poet's Fate Nekyo-manteia . A Cathedral Ser^dce . Fret not Thyself Misochlos . Literature and Action Christian Theism The Goddess of Reason Apolog}' to France Suffering, or Sin Religious Doubts and the Way of Hope Non eadem est fptas London Violets St. David's Street, Edinbui-gh To the Prince of Wales Page 111 CONTENTS. xxxvu Page The Decay of Old Things 163 St. Asaph and Bangor 170 Our Disunion 177 We won't Despaii- 180 Education in Wales 181 St. Da\'id's Day in America 185 Choice of a Profession 187 'ETTiypduunTa 191 The Battle of Actiuni 194 Youth and Death 197 Modem Assassination 203 The Descent into Hell 211 The MartjT's CroA\-n 213 The Secret of Religion 215 A Hymn for a Congregation 218 Waiting for the Sermon 219 Hymni Ecclesiae 220 The Forty-second Psalm . » 226 The Forty- sLxth Psalm 228 Ascension Day . 229 The Twenty-fourth Psalm 230 The Apostles' Prayer 231 Epode .... 232 Notes and Illustrations 233 Appendix i. . 254 Appendix n. 264 PREFACE. Poetry is the voice of Nature speaking by numbers ; and whoever has embraced most widely, or sympa- thised most profoundly with, the emotions of manldnd in general, will, if otherwise qualified, give Poetry its largest and truest utterance. It should embrace in its scope whatever hopes or fears, affections or passions, and whatever crimes or delusions enter into the existence, or disturb by reflection the inner Avorld of humanity. To be perfect in its standard, it must be universal in its range, not fearing to ad- dress those whose converse is among the stars, and not disdaining to exalt the simple, and offer incense on the altar of the hearth. But of such universal sympathy, supported by such a sound and enduring temper as would be required, we may despair, until haply some man highly destined hear and obey the call of his spirit's master. In the mean time, let those rank highest among the ministers of song, whose strain a X PREFACE. is most imbued with a spirit caught from the echoes of eternity. Let the heavenly be counted above the earthly, the pure above the sensual, and the deep groaning of fervid, though clay-bound imagination, higher than the polished keenness of even the soundest sense. The bad may have their poetry, but it must partake of their badness ; not in so far as it is poetical, but in so far as it is of tainted origin. The mere man of the world, who counts prudence the chief vii"tue, and misfortune the greatest vice, may breathe his aspirations in poetry, but his strain will aspire to little beyond the ken and instinct of its author. The impassioned enterprise of lofty natures, and the gentle tenderness of the affectionate, must have the first and the second place. The poet will soar liighest with the Aonian power, when the wings with which it supports him, are least clogged with the heavy atmosphere of sensuality and selfishness and earth. We must not however forget, though poetry is the expression of many emotions, and may rise in proportion to the dignity of its subject, it has a sweetness and a merit which are all its own. The Aonian power has its proper dignity, which its true servants will not yield to another. Reach of fancy and finished art, the happy combination of ideas, and the lingering sweetness of chosen sound, whether simple or elaborate, are talents of the Muse's gift; PREFACE. XI and we do her little honour if, wanting these, we praise on her account the mere teachers of morality. Let the latter have their due meed : but sermons are not songs; nor if the "Rambler" were in blank verse, would it immediately become poetry. For the same reason, neither are those whom good men lately have much extolled for their fair meaning, the drinkers of Isis rather than of Helicon, to be ranked first or highest among the brotherhood of poets. Their theological vinegar may be excellent in its kind, and good as medicine, but it is not wine. Thus also we may praise, with due respect, Akenside or Words- worth ; but we were traitors to our art and inspira- tion, if we endeavoured to enthrone them among the mightier masters of song. Nor let any one fear that morality and virtue will be deprived of their rightful sovi-anty, if we hinder them from usurping the honours of another sphere. Rather let us believe that poetic excellence is, at least in one respect, like the wisdom sought by Solomon; it must be chosen without interest, and pursued for its own attraction ; and it wUl teach a better morality more effectively than all the art of the schools. The many voices which mingle in the Homeric chorus, expressed with artless inspiration the swelling poetry of the people ; yet their strains were wise, even to the wisdom of Plato. a 2 XU PREFACE. So far I have spoken of the inherent dignity of what I would were my art ; but I have learnt better than to claim for myself its laurels. My object so far was chiefly to assert a truth often silenced in the din and strife of an age bent only on what it con- siders useful and practical ; perhaps also to conciliate the compassion of the more favoured brethren of the lyre, for one who approached to worship in the temple of the Muses, but, startled at his own foot- steps on the solemn pavement, laid down his offering, and, conscious of unworthiness, departed. It is in sickness of heart that I close abruptly what was begun as a labour of love and hope. This preface, and the poems which it announces, are Uke the last sigh with which the drowning man attests his resig- nation and despair of life. Here I would end, but that it remains for me to justify the spirit in which the largest part of the volume is conceived. No such justification might have been necessary, if I had been able to confine myself to my original intention of merely attempting to embalm in verse certain local and national sym- pathies and traditions. Little blame could have attached to such an effort. It may indeed be pliilo- sophically true, that every soil is the brave man's country : experience may also shew that an excess PREFACE. XIU of local attachment may bo injurious to the emigrant, and tend to retard the general spirit of enterprize. Still it would be allowed that the feeling of patriotism in some shape is as innocent as it is natural, and within due limits may have the happiest effect. It teaches the tenant of each rugged Ithaca contentment with his lot of comparative hardship, and consecrates the idea of country as an altar, on which we may sacrifice the thoughts of selfishness, and from which we may snatch a flame to light us forward in noble actions. By hallowing the past, it brightens the future. Nor is such a feeling necessarily narrow or exclusive. For as the man whose affections are kindled and exercised in the family circle, does not therefore hate all other families, but sympathises with those feelings and interests of others which he has learnt to value for himself ; so by prizing our own country highly, we prepare ourselves to respect with a larger heart the patriotic affections and hopes and rights of mankind in general. Thus the patriot is also the philanthropist. We see this principle de- veloped on a small scale in the local enthusiasm of particular counties, which does not render their several natives worse subjects of the empire. Most truly can I say for myself, that no feeling really un-English enters into the mingled atmosphere of sentiment and imagination with which fancy invests XIV PREFACE. our own mountain land. I might hesitate, like most people who have studied mankind on a large scale, before I appropriated to John Bull all the peculiar virtues of which he claims somewhat too exclusive possession. Not the less however I am bound to Englishmen by far too many ties of education, friendsliip, and gratitude, ever to cherish in myself, or intentionally to raise in others, any sentiments towards them save those of kindly feeling and brotherhood. It would indeed be madness if I were capable of meaning otherwise. My object was only to embalm here an ancient legend, and there a li\ing characteristic, which might be worth snatching, by means of song, from under the threatening train of steam-engines and schoolmasters : thus to attempt on a small scale for Wales, what abler hands have effected for other portions of the kingdom ; to remind my countrjTnen that we too have an illustrious past ; that if we have little direct share in the English worthies, we have their fellows in the temple of fame. Now there is no general reason why such an embodiment of patriotic sentiment or tradition should contain anything bitter or offensive. Particular cir- cumstances, however, may tend to give it something of a polemical character; and little as such a cha- racter accords with my own wishes or the serene atmosphere of poetry, its existence in the following PREFACE. XV pages cannot be altogether denied. Before any wise critic condemns its introduction, let him consider whether there is not a cause. Let him compare, for instance, the different tone of our elder and our recent literature on what may be called the ethno- graphy of our island. Now in the great writers of the Elizabethan era, and their immediate successors, we are struck by the eye of unity with which they regard the well-mingled population of Great Britain. So far are they from considering the old British race as either aUen or vassal, that they dehght in honouring it, and consider its trophies and its virtues as in one sense their own, as forming part of the inheritance of the nation. With what pride Spenser enumerates the early kings and the achievements attributed to them, as he traces the genealogy of his Queen into the dim regions of British story ! How reverential is the language, though mixed with playfulness, in which Drayton consecrates his learning and poetry to the same subject ! What a tone of national s;yTn- pathy Shakespeare seems to utter in his Cymbeline ; and how kindly is the ridicule wliich still leaves Fluellen more than respectable ! Fletcher, in his Bonduca ; Massinger, in Ms Virgin Martyr ; Milton, in his Comus, where he calls the Welsh "An old and haughty nation, high in arms," and even far more strongly in liis Latin Poems ; have all something of XVI PREFACE. the same broad community of feeling. Ben Jonson is somewhat more cynical, but, on the whole, good- natured. It does not apjjear then to have struck men, that a single element, and that probably the rudest in our mixed population, ought to be for ever magnified, to the disparagement of all others, and almost to the denial of their existence. Of late, however, that astorgia, or want of natural affection, which seems growing upon us, and which has chilled so many of the relations between man and man, has made itself felt as regards the races of Great Britain. Ever since the time of the notorious Pinkerton, an inclination to disparage the eldest inhabitants of our soil has crept more and more into our literature ;* it has become the fashion to represent them as sur- viving only as a species of Gibeonites ; to disentomb and enshrine with exclusive honour the barbarous names of their invaders, and to speak, in the style of Mr. Quincy Adams, of "the Anglo-Saxon race" in- heriting the earth. The great influence of the Times is constantly employed with mischievous ability in pandering to the self-love of those who, by a strange misconception of their own history, suppose them- * I notice with pleasure a kind-hearted and generous exception in the recent Essays of Mr. Beresford Hope ; with whom however my agreement on matters of fact is as qualified as his owti with Mr. Barry. PREFACE. XVll selves exclusively Anglo-Saxon. Even the Daily News, from whose general liberality of tone better things might be expected, was not able to refrain, in a recent number, from founding upon a doubtful etymology a sneer against what it miscals the Celtic race. In whichever of the three kingdoms a poor Celt may have been born, he can scarcely take up an English newspaper, but he finds himself and his birth and kin either disparaged, or, by implication, annihilated. A stranger to our history might infer from the tone of our periodical literature, that these same Saxons either found our island as desert as that of Robinson Crusoe, or exterminated all previous inhabitants ; or at least that they possessed some qualities so brilliant as to render them alone in Great Britain thenceforward deserving of mention. He would subsequently be surprised to gather even from Palgrave and Turner, that there was no such pre- vious blank, and that no such extermination took place : that, according to Welsh traditions, the Loe- grians, forming about a third of the ancient popula- tion, coalesced and coexisted (though in an inferior rank) with the Teutonic invaders. If he added to these the numerous descendants of those Britons who all down the western coast unquestionably maintained comparative independence, and made due allowance for the vast contributions from these sources year by XVlll PREFACE. year to the ever-mingling population, he could not avoid the conclusion, that even in central England there exists at this day no such thing as a distinct Saxon race, but that the whole people are mixed and blended for good or evil, like rivers mingle in the ocean. Nor, indeed, is there any other theory which will satisfactorily explain the appearance at this day of that curious compound, the English character. Let it not be supposed that I am about to depreciate the great people of Germany. The trophies of their thoughtful intellect are as much beyond my censure as they have little need of my praise : ' ' Neqiie ego illis detrahere ausim Hserentem capiti multa cum laude coronam." The merits and the faults, however, of the German character are essentially different from those of the English. The strongly-marked individuahty of cha- racter, the willing loyalty with the impatience of personal restraint, the surly frankness of speech, the tenacity of constitutional government, the mechanical skill, the commercial activity, the power of holding fast religious belief, with unexampled quickness in seizing upon practical improvements, the sound and logical sense, and all the main characteristics of the Englishman, have no parallel in Germany. Their parallel however may be found, with their original, in the character of the ancient Britons, as described PREFACE. XIX by Tacitus in his Life of Agricola. The contrast I have suggested will appear stronger to the reader, who notices not the educated German, but the peasantry* of Westphalia and Lower Saxony, of whom Niebuhr affirms in his Lectures, that they are probably not more civUized than their ancestors in the days of Arminius. But we need not pursue odious comparisons. Enough has been said to suggest at least suspicion as to the justice of some prevailing prejudices ; and to prepare the reader for the principal poem in this volume, which endeavoui's only to assert the iarge contribution of the indigenous race to the genera! inheritance of our country. Such an object is at least not mischievous ; the very attempt presupposes no hostile or jealous spirit, but rather the desire of friendly esteem : and although it may be met with ridicule, I am not without hopes that it may help to call forth a more liberal tone than has prevailed on tliis subject. If the above main point were attained, I should * Or the "drab-coated" Germans of Pensylvania, of whom Mr. Lyall, a one-sided and most un^villing witness against anything Teutonic, tells us, that they are slow to improvement, averse to roads, and cannot be brouglit to see any dishonesty in the principle of repudiation. In "William Howitt's "German Experiences" are some curious revela- tions even of the mother countrj'. XX PREFACE. care less for the mere ethnological controversy in which my peculiar studies have tended to involve me. As long, however, as ingenious people renew with fresh fallacies Pinkerton's theory of "mighty Goths," and represent the children of the Northern night as superior to the day which for a time they overclouded, so long it will be a temptation to oppose them. My semi-poetical defence may not perhaps be exactly what might proceed from a pure philoso- pher. If such a person's ears were dinned by Athenceums and Edinburgh Reviews with one un- ceasing jargon about the superior qualities of the Anglo-Saxon race, he might perhaps quietly shew, by a large induction of the names of tribes and the structure of languages, that the distinction between Goth and Celt is purely imaginary : that what the vulgar ethnologist calls families of languages, are but arbitrary divisions ; in each of which the two outside terms are more nearly akin to what has pre- ceded and what foUoAvs, than they are to each other. He might also argue, that what are called character- istics of races are the effect of circumstances : that if the tide of population was to continue flowing from the east, the first comers must constantly be pushed westward, and that the progress of migra-. tion might thus be reduced to a mechanical problem : that the Hesperian tribes which preceded the Teuton PREFACE. XXI and the Goth, and which are confused together as Celtic, displayed a large share of vigour and manli- ness in bearing back the superincumbent pressure of nations, often even turning the tide as far as Asia itself : and that it is no wonder if their half- wrecked survivors, "relliquice Danaum," maintaining their freedom in the tempest's home between the moun- tain and the sea, and struggling for a subsistence with Nature in her strongholds, should retain indeed the essentials of civilization, but by a comparative backwardness in modern inventions leave room for the charity or censoriousness of their more fortunate neighbours.* Some such large and comprehensive view as the above might possibly suggest itself to a philosopher, "Nos numerus sumus." I do not profess to be superior to the common prejudices of mankind, and speak not as a philosopher, but as an advocate. * I waive mention of the peculiar circumstances of Ire- land, which is not at present in my brief. "WTien people argue, however, that the strange phenomena of trouble and discontent in Ireland must imply some strange defect in the character of her inhabitants, we may fauiy ask for any similar case in which it has been attempted to reconcile the forms of freedom, and the realities of conquest. In any like case the effect would not be very unlike. Things would have gone better if we had either the coui-age to witlihold the pretence of freedom, or the fairness to refrain from enforcing conquest. XXU PREFACE. Now English ethnologists generally tell us there are two races, or families of nations, of which one may be called Celtic, the other Gothic or Teutonic. Be it so : we adopt their recognised distinction. They proceed to tell us that each race has its characteristic complexion and physical features. To this again we humbly listen. Many of them go so far as to say that the physical and mental character of each race is indestructible, and that certain virtues or vices may be predicated of each as definitely as of certain breeds of horses or cattle.* Our attention is gradu- ally aroused, and we begin in self-defence, naturally if not wisely, to examine our own history and cha- racter, and those of our neighbours. The result of our examination, ethnologically speaking, is pretty much what follows. We find in early times throughout the west of Europe a widely-extended race, divided into various nations and tribes, but supposed to have certain characteristics of language and descent so far in common as to distinguish them generically from the Teutonic nations who lay immediately to the east, or the Sclavonic to the north-east. As the Germans * Non meus hie sermo. This has been for years the constant tone of wTiters in several English periodicals extensively read. With such writers, the soxil generally goes for very little. PREFACE. XXlll took their classical name from a single tribe, so from a comparatively small division of tliis Hesperian or westerly race, it has generally been classed as Celtic. Perhaps, however, as the elder and the more recent Germans are classed as Low and High, so the Hes- perian nations fall into two large classes, of which one may be called Celtic, the other Cimbric ; this latter comprehending probably the Belgse. Under the first class may be arranged the Irish, perhaps the Gael, and the inhabitants of what was Celtic Gaul ; whUe to the second belong the Belgse, the ancient Britons south of Dumbarton and Edinburgh, and in the present day the people of Britanny, Wales, and Cornwall. What those Spaniards were, who were not Iberians, we need not here attempt to decide. A minute description of the people we are dealing with would require terms as diverse as the countries which they inhabited. It is clear, however, that in comparatively recent times they extended south- ward at least as far as the Rubicon, and formed not less than half of the population of Italy. Reasons not contemptible have been given for supposing that the original Rhamncs, the Cascan conquerors, from whom Rome herself sprang, may have been their offspring: it is certain that their ruder tribes often shook her power, and forced her to contend not for empire, but for existence ; while from their growing XXIV PREFACE. civilization they contributed to Rome some of her greatest names. When the ablest general of the ancient world conquered Gaul, a work of ten years' toil and difficulty, so far were the natives from resembling, as superficial people wildly suppose, the prowling savage of America or the fullgrown child of New Zealand, that, as Gibbon accurately remarked, "that great nation was already divided into three orders of men — the clergy, the nobility, and the common people." * Nor was their civihzation a thing of a day. Their kings are called " longa opulentia clari." Their appeals on the eve of battle are in the name of their ancestors and their ancient glory, to preserve or to recover traditional greatness. The eye of the Roman invader fell not, as in Germany, on the " magna corpora, tantum ad impetum valida," of the dwellers in forests, dressed in skins, living only by their herds, and whose greatest pride was in the extent of pastoral waste which surrounded their habitations ; but upon crowded houses, " cre- berrima aedificia ;" upon a people f whom he describes * Vol, I. chap. 13, mider the year 287. t It was only natural, that when compared to the iron discipline of a Roman legion, their tactics and their coixrage should appear irregular and uneven : yet what can be finer than the foUo^ving instance of steady self-devotion at the siege of Avaricimi? "There happened," says Caesar, " Avithin my ov,ti obsers-ation, a circumstance worthy of PREFACE. XXV as one of extreme ingenuity, " summsD solertiae ;" who had large iron-works, and who wei*e familiar with every kind of mine ; whose artificial dress he learnt to imitate, adopting at the same time its name (braccse) into his language ; upon an agriculture, in which the artificial mixture of various soils as manure struck the pliilosophic Pliny as a valuable invention. In proportion, indeed, as you approached the con- fines of Germany, the people appeared more warUke, but their civilization less ; as you receded, and their natural refinement had room to develope itself, the civilization appeared greater. On crossing to Britain, we find a state of things generally alike : we find the use of chariots, which implies at least a country tolerably cleared ; the working of iron, that great criterion of social advancement ; a species of trade, record, which I shoxild think it WTong to omit. A Gaul was employed before the gate of the tovm. in passing balls of pitch and suet, handed him fi-om [his countrymen in] the tower, into the fire [directed agamst our works]. He was transfixed by a missile from an engine on the right, and fell lifeless : as he fell, one of those nearest at hand strode over his corpse, and continued to discharge the same duty^ the second was killed by a similar missile, and in a moment succeeded by a third ; and the third by a fourth : nor was that critical spot left unoccupied by defenders, until our works were beyond danger of conflagration, and the battle ended in the general dislodgement of the enemy." — Bell. Gall. vii. 24. b XXVI PREFACE. a metallic currency, and the familiar use of letters resembling the Greek, in all public and private mat- ters.* The little knowledge we have of the lofty doctrines and mysterious hierarchy of the Druids only enables us to say, that they must have contri- buted to raise the character of the people. So indeed Lucan thought. Nor is it correct to suppose that their influence was limited to a mere caste. The sons of nobles, and what we should now call laymen, shared their instructions, which extended in some cases over the scarcely credible period of twenty years. Hitherto we have been speaking of the time of Caesar ; and it is something to know that our ancestors had, at least, " never fallen off" (as Cole- ridge phrases it) " to either of the two aphelia, or extreme distances from the generic character of man, the wild, or the barbarous state ; but have remained constituent parts of the stirps generosa seu historica." Look but a few years later, and you have Cunobe- linus, the contemporary of Augustus, whose numerous coins still remain : later still, and you have the * I place more stress on what Caesar saw than on what he heard of. Even if his hearsay reports of the interior were correct, they would only shew that there were some tribes in Britain not superior to the forest Nomads of Ger- many ; but we can scarcely doubt that they are a mere expression in narrative of the vtdgar philosophy of the progress of human society. PREFACE. XXvii temple, the bath, and the forum ; eloquence studied, and the powers of the British intellect acknowledged amid the fulness of Roman civilization. We need not dwell on the Christianity whose wings outstripped the Roman eagle, or on many sacred names, which tempt me to linger. Let it suffice to remind the reader, that whatever may have been the faults or shortcomings of our ancestors in the fifth century of the Christian sera, they at least cherished the light freshly caught from the very lamps of our Lord's Apostles, and the civilization of the ancient world was their inheritance. True, they did not escape that strange tempest of nations and races, when the hand of heaven seemed raised to summon from all the ends of the earth every element of wrath and terror, to crush like the potter's vessel the empire which had been of iron. The fair cities of Asia, from whose ruins we are, as it were to-day, raising the veil of mystery; the sunny plains of France and Spain ; and the spoils which Italy had amassed from a subject world, were overrun and plundered by the Goth, the Vandal, the Hun, by hordes, of whom each shewed that it was possible to be more savage than its predecessor. Our island so far shared in the general ruin, that it received as allies those who became its masters. Does however the comparative downfal of an elder and gentler people imply also XXVIU PREFACE. that they merit only censure or contempt? Very differently judged the more generous instinct of uncorrupt humanity, as manifested by the literature of all Europe for centuries. The large heart of the middle ages rejoiced to cherish and consecrate with its sympathy and its song the repeated struggles and favoured champions of a nation whose retreat west- ward was like that of Ajax facing his foes. Hence Britain became to Europe what Troy had been to Greece and Rome, the old theatre of valour, the favoui'ite scene of ennobling fiction, and the nurse if not the mother of Romance. We must allow some- thing for the confused echoes of classical literature ; but it is probable, if not certain, that either our own ancestors or their kinsmen in Britanny contributed the earliest writers as well as the subject of the Arthurian Romances. The very light of Ariosto was indirectly caught from this humble source. Nor is this all. As the captivity of Greece became the intel- lectual conquest of her captor, so our blood and our genius, our music and our laws, leavened the coarser clay and inspired the duller intellect of our soi-disant conquerors. I will not here dwell on the massive strength of character which at once caused and redeemed many faults in the Tudor dynasty; nor repeat the great names which the reader may find elsewhere mentioned: but will place my finger in PREFACE. XXIX passing on an element in the English character, which 13 (I do not say of Welsh, but) of British origin. It is that tinge of practical romance, a something between chivalry and enthusiasm, which so often redeems the pages of our history from savage bloodshed and dull commonplace. In a word, it is the spirit of La Roche Jaquelein ; or, if you prefer it, of Flora Macdonald. You see it histori- cally in such men as Raleigh, Sidney, and Drake, in the Cavaliers, and sometimes even in the Puritans, of our civil wars ; and it meets you every day in that deep under-current of feeling ahd fancy, which tinges men of whom you would have thought the only cha- racteristic was strong common sense. I have been struck by this particularly in the Scotch ; and I find it in our people : in the tenantry, for instance, of a poor and rugged district iu North Wales, who lately offered and entreated that the aggregate ol their rents might be raised five hundred pounds, rather than that their farms should be sold away from their hereditary landlord. Such men might be at fault in Regent Street, and may be ridiculed in the Times ; but I shall never cease to thank heaven that they are my countrjTiien. It may however be said, " Admitting our friends the ancient Britons and their descendants to possess some respectable qualities, were not their virtues far XXX PREFACE. surpassed, or at least equalled, by the * Anglo-Saxon race, who are to inherit the earth ?' " This question may be answered not by any prejudiced Celt, but by the very lucid and graphic description of Hume. That cool-headed writer thus expresses himself in summing up the question : " With regard to the manners of the Anglo-Saxons we can say little, hut that they were in general a rude uncultivated people, ignorant of letters, unskilled in the mechanical arts, untamed to submission under law and government, addicted to intemperance, riot, and disorder. Their best quality was their military courage, which yet was not supported by discipline or conduct. Their want of fidelity to the prince, or to any trust reposed in them, appears strongly in the history of their later period, and their want of humanity in all their history."* Perhaps the reader would like another description of our Anglo-Saxon friends in their native country. It shall be extracted from Gibbon. " By a won- derful diversity of Nature, the same barbarians are by turns the most indolent and the most restless of mankind. They delight in sloth, they detest tran- quillity. The languid soul, oppressed with its own weight, anxiously required some new and powerful sensation ; and war and danger were the only amuse- * Hume, vol. i., last paragraph in the Appendix. PREFACE. XXXI ments adequate to its fierce temper. The sound that summoned the German to arms was grateful to his ear. It roused him from his uncomfortable lethargy, gave him an active pursuit, and, by strong exercise of the body and violent emotions of the mind, restored him to a more lively sense of his existence. In the dull intervals of peace, these barbarians were immoderately addicted to deep gaming and excessive drinking, both of which, by different means, the one by inflaming their passions, the other by extinguishing their reason, alike relieved them from the pain of thinking. They gloried in passing whole days and nights at table ; and the blood of friends and relations often stained their numerous and drunken assembUes."* Such was the social character of the invaders of Britain. Their mere brute courage no one wishes to deny. Now if they were the only ancestors of the people of England, we might make the best of the matter, and quietly say, their faults are not ours. Consider- ing, however, what they overthrew, their success can- not be considered otherwise than a great though a temporary calamity. Doubtless in the end such dispensations work for good. One happy result was a greater tendency towards a central government ; another was the refinement with which their rude masses were gradually leavened. The Normans and * Hist. Decl. vol. i. ch. 9. XXXli PREFACE. their Breton comrades in arms did much to strengthen the gentler blood, and to recal the elder civilization. The revival of old traditions, the names of Cymbeline and King Lear, the Romances of the Arthurian cy- cle, became the joint property of the regenerated nation. From that day to our own, the " Britannia capta" has become more and more, in peaceful fields, the " Britannia triumphans" over her fierce captor. Like in troubled waters the turbid foulness gradually subsides, so in the sea of many voices in which the rivers of our diverse races have mingled, the purer element has gradually reclaimed its own, A Mend once told me scoflfingly, that he had discovered all Englishmen to be Celts by the mother's side. He intended a sneer, but he ignorantly indicated a truth ; the gentler and nobler qualities have come from the elder race. Wherever English history is brightened by deeds of desperate and romantic daring, wherever loyalty, faithfulness, and affection stand out promi- nently from the page, we can either trace the exist- ence or suggest a fair probability of British blood. This circumstance seems to have partially struck the writer of a recent article in the Edinburgh Review, on Sir Francis Drake. No solution or account of the English character and literature, which omits all calculation of British influences, can be considered satisfactory. Genius, PREFACE. xxxiii In one sense, is of no country ; but yet our greatest minds, Shakespeare, Bacon, and Milton, are stamped with a certain character, which, whether the fruit of climate, or race, or government, or religion, is at all events of indigenous and insular growth. Nor, indeed, in the highest range of the intellect, any more than in the practical and political arts, has Great Britain been primarily the borrower fi'om Ger- many, but rather the lender. It needed all the influence of Wiclif in religion, and of Shakespeare in poetry, to awaken the heavy torpor of the Teutonic mind. Even Niebuhr, for whom my respect scarcely knows a limit, is by education and literary training as much an Englishman as a German. Too often, when the scale has been reversed, and we have allowed the German leaven to tell upon ourselves, we have learnt to our cost, that the mercenary cut- throats of the thirty years' war, the drunken passion of Frederic William I., and the licentiousness and coarseness of our native Hanoverian kings, are unsafe models for a nation which would not recede in all that adorns the society of mankmd. Whatever good is peculiarly distinctive of Great Britain, has been the hardy offspring of her native soil, though not unwatered by other than Germanic influences, and sharing the blue sky which is over all. It is not without painful reluctance that I ha^'e XXXiv PREFACE. forced myself to enter on a line of argument, which, to those who have not noticed the frequent provo- cation, will sound something like gasconade. I plead, however, the apology which has been suggested for Cicero, that he only asserted his own claims to honour, when they had been unfairly denied. Nor do I write without strong confidence, that if it were for a moment intended to create a spirit of vain- glorious boasting or sullen isolation even among the least considerate and most fanciful of my brother Cymry, their generally thoughtful and sober cha- racter would render such an effort in vain. Much- enduring patience, labour struggling with calm in- flexibility against obstacles, and even too ready an acquiescence in the hymns of Anglo-Saxon self- laudation, have been ever their characteristics, far rather than idle vaunting or eager response to the appeals of pseudo-Celtic demagogue. May their fault ever continue to be thus on the right side, rather than in the other extreme. Yet, as in the youth of Schiller, even Germany, now so justly jubi- lant in her revived sense of nationality, required to be stirred by his manly tones from thoughts of de- spondency and self-contempt, so I would fain bid my countrymen be of good and stedfast heart. Let no Welshman be induced to lessen the quiet and manly self-respect which befits the children of a people PREFACE. XXXV sometimes injured, and sometimes chargeable with human errors, but never utterly degraded. Still more, never let those who enjoy fortune, and educa- tion, and immunity from many temptations, impute to their less favoured countrymen and neighbours, as national sins, what are in very truth the mere effect of circumstance. This point I wish earnestly to urge. How often have I been fretted to hear some Londonized fop cry out against little homely provincialisms, as reasons for aifecting contempt of his countrymen — and still more deeply pained to see high churchmen, in whom the acknowledged evils of our dissent had produced a harsh and polemical feeling towards our common people as schismatics, instead of kind consideration for them as compatriots and Christians. On the first of these two classes argument would be wasted : to the second I respect- fully submit that any Christianity is better than none ; that for the prevalence of dissent, not the Welsh people, nor even our Church so far as she is purely national, but certain Anglican influences and con- ventionalisms, and the bad dealing of a cold and latitudinarian age, are primarily responsible. Most wonderfully, upon the whole, have our com- mon people wrought out their own remedy; or rather, our Divine Master by their chequered move- ments has awoke us to jealousy. The eloquence of XXXVl PREFACE. their ill- taught teachers, the earnestness of their faith, their general acquaintance with parts, at least, of the Bible, and above all the existence of a litera- ture in which quarrymen are authors, and such books as translations from Josephus form the literary food of petty farmers and peasantry, are sources of reflection in which the elements of bitterness are more than countei'balanced by those of healing. Evil undoubtedly co-exists, but let us not overlook the good. Nor for a moment let it be supposed that the infinitely petty larcenies and crimes, which to good people appear alarming features in some rural parish, are unparalleled elsewhere ; but be assured that human nature, when once removed from Eu- topia, does and will display in similar circumstances not very dissimilar results. Before you pass whole- sale condemnation on your neighbours for some petty fraud, or poaching, or drinking, or even pre- mature childbirth, test them not by romance, but by realities elsewhere. Enough however has been said to suggest the clue to my ideas for those of my immediate country- men who choose to follow it, and to redeem, I trust, my promise of justifying to the general reader the spirit in which mo6t of the following poems have been written. Fain would I have ended with the hope " vetcrum primordia rerum Atque marem strepitum fidis intendisse Britannae." PREFACE. XXXVU But, alas! when I consider the greatness of my object, and the miserable nothingness of these bald and disjointed essays in prose and rhyme, the old and sad avowal rather rises to my lips, " Dum relego, scripsisse pudet ; qma plurima cerno, Me quoque, qtii scripsi, judice, dignalini." Let some one abler undertake my work. In the mean time, may these attempts at least do no harm ; and on this score some good-natured critic will per- haps give me the pleasant consolation administered by a French priest to a repentant infidel, sighing over the injury his work might have inflicted on the interests of religion : " Reassure yourself, my son, the attack was very feeble ; it will soon be forgotten, and can do no harm." Other verses in the volume scarcely require pre- face. They are, for the most part, the genuine offspring of some real feeUng,* or at least some pass- ing imagination, rather than of a mere desire to write. Nor have the generality of them been written with- out some regard to the discipline of our art ; though with many I am, on reconsideration, too little sa- tisfied myself to expect warm approval from my * The reader, however, is requested to remember, if indeed he needs, a caution given elsewhere, against sup- posing that every poetical fancy or supposed reminiscence is necessarily personal. XXXVni PREFACE. readers. But if success in poetry is a feat for ex- traordinary praise, a tolerable failure can scarcely be so criminal as to deserve rude censure or affected contempt. The verses more immediately religious can, I trust, give offence to none ; though they are written with a plainness not unbefitting the subject and its ap- propriate expression, rather than shrouded in the reverential ambiguity which some might prefer. Upon the whole, I commit my book to its fate and the benevolence of its readers. First Fear his hand, Its skill to try, Amid the chords bewildered laid ; Then back recoiled, he knew not why, Even at the sound himself had made. Collins. " Doubt not, O Poet, but persist. Say, ' it is in me, and shall out.' Stand there, baulked and dumb, hissed and hooted ; stand and strive, until rage draw out of thee that dream-power which every night shews thee is thine own Thou must pass for a fool and a churl for a long season And this is the reward, that the ideal shall be real to thee."— Emerso.n. "In short, he was the very Don Quixote of nationality ; and his powers of lauding his beloved country seemed perfectly inexhaustible. ' Do not suppose, my dear Sir,' he proceeded, ' that my eyes are blinded by par- tiality for my native country. On my honour, I feel myself as free from national prejudices as it is possible to be. I see all the excellencies of other nations ; and admire the peculiar virtues of the Englishman, the German, the Swiss, the Italian, the Spaniard. Nevertheless I cannot help giving.. ..to France the palm'.. .. " — Henry Masterton. " Very homely done it is, 1 am well assured, if not very rudely : but it is hoped your majesty will not interpret the honour, merits, love, and affection of so noble a portion of your people, by the poverty of those who so imperfectly uttered it; you will rather for their sakes, who are to come in the name of Wales, my lord the prince, and the others, pardon what is past, and remember the country has always been fruitful of loyal hearts to your majesty, a very garden and seedplot of honest minds and men. "What lights of learning hath Wales sent forth for your schools ! what industrious students of your laws ! what able ministers of your justice ! Whence hath the crown in all times better servitors, more liberal of their lives and fortunes 1 whence hath your court or council for the present more noble ornaments or better aids? 1 am glad to see it and to speak it, and though the nation be said to be unconquered, and most loving liberty ; yet it was never mutinous, an' please your majesty, but stout, valiant, courteous, hospitable, temperate, ingenious, capable of all good arts, most lovingly constant, charitable, great antiquaries, religious preservers of their gentry and genealogy, as they are zealous and knowing in religion." — Ben Jonson. ERRATA. Page 54, line 1, jor Brenbyn read Brenhyn. ,, 92, ,, 17, /or this read his. ,, 151, ,, 1, the comma after come should be after rarter. ,, 170, In the Latin motto, /or venti read veriti. LAYS FROM THE CIMBEIC LYRE. THE BANQUET OF SALISBURY PLAIN. With open hand the Saxon came, And lured us with his daughter's smile — What knew we of the smouldering flame ? Woe, woe the time. We gave him place in Thanet isle. And linked with hand in fair accord, Too late we learnt the Teuton wile, Woe, woe the time. O simple Monarch,' keep thy sword ; But they have all their belts unbound. Four hundred Princes round the board ; Woe, woe the time. B THE BANQUET OF SALISBURY PLAIN. The blood-red wine, the mead go I'ound, Right soon a bloodier red shall shine ; " O harp, O harp 1 why fails thy sound? Woe, woe the time." The Harper broke his loftie line : " Now turn me, or I may not play, " Oh, turn me from that blood-red wine, " Woe, woe the time." " Now by the gods, thou Harper gray, " In blindness and in age thou ravest ;" They spoke with minds bereft of day. Woe, woe the time. " Demon, thy shadowye plume thou wavest, " My King, my Princes, own thy call, " Wilt thou not help them. Lord, who savest ? " Woe, woe the time.' The wine, the mead go round the hall, And merrilie the laugh is heard, Onlie the harps are silent all, " Woe, woe the time.' THE BANQUET OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 3 Fowler, why spare the captive bird ? Now is the night, the hour of slaughter, — Too late, ray countrymen, ye stirred. Woe, woe the time. Their generous lives are spilt like water, Their sceptre passed to foes abhorred, All for the Saxon's ' fair-haired daughter, Woe, woe the time. Onlie Caerloio's loftie lord Cleaving alone his corse-paved way, In ruin reared his vengeful sword. Woe, woe the time. As at his feet their bravest lay. Atoning for their treacherous crime. Well might the savage Monarch say — " Woe, woe the time I " B2 ( 4 ) IMITATION OF LLYWAKCH HEN.» Cold is the wintrie wind and wave, Forlorn the lightning-shattered tree ; But colder is my children's grave, And more forlorn my lot, ah me ! All nature mourns the throstle's song, Even the forlorn and blasted tree ; So for my children's voice I long. And all forlorn my lot, ah me ! Bright was the summer- shining sky. And verdant once the blasted tree ; So were my children brave and high, So was I happie once, ah me ! The summer sky will smile again. But ne'er shall spring the blasted tree ; My sons will in their grave remain. And still forlorn my lot, ah me ! aneirin's escape from cattraeth. The throstle will renew his song, Though not upon the blasted tree ; I for their voice in vain shall long, And still forlorn my lot, ah me. Nought but the axe or tempest's rage Shall visit now the blasted tree ; So for my wearie pilgrimage Nought but the grave remains, ah me ! ANEIRIN'S ESCAPE FROM CATTRAETH. " And bold Aneirin all bedripped with gore, Bursting by force from the beleaguered glen, Arrogant, haughty, fierce, of fiery mood. Not meek and mean, as Gay misunderstood." Whistlecrafl. We were left but three* in number, Onlie three who yet drew breath ; For they came upon our slumber. And they turned it into death. There our comrades lay around, Reeking fi"om the blood-red hand. We alone maintained our ground, 'Mid the Saxons' murderous band. aneirin's escape from cattraeth. Then cried Conan in his wrath, " If we die, Aneirin brave, " Let us drag along our path " Fellow victims to the grave." I had hastened to destroy, Ere he spoke his tavdie word. And I laughed with bitter joy. As I fleshed my hungrie sword. Though the English weapons flashed Like a flame around the glen, Headlong in the midst we dashed, And we quit ourselves like men. Then might alien mother weep. If we met her son in strife, Then the piercing sword drank deep From the inmost fount of life. Like the tempest-riven wood, Like the torrent-cloven wave. So their lances, as they stood. To our furie passage gave. THE CONSOLATION OF OWKN GWYNEDD. Till we blessed the happie light, As we reached the farther side ; We had broken through their might, We had trampled on their jn-ide. When we seemed in darkness lost, Thus our valour wrought us day, Through the hundred-handed host, Thus we clove our corse-paved way. THE CONSOLATION OF OWEN GWYNEDD. Erat aliquoil solatium in armis. Old Owen* in Digan wye's hall Lay darklie mourning for his son ; Like maniac rapt by ghostlie call. Or maid deserted and undone. In vain the minstrel swept the chord, And vain the priest's more solemn art ; No gentle smile, no friendlie word Could melt the iceband round his heart. 8 THE CONSOLATION OF OWEN GWYNEDD. A palsie, not of sickness born, A drunkenness, but not of wine, A wilderment of woe forlorn Lay on him like the wrath divine. Then asking help, and vengeance came A sufferer from the Norman power. With tale of rapine and of flame By robbers from Montalto's tower. There came a wakening o'er the King, There came a gleaming in his glance ; Then cried he, " Sound the gathering I" Then looked he on his sword and lance. " I see," the kindling minstrel cried, " The sword's quick stroke, the flame's fierce glare, " The taming of the tyrant's pride, " The wild wolf taken in his lair." Few words the old King deigned to say. And swift the host in silence trod ; Silent like plague upon its way. And swift like destined scourge of God. THE CONSOLATION OF OWEN GWYNEDD. Dark as the night around them cast, Full soon the battlement they scale, Then slept the centinel his last. Then woke the garrison to wail. The Norman, when the curfew rang, Foresaw not how his sleep would wake ; By shriller sound than trumpet's clang, And ruddier light than morning's break. Brave was Sir Guy, and proved in strife, Yet fell by Owen's mightier hand ; None in that hour had care for life, But slaked in blood his thirstie brand. Then from afar pale Chester saw The rolling flame, and crumbling wall ; Almost she heard in helpless awe The grinding sword and suppliant's call. So, when the spoiler's rod was broken. So, when the wild wolf's lair destroyed. The King returned, with vengeance wroken, And in bereavement grimlie joyed. ( 10 ) PRINCE MADOC^ AT SEA. The winds were wrath, and the tempest wild, And the frail bark rent by the billow ; The Prince looked fondlie where lay his child, And the rude surge foamed on his pillow : " Rest thee, my gentle boy. Rest thee, my bright-eyed joy, While the storm's rough music fill thy ear, Rest thee, my gentle boy, nor dream of fear. " Little thou carest in tranquil rest, Little dreadest the angrie wave, boy. Far better, oh ! better, beneath its breast I would see thy quiet grave, boy : For gentle were thy sleep Low in the pearlie deep, Far better than fall in tyrant's hand, Where the Saxon spoils our father's happie land.' PRINCE MADOC AT SEA. 11 Thou Tempest raving with harsh-toned sound, Hollow roaring \yind o'er his slumber, In lowering ruin and darkness round, In perils and griefs ^vithout number, Yet pleasantlie he fareth, My brave boy little careth For the winds' wild war, and thunder riven — Oh, spare his childhood, spare him, gentle heaven ! The night is dark, but the day will rise ; Let us go, where fortune may bear us, To happier lands, beneath brighter skies. Where the foe no longer may scare us : Then pleasantlie, my child, Thou'lt wander in the wild. Although fair Gwyneth's prince no more ; Rejoicing in the free untrodden shore. ( 12 ) THE GHOST OF THE LIVING. A LEGEND OF THE PENMAEN KOCKS. The morning rose, not wi'eathed in flame, Nor scattering roses as she came, With joyance round her form ; But gray clouds mantled o'er each giant limb, Anger sat gloomie on her features grim. And slumbering in her lap the storm. Then from Eternitie's abode, Two diverse spirits winged rode. Each on his rapid path ; This bright as light, clad like the silverie dove. That like Hell's hounds, who chase our souls above, Thwarting their heavenward way with wrath. Wondrous they clove the lonelie sky, And midway met in conflict high Alternate rose and fell : Like dark-blue hern and hawk in aerie strife. Fighting they flew ; and triumphed death or life As rose the scale of heaven or hell. THE GHOST OF THE LIVING. 13 Now by Montalto's war-swept tower Stooping to earth like fate they lower Above the slumberer's head ; Fitful liis sleep, now soft like heavenlie dew, Now rapked by feverish dream with death in view, In turn as those high pleaders sped. " Drops, not of wine, are on his hand. Cries, not for mercie, from the land Defiled with blood ascend : Look on this law divine, — this gives me power ; * Cursed the murderer;' I know my hour ; Nor calm his sleep, nor blest his end." *' And who art thou, who not of awe But malice wouldst avenge the law. Which needs no help of thine ? " — " What I am, little recks ; the day of doom May find me written in the scroll of gloom ; Yet now I wreak the wrath divine." *•' Triumph not, cruel, ere thy time ; Learn, that from Heaven to darkest crime Mercie holds out her hand : 14 THE GHOST OF THE LIVING. Learn, there are fountains, where the murderer's stain Is washed to virgin white, and God's own rain Clothes with fresh flowers the wintriest land," " What he, who poured out blood like water? What he, whose unrepented slaughter Still taints the pregnant gale? — Come out, thou guiltie soul, nor think to sleep ; Come at my potent call, and where the deep Heard wail thy victim, thou shalt wail. " Thou mayest moan in drunken woe ; Still must we both companions go, Mastered by accents high : Now have we reached the shore, the scene of death ; Here wander to and fro, here hold thy breath, Here catch again his dying cry." So walked he on the desert shore Along the rocks he stained with gore. Startling th' indignant foam ; Young men and old beheld the guiltie sprite. And nature wondered, how in midday Hght His suffering ghost was fain to roam. THE GHOST OF THE LIVING. 15 Oft have I heard the peasant tell, I low trembling in that stormie dell He saw the dark ghost stray : No answer made he to their wildered cry, No man by speed or wile could e'er draw nigh, Though open to the eye of day. But when the west was bx'ight with flame, And miner's nightlie labour came. Then was the enchantment riven ; Then to his jaded frame, unblest by sleep, The guiltie ghost went back, and murmured deep How, as men slept, strange dreams were given. But ever through his waking hours Mercie and love with all their powers Strove with his heart of stone : Terror went with them, filling vacant space ; And conscience to his eye brought back that place, Whispered his ear of that last groan. While ever strove that fervent spirit, Lest human justice might inherit Her sad though rightful prey ; 16 THE GHOST OF THE LIVING. Prayers from all Christian men he bore on high, And by the orphan's want, the widow's sigh. Forbade th' uplifted sword to slay. But with the morn came back the hour, The dark avenger knew his power To dry up slumber's dew : So for nine wearie years in sleepless woe The murderer's spirit mourned ; and moaning low Walked dailie where the sea-breeze blew. Not till began the tenth slow year, Wayworn and sad with manye a tear, Men saw a widowed form : " Help me," she cried, " my children as I lead To seek our kindred" — and as men gave heed. She paid them with her wondrous tale. It was a day of gloom and woe When Robert muttered, bending low, " My Marye, I must fly : Delay were death, — my parting must be broken ; But if thou e'er hast loved me, let my token Bring thee to follow love's strong tie." THE GHOST OF THE LIVING. 17 Scarcelie his last sad words were said, When on the scent, like bloodhounds, sped The ministers of law : I trembled like an aspen, when they told How fierce his reckless ire, how over-bold His red hand wrought that deed of awe. They cursed him in both Avorlds for ever ; " No shade could hide, no rolling river " Could deanse, or ample sea :" God help me if I sinned, but as I heard, Methought some outrage keen his soul had stirred, •For he was ever kind to me. So I went forth in dull alarm. One infant hanging on my arm, Another by my side : We asked no alms, — I durst not tell my tale ; But heaven was gentle ; and I ceased to wail, Once more when Robert I espied. By nightlie toil our bread he found In gloomie caverns underground, — That was his happiest time ; 18 THE GHOST OF THE LIVING. For when he seemed to sleep, all horrid dreams Preyed on his squI, and fitful fierie gleams Passed o'er his brow, deep stampt with crime. I did not dare to share his bed, For wondrous voices overhead Passed darklie to and fro ; And as I watched, there was a sound of wings, Dim signs of strife, like when the raven wrings His carrion from the hungrie crow. But in the year before he died, There came a pale-faced man, who cried Of wrath and doom for wrong ; No hireling he, who cons his lesson o'er. But God's own messenger, whose accents bore Hearts like a flowing tide along. And when in sad and altered mood Trembled the stricken multitude. His voice had gentler tone ; He told of love unquenched by manye waves. And of the Lamb of God, whose ofiering saves, Whose ears are open to our moan. THE GHOST OP THE LIVING. lU Unbroken like a rock, apart, Yet trembling from his inmost heart, Robert would sit and hear ; Then in strong prayer his lips would seem to move ; Then he shed blessed tears ; and hope and love Seemed mingled in his trance of fear. So he grew calmer day by day, And in his w^earie strength's decay Still cried for help divine : The priest grew paler as he heard his crime. And trembling left the house — but yet in time Gave him the blessed bread and wine. And when he died, I heard no more That dark dim conflict as before, Though sound of wings was there : Perchance I dreamt, but in my waking hour I felt strange whispered joy, and heavenlie power Seemed floating on the pregnant air. And when we rendered dust to dust, And heard how from the grave the Just Shall rise by God's behest ; C2 20 A BALL I asked the priest what lot his soul befell : Grave but not stern he said, " I cannot tell, " But hope his spirit has found rest." Calm went the widow on her way ; Nor ever from that golden day. The peasant on the lonelie shore Saw wandering ghost, or heard his fitful moan ; But rock-bound wave and wind reclaimed their own, And laughed in joyance as of yore. A BALL THE LAST NIGHT OF THE YEAB. While the crowded hall yet beams with light, And the fan- fair forms yet glide before me, While the hearts are glad, and the ej'es are bright, And enchantment dimlie hovers o'er me. Let the old year pass away — It has had its day — So in merrie mirth Let us see its end — Hurrah for the birth Of another, a happier friend ! THE LAST NIGHT OP THE YEAR. 21 Let the music quicker beat the air, And provoke the lingering step to dancing ; — Come and dance with me, my bright-eyed fair. Let us join the giddye maze entrancing ; Let me see thy beaming eyes While the old year dies ; Let me feel thy arm, Let me hear thy sigh ; In the power of thy charm I could bear with the year to die. But, alas ! I heard her soft words spoken, And they could not soothe the midnight hour ; I received of tender love the token. But my spirit would not own its power. The old year wiU not perish — It bids me cherish Dark thoughts that come thronging Of the hours gone bye. With a quenchless longing. And regret that will not die. Then arose the shades of all I 've lost. And of her whom once in vain I loved, 22 A bridegroom's song. And before my eyes the shadowie host Of remorse and dim remembrance moved. Let the dance and music cease — Give me quiet peace ; For in silence holie, Apart from all eye, And in melancholic, I would now see the old year die. A BRIDEGROOxM'S SONG. Now the blessed words are said, Now the sacred ring is given, Now the time of doubt is fled. Now we've reached our earthlie heaven: Let thy radiant beautye shine, And dry these tear-drops, Marye mine. Hang not on thy mother's arm, Look not for thy father's smile : Though in maiden's fond alarm Thou may leave them for a while, Am not I for ever thine ? Then dry tliese tear-drops, Marye mine. woman's choice. 23 I will be to thee a father, I will be to thee a mother, Look on me, and risk thou rather All on me than on a brother : Smile on me, my fairest bride, And care not for the world beside. Nothing shall our love alloy, Nothing shall our hearts dissever ; In our sorrow and our joy, Marye, we are one for ever; Come with me in joyful pride, And care not for the world beside. WOMAN'S CHOICE. " Sir Charles ended as poor as he began, but as spotless; leaving to his widow only the memory of his gentle virtues and the immortality of his warn?."— Quart. Rev. on Sir Charles Hell Ask the maiden, whether gold Glitters in her brightest dream ; Ask her, if she need behold Love with anye borrowed beam ? 24 woman's choice. No — she seeks a better treasure, Tells you of a truer charm, Dwells on some fond heart with pleasure, Reaching head, or manlie arm. Ask the wife, when cares surround her, Does affection's promise fail ? Would she change to whom she bound her. Soldier brave, or student pale. Could you bring what worldlings honour, Give her wealth and rank at will ? — No, by heaven, she leans more fondlie. Leaning helps her loved one still. Ask the widow, pale and lonelie. Bending to the grave her tread, Does she mourn that she has onlie Mem'rie of the worthye dead ? — " Go, and let me keep," she answers, " As in life, in death the same, " Let me keep his tender image, " And the glorye of his name." ( ^o ) THE HALL OF THE NATIONS, The Sun behind the snowie Alps went down, And sjjarkles from his chariot-wheel of fire All o'er the tinted hills and sky were thrown, While gazed the lingering eye with fond desire. Yet not for all the pomp of mountain hoarie, Nor that fair" lake which slept in calm delight, Nor olive green, and waving palm-tree's glorie, Could aught arrest my wandering thought and sight. Even from that famous lake and shore of gold My wayward heart to Cambria fain would roam, To her, who was my mother, where of old Valour and Faith and Freedom found a home. And I was pining for my own green land, And wondering should I sleep upon her shore, And mourning, ere a garland from my hand Could deck her brow, that I should be no more. 26 THE HALL OF THE NATIONS. And as I wept in passionate emotion, And dreams came sweeping o'er me like a storm, Behold, like cloud arising from the ocean, Of more than human majestic a form. " And who art thou," with fearless awe I cried, " Who art alive, but not with mortal life, With human shape, but more than human pride. Whose ruling glance can calm my spirit's strife ? ' " Know me for Merlin," ' he replied, " of old Famous and honoured in thy father's land. The wild diviner, who to Arthur told How Victorie should gild his starrie brand. " And since of old a boy by Vyrniew's stream I saw thy young heart free from selfish aim. And fondlie yearning in poetic dream, To wake once more the harp of Cambrian fame ; " Therefore I come, permitted, from my place Where I shall dwell until the dreadful day. And will unroll the fortunes of thy race, Teaching thee yet a high mysterious lay." THE HALL OF THE NATIONS. 27 " Yet say, great Prophet — I must ask in dread, Wert thou not fast by faerie magic bound ; Or are the minstrels false, who feign thy bed, Confined by Viviane's'" wile in cell profound ? " " They knew not of the power of Merlin's spell, Who dreamt," he answered, " I should be for ever Bound in the magic of that flowerie cell ; For I have might all fetters to dissever ; " And I can move at will o'er land and wave, Shrouding in aerie robe my viewless head : But gladlier far I dwell beyond the grave. And hold high converse with the mightie dead. " Arthur is there, with all his knightlie throng, And Liowarch found upon that heavenlie shore The children whom his age deplored in song ; No sword nor billowie deep shall part them more. " And there too are the great of elder storie, Hector, the hope of Troy, with wife and child ; Beside the mightier Greek, whose perfect glorie No more is dimmed, all anger reconciled. 28 THE HALL OF THE NATIONS. " Sparta's Three Hundred brave, with laurel crown, And lost Platsea's children tower sublime, And he whose fierie valour trampled down The Persian pride, and ruled the Orient clime. " There too the Spirits cast in Roman mould, Caesar, who saw and conquered as he came, Fabius and Scipio, and Camillus old, Joined with the last free Roman's soul of flame. '< From gentle France to Britain reconciled Great Charles is there, and Roland's flashing star ; The gartered Edward, Henrie, Monmouth's child, And Marlborough, lord of courtesie and war. " Great Cromwell's spirit, dark no more with crime. Is pardoned for the royal blood he shed ; Onlie his loftie fame has conquered time. The gloomie wrinkles from his brow are fled. " But of the mightie band in light arrayed None have surpassed our long-lost Arthur's fame ; He sits above the rest, and high displayed Are all the wondrous triumphs of his name. THE HALL OF THE NATIONS. 29 " From him flowed all the stream of fair Romance, And Chivalrie disdained the tyrant's rage ; His Eght illumined those high Peers of France, And dwelt on wild Ariosto's living page. "And near him Milton" strikes the harp divine. The blind old man renowned, of British blood, And Shakespeare utters now a loftier line, The Bard who dwelt by Cimbric Avon's flood. •' Nor less are heard inspired with fire sublime Our own true bards in azure-mantled train, Mightie and wild in song, though war and time Have left small trace of their prevailing strain. " We reck not of the silver-footed hours. Which glide unheeded in those mansions fair, Dwelling serene 'mid amaranthine bowers. Immortal music floating on the air. " No tear, or sound of mourning enters there, Nor pain, nor tediousness of pining age, Except for helpless men a pitying care ; Therefore I now unroll great Historie's page." 30 THE HALL OF THE NATIONS. He spoke, and lost in wonder at his tale I gladlie followed, and at length it seemed, As if a gate of cloud and shadow pale Had opened at his order, and I deemed. That we had entered in the hollow ground, And we were passing underneath the wave. And saw the treasures of the deep around. And dark-haired Nereids in their pearlie cave. Until at last we reached an ample space. Where shadowie forms and dismal spirits wandered. And Merlin, gazing on my wildered face, Saw that in dizzie wonderment I pondered. " Be not amazed," he said, " nor sink with fear, For soon this twilight dim thy mortal eyes Will apprehend, and I will render clear The vale of death, and all its mysteries. " Lo at the end, the raanie-voibed hall Of nations and of tongues who yet survive ; And here in twilight thou beholdest all The elder of the earth, no more alive." THE HALL OP THE NATIONS. 31 Spii'its were seen enthroned, with pallid gleam, O'er bones in darkness mouldering, piled on high, While dimlie stalked, like phantoms of a dream, Echoes and shades of old, with toneless cry. There were the old Assyrian lords of earth, Whose towering pride would fain have climbed to heaven ; And there that elder race, of Indian birth, Whose names are like the leaves at random driven. The busie pomp of Ninus and of Tyre, The realms that bowed to dim Palmyra's sway, Their Avisdom, love, and hate, and wild desire, All in that land of dark oblivion lay. And there were Realms, of which we never heard, Whose glorious noon before our morning shone ; Their names none know, theii' relics are interred ; But we shall meet before the Judgment Throne. 32 THE HALL OF THE NATIONS. Why should I linger in the place of gloom, Where only Ruin lived a life of death ? Pass on, Aonian power, to that high Room, ^Vhere all the nations dwell who yet have breath. Like some proud pier, that malgre tempests' shock Encroaches on the Ocean's fretting tide, So were its strong foundations, bound in rock Of earth's primeval granite, formed to bide. The ample arc of entrance o'er me towered, Higher and more majestic than the shade. Where ancient elm and chesnut have embowered The modest beautie of aiitumnal glade. But when I entered, and beheld the place, Mute Avith admiring awe I shrank aside ; Such majestic was there, — dull air and space Impregnated and full of breathing pride, From Beautie's inspiration, — Beautie there With grandeur joined ; and as I gazed around, Methought " I was a dwarf, and scarce might dare To hear in that high hall my footstep sound. THE HALL OF THE NATIONS. 33 No one may ever dream upon this earth To see its equal, though on manie a shore He roam with pilgrim's melancholic mirth, Pondering in ruins on the great of yore. Poor were the art of Greece in all her pride, And monuments of old imperial Rome, And e'en that temple fair on Granta's side, Where many a muse has found congenial home. So I demurelie trod the solemn way, And lo ! by each high column at its base Each nation's genius sat, in due array. Sceptred and crowned, like king on day of grace. And round about the pedestals there played The children of the tribes of reasoning men ; Pigmie they seemed, as flies in summer shade. Or emmets building in the sunnie glen. There was the ancient loveliness of Greece, Awaking from a dark and troubled dream ; Her sword in myrtle clad and golden fleece Once more a tale of living glorie seen. D 36 THE HALL OF THE NATIONS. Yet was, methought, upon her loveKe face A shade that crossed her newlie-risen joy : Sad shame it seemed, that all her godUke race Should own the sceptre of barbarian boy. But she who ruled at will the Western shore, Lay half reclined in majestic forlorn, Her lictors fled, her Consuls' rule no more. Her laurel garland shed, and rudelie torn. Yet was an iron crozier in her hand, Instead of sceptre, and the twilight gray Shewed her like giant phantom, dimhe grand, With paUid shadow of imperial sway. There beamed a heavenlie lustre round her throne. But earthlie clouds and superstition's gloom Polluted and abused it, and it shone Like ray in charnel-house of wrath and doom. Her ministers of dark and subtle head Summoned the eager nations to their mart, And offered precious pearls, but gave instead Tinsel and glass disguised with cunning art. THE HALL OF THE NATIONS. 35 " Great is her guilt," said Merlin as I gazed, " For while of manie sisters she was one, Whose equal light should o'er the world have blazed, And like the several stars harmonious shone, " Waxing in pride she reared her statelie power. And stretched her hands ambitious to the sky, Bidding her elder sisters lowlie cower. And own dominion wrested from on high. •' Hence burnt the war of tyrant and of slave. The martyr's stake, the persecutor's wiles ; And that dark chasm was made, like yawning grave. Which rent the fair communion of the isles. '' And she has mixed with perishable clay The uncombining gold of heavenlie birth, And clothed in passion's blind distorted ray The truth inherited by common Earth. " Manie there are who still endure the chain, And love to tread the seven ambitious hills. Drinking of cisterns foul with earthlie stain. Sooner than Sion's pure unfaiUng rills. D2 34 THE HALL OF THE NATIONS. " Child of ambition, nursling of the night, Her power shall live its brief allotted time. But soon will shrink from noonday's fiercer light, And dwindle in the blaze of truth sublime. " Else, if she still retain her lawless throne, Ruin must do reluctant heaven's command ; Her living Lord and Dread will claim his own, And sweep his garner clean with fierie hand. *' E'en now behold her fetters cast away. Where dwells in purer light the Island Queen, Teaching the nations with humaner sway. With brow and smile of majestie serene." I turned, and wielding in her hand the storm, Britannia's giant figure rose in view, On amber throne, and round her awful form The Genius of the deep his girdle threw. The dragon'^ and the lion couching low Fawned, till she deigned their dreadful rage to wield; Calmlie she smiled, like dread Minerva's brow. When sleep the terrors of the Gorgon shield. THE HALL OP THE NATIONS. 37 And at her side in sisterlie embrace Were two fair daughters, each like noble queen ; Equal in rank the third, nor less in grace, Yet sate apart, with half averted mien. The elder of the two and fairer far, Was robed in melancholie beautie's charm, Yet with eternal youth, like radiant star. Unscathed she seemed by time or warlike harm. Chieflie on her th' obedient dragon fawned, To her alone of living creatures tame ; For her of old his jaws terrific yawned, And with the wolf* had wao-ed a strife of flame. 'O^ The younger sister was of ruder port, And somewhat fiercelie beamed her eye of pride ; By force she came — but now in gentle sort All strife and enmitie were laid aside. Her sons were large of limb, and void of grace. With greedie eyes on gain and lucre bent ; But dailie mingling with the elder race, In nobler harmonic their features blent. 38 THE HALL OF THE NATIONS. E'en like a cloud, the offspring of the north, In lowering grandeur passes on its way, And for a while, like tempest coming forth. Its gloomie shade obscures the orb of day. But soon amid the realm of golden light Its sullen brow receives another hue, Like some fayre castle reared with colours bright, Burnished it glows amid the vaulted blue. " Now," cried the great Enchanter at my side, " Learn why the Pagan host with ruin came ; Not all in vain our British heroes died, And brutal Teutons wrapt the land in flame. " Brave in the field and gentle in the hall. Our fathers wanted common league and lord ; Hence to the stranger came'* the fatal call. And Discord laid them open to his sword. " So was the great design ordained in Heaven, To bind the island tribes in fair accord. And from the elder race with nobler leaven Impregnate all the rude Teutonic horde. THE HALL OF THE NATIONS. 39 " Behold the bhie-eyed Goths of yellow hair Wake to the power of fancie and of song ; The elder Briton's inspiration fair Has filled the nation's many-voiced throng. " And from their mingling blood a people springs, For arts and arms and manliness renowned : Hark! how their fame o'er Earth and Ocean rings, And lo ! their brows with living garland crowned. " Hast thou not heard how Alfred caught of yore The wisdom dropped from Asser's '" golden tongue ; How there he heard of Moelmad's kinglie lore, And at the sage's feet his harp he strung ? " Are not the glories of the Tudor reign By Memorie's daughters consecrated still ? Does not that queenlie speech on Tilburie's plain Through British hearts like sound of trumpet thrill ? " And clustering round her constellated throne Valour and wisdom beamed with song divine ; Heirs of immortal mind, whose names have shone With light that streamed from Glorie's inmost shrine. 40 THE HALL OF THE NATIONS. " Who shall dare take the sceptre she has swayed ? Who shall not dim the lustre of her crown ? Ah ! not the feeble race, the self-betrayed, Whom soon " our great Usurper hurtled down. " Not that I praise the violated law. Or sacred rulers deem a \ailgar thing ; But when the mightie Criminal I saw, Who would not bow to Nature's mental king ? •o " SternUe serene he silenced Britain's foes, And quenched the Alpine persecutor's fire ; While meet companion at his side arose, Milton, with thunder breaking from his lyre. " Nor thou, hoar Learning, in thy cloistral awe. Forget thy mitred patron, Penhryn's cliild ; True to his king, yet faithful to the law, 'Mid fiercest factions calm, and undefiled. " Let slanderous "* bigots trample on his tomb, Though Britain wept, and Heaven'' avenged his fall; Learning, and Faith, and Freedom moan his doom. Nor shines a purer name in Glorie's hall. THE HALL OF THE NATIONS. 41 '• Rude was of old the wealth of civic pride, 111 Britain's miglitier Rome, now dear to Fame ; Till from the lonelio Conwy's''" rugged side, Genius and art with bold Inigo came. " Nor less does she who erst Inigo fired. Kindle with breath divine our Gibson now ; The verie marble speaks, with power inspired By Arvon's dark-eyed child of ample brow. •' But who would dwell in palaces of gold, And breathe pale Luxurie's infected air, While Thames alone polluted waters rolled, And Thirst was fain with Plague its realm to share? " Naiads, who dwelt afar in rural vale. Not loth ye heai"d our princelie Merchant's prayer, And from your crystal urns, which never fail, Ye bade your waves obey his guiding care. " He spent the treasured fruit of manie a year. And poor once more to Cambria's hills he came ; But calm in dignitie, without a tear. Trusted his high reward to heaven and fame. 4-2 THE HALL OF THE NATIONS. " And last of all, when underneath the yoke All Europe lay, and hugged the Gallic chain, Then, as of old, Britannia's Genius woke, And sent our second Arthur to the plain. Happie the land from which his mother sprang ! Happie the mother who had skill to form Wellesley, whose fame o'er all the Orient rang, And him our champion in the angrie storm ! " Say, where was then the Teuton's vaunting pride ? Gasping and trampled into dust they lay, WhUe o'er them France rolled wild her fierie tide. Till God bade Britain rise, the plague to stay. " Nor shall his comrade want the soldier's tear, Heroic Picton, Cambria's genuine son ; Britannia saw afar his laureate bier, And deemed herself in victorie undone. " Full raanyc a gallant heart of Cambrian seed In that stern contest guarded Freedom's shrine, Beside the kindred Gael, whose blazoned deed Needs not the help of feeble harp like thine. THE HALL OF THE NATIONS. 43 " Nor these alone are ours, but manye a name Of England's noblest, mightiest, wisest, best ; E'en those who reared her pinnacles of fame, Of Britain's genuine seed, though scarce confest. " We shared in Talbot," that grim lord of war. Whom thunderstricken France saw flashing dread. And statelie Pembroke's line, whose name afar, The mirror of all chivalrie, is spread. " Hence were inspired those rude and churlish foes With gentle courage and chivalrie fire, And hence unconquerable Freedom rose. Teaching the heart undaunted to aspire. " Therefore, behold the everburning flame. By that dark^ beautie of the statelie mien ; This is the symbol of her living fame, Burning as long as she remain a Queen. " Others may see their flickering relic perish. But hers is like the solar lamp on high ; And from her living fount she deigns to cherish Her younger sister's light, lest that should die. 44 THE HALL OF THE NATIONS. " But hark ! upon the air a floating spell, The murmur of an old majestic tongue, Even that of bards and kings ; — now listen well. And learn what sounds of old o'er Britain rung." So then I listened, and I seemed to hear A loveliness that only lived in sound, A voice of melodie as deep and clear As ever thrilled on old enchanted ground. " I am the Angel" of that ancient river Of liquid speech, that from the Orient wild Thro' all the West has flowed ; whose sound has never Dwelt save with faith and valour undefiled. " Now my coeval sisters all are gone, Those godlike tongues of Greece and martial Rome, Why should I linger on this earth alone, And not re-seek my dim and ghostlie home ? " Onlye a moment, e'er I turn to dwell In that dark realm where all things are unknown, Fondlie I stay where Britain cherished well. And loved the music of my statelie tone. THE HALL OF THE NATIONS. 45 " I have exclaimed in childhood's laughing hour, I have been sanctified by prayer of old, Breathed all the love of woman in its power, And thundered stern defiance from the bold. " Therefore I trust in those dear hills to stay, While yet the old simplicitie remain ; But when ancestral virtue shall decay, Then must be ended all my ancient reign. " And yet, e'en then, though England may not deem, Traces will live in manye a glorious name, In ancient town, and hill, and winding stream. And all the places best beloved by Fame." These were her words — and when she finished, still A fading sweetness lingered in the air, The ghost of murmured sound, whose qui\'ering thrill Seemed ministering music to Despair. Deep rapt awhile I stood in tearful pride. And mourned that loftye language soon must end ; Nor far remote upon the other side I saw that gentle Queen, our ancient friend, — 46 THE HALL OF THE NATIONS. Even Thee, O gallant France, on whose dear soil I never tread without exulting frame ; Most courteous Foe, with whom our frequent broil Has but entwined our mutual wreaths of fame. Who has not read of death-defying deed. And desperate prowess wrought with lance and shield, \Vhen fierie Frank and Breton, once thy seed, Isle^ of the mightie, met thee in the field ? Since then the whirlwind storm with wing of night Stooped on the land in ruinous career ; But tranquil law, and Freedom's joyous light Chased forth the ministers of wrath and fear. And now, like bright Apollo, all divine. She seemed for ever lovelie, ever young; — Shine on, I cried, dear land, for ever shine. And spurn the slanders dropt from Gothic tongue ! Still may thy happie children i-ound thy throne Be blest with innocence and honest smile. Nor ever may the trumpet's harsher tone Wake them to war against our Father's isle. THE HALL OF THE NATIONS. 47 Still " with thy native valour rule the land, And let Britannia's navie sweep the sea ; No anarch rude, no tyrant shall withstand That union of the gallant and the free. And by thy side, in sisterlie embrace. Be linked the dwellers of the Belgic shore : Thanks be to heaven, that old and gentle race Have spurned the yoke of Holland's sullen boor ! Nor less that statelie ladye^" of the West, Whom not a thousand foes have trampled down : Her freedom wrought, she doffs her bloodie vest, And twines her raven locks with olive crown. There too I lingered, where the cunning throne Of Teuton despot mocks the swelling waves. And heard the stolid People's ^ borrowed tone, Prating of freedom, yet for ever slaves. They may have virtues which 1 do not know. They may have vices which I will not trace ; At least I speak them fair, like honest foe. Though manye a Goth has slandered Britain's race. 48 THE H.iLL OF THE NATIONS. But there was One^ of all the forms I saw, Whose place no longer knew her as of old ; Stricken and scathed, yet more than mortal awe Hung round the outcast wanderer from her fold. The distant murmur of Siloam's wave Haunted her ears with unforgotten tone, And everie breeze that blew, to fancie gave The rustling sound of odorous Lebanon, With restless step she wandered to and fro, Casting sometimes her pallid glance on high ; And now with timid start she gazed below. Trembling, and hoping her deliverance nigh. • Her lamp had dwindled to a flickering spark, Which yet seemed fed by gales of heavenlie breath ; Since never sanguine shower, or tempest dark. Could quench its light, or work its utter death. " Red is the wine," the great Diviner cried, " Which she has drank of the Almightie's wrath, Nor yet has mercie flashed, to scare aside The gloomie phantoms brooding o'er her path. THE HALL OF THE NATIONS. 49 " Yet will it shine in its appointed hour, Watching e'en now o'er Sion's hallowed hill ; Since sure the promise of Eternal power, Though for awhile unseen, abiding still. " All other things may flourish or may fade, Catching a moment's light, then lost in gloom ; Castle and throne dismantled and decayed, And realms and nations sinking in the tomb. " Forests, whose rock-bound roots defied the storm, Cleft by the slow assault of ages, bend : And loftiest pride and power, and manliest form, To dark oblivion's chamber surelie tend. " But there are flowers whose fi-agrance after death Floats on the breezes of eternitie. Wafting on high their amaranthine breath, Where heroes dwell in pure felicitie. " Valour, ill-fated, may be trampled dowTi, And faith be tried by sword and sevenfold fire ; But, generated still by their renown. There glows a spirit never to expire. E 50 THE HALL OF THE NATIONS. " Therefore our old Britannia is not dead, Nor all her godlike sons of mightie birth ; But from her pure heroic seed were bred Our freedom and our laws, the pride of earth, " Now then, farewell ! and still, if thou art wise, Eeverence our sires, the gentle and the bold; Nor e'en on English soil neglect to prize The genuine relics of our great of old." He spoke ; and on my eyes a darkness threw, Leading me swiftlie as he led before : And when again the earth regained I knew. Silent I trod the dark and lonelie shore. ( 51 ) THE DEATH OF LLEW-ELYN. " Arm for your hearth and home — arm, arm !" The multitudinous alarm Went out upon the breeze ; A murmur o'er the mountains, An echo from the fountains, It has thrilled among the trees, With a horror and a shiver, Like the trembling and the quiver Prophetic of a storm. Then on the darling form Of wife or child in slumber mild , Silent and stern the Briton gazed, Till wildlie from his bright eye blazed The ecstasye of wrath — " Shall Ruin make its path, " lied with uiy infant's blood, " Where my ancestral dwelling stood ? " By mountain rather and by sky " I swear, and by the Powers on high, El' 52 THE DEATH OF LLEW-BLTN. " We bow not to an alien lord, " While yet my single arm " Can wield my father's sword, " While yet my best heart's blood is warm !"- Brief was the stern and fond caress, And few the words of tenderness ; Nor yet had risen earlie day. When destitute of fear The gallant mountaineer Is marching on his warlike way. Proud was Llew-elyn's princelie glance, When, gazing on the freeborn band, He saw their numerous ranks advance All linked in patriot heart and hand Hark ! how the Earth of numerous tread Has echoed well the measured strain : The clang of arms and trampled plain Has pierced the mansions of the Dead. Thou hast heard it, where thou dwellest, Merlin, in thy cell profound ; Thou hast heard it, and thou tellest To the mightie all around, THE DEATH OF LLEW-ELYN. 53 How soon the Harp shall call to weep, How soon its chords be smeared with blood, And all its old melodious flood Unmurmuring lie in cold and iron sleep. They know not of the coming gloom, They reck not of the fatal doom : And thou, of all our Royal line Dearest, and last ill-fated child, Thou gavest to the air thy sign, Our legendarie Dragon wild, And thrilled upon their hearts thy cry, — My children, by our Countrie's call, Our fame, our freedom, and our all, Once more we conquer, or we die ! — They hastened to the ancient stream To bar the passage of the Foe : They heard not in their warlike dream. How all its murmurs were of woe, How sad and languid crept the mourning Wye, And spirits from the breeze gave back the sigh. Come from the cloudie horror-brooding sky, Come to the carnage, dark-winged Raven, 54 THE DEATH OF LLEW-ELYN. Of old rejoicing at the Brenbyn's cry, Ye ate the flesh of Saxon craven. — I saw upon the river-arching span The mingling of the adverse band ; I trembled when the iron fever ran From heart to heart and hand to hand. It was the raging of the Ocean, And the burning of the flame, When on the Cambrian host in motion Horse and lance of England came ; Hastie Wrath and wild Alarm, Flashing Sword and failing Arm, Deep-breathed Rage and sullen Gloom, Blows and deadlie wounds were there, Triumphant clamour, fatal doom. And all the manlie muteness of Despair. But where, oh ! where is Britain's shield. Where is the lion-hearted lord ? Oh ! why are wanting in the field Llew-elyn's arm, Llew-elyn's sword ? Oh, woe I deceived by foul accord. My Prince, my King, deceived and sold. THE DEATH OF LLEW-ELYN. 65 Within the wood,. upon the sward, Thou waitest for perfidious friend, Oh, woe I most gentle and most bold ! Oil, woe ! that I must weep thy shameful end ! Hark I 't was a hollow coming sound, — Nay, 'twas the rustling of the breeze: Hark ! it is now the beaten ground By hastie foot among the trees — 'Twas but a messenger who came : " Lord of my heart, upon the bridge " We combat like devouring flame, " Or like the storm on mountain ridge." Saw ye the Brenhyn's open brow, Heard ye his calm reply ? " I trust full well my people's vow, " That on the place I bade them hold, " Ever faithful, ever bold, " They conquer, or they die !" The messenger is gone, And for perfidious friend Llew-elyn waits alone : Oh, woe ! that I must weep his shameful end I 56 THE DEATH OF LLEW-F.LYN. Hark ! 'tis a hollow coming sound, — Nay, 'twas the rustling of the breeze : Hark ! it is now the beaten ground By hastie foot among the trees. Oh, Heaven ! behold the alien host — Behold the treacherous alien lance : All is over, all is lost ! They triumph in his proud despair ; And knowing well the unarmed lair, The bloodhounds on their prey advance. Be silent, Harp . Ah ! well I know The slave who slew him turned aside. And trembled as he dealt the blow : For Saxon churl could never brook The hghtning of Llew-elyn's look. The smile of long-descended pride, And glance that flashed from dauntless eye, — " With honour I have lived, with honour will I die!" O wail for Gwyneth's hope and pride, Wail bittcrhe for Gwyneth's shield : THE DEATH OF LLEW-ELYN. 57 Who now shall stem the iron tide ? Who now the Cimbric sword shall wield ? — Break into woe, ray wailing Telyn, Thy joy must perish with Llew-elyn : Mightie in the battle roar, Gentle in the combat's end, Spiller of the foeman's gore, Lavish of the mead to friend. Stretched on the cold damp ground he lies, While gloomie foes are gathering near ; No friendlie hand to close his eyes. No solemn joy from awful sound Of Priest in prayer absolving near : Death's shadow darkens o'er his bj'ow, Unearthlie, overwhelming fear Compels the princeUe heart to bow : For unanointed, unannealed. Proscribed by many a bitter doom, Llew-elyn dies with sin unhealed, Curst by th' anathema of Rome. Cheer thee, my Prince, be strong in death, And tranquil pass thy gallant breath ! Defender of thy Land and Throne, Though curst by ministers of fraud, 58 THE DEATH OP LLEW-ELY>r. While Cambria's vengeful foes applaud, Thou passest to the world unknown, Most lonelie in thy last dark hour, Our God Almightie be thy stay I Nor England's gold, nor Rome has power To bar thee from the realm of day. What, ai*e all the harp-strings broken ? Have not Britannia's mightie perished ? Where shall I bear the bardic token Of faith and true affection cherished ? — The wind upon the caverned hill, His azure robe defiled and torn. And waters of the lonelie rill Have heard dark GrifBthe call to mourn : Behold the glance of fond desire, And hoarie locks at random streaming ! And now the wild Aonian fire Breaks from his trance of anguish, beaming ! Lo, how the waves enchanted stay, And listening winds have loitered on their way, And from their golden thrones on high The starrie Angels for a moment bend, THE DEATH OP LLEW-ELTN. 59 To hear the bard's prevailing cry, Harmonious wail for high Llew-elyn's end. I saw the Saxon lances flash, I heard the falling axe's crash, And silent is the lone abandoned hill ! O say, dark Wielder of th' eternal sword, Say, who beheld that massacre abhorred, Why slept the fiery-winged lightning still ? — Yet never, never in our darkest night, Even when the bardic spell Powerless in slaughter fell, Never was quenched the free-born Spirit's might. For, though, since Bosworth's righteous field. We bow to Tudor's royal child, And one fair hand the sceptres wield Of both our countries reconciled. Still are we free and firm as ever ; Still shall the ancient Cambrian river Have honour in the mingling Ocean. And haplie, 'mid our foes of old. Some gentle heart in fond emotion May not disdain our fair ancestral pride, But sigh to hear the storie told Of those who brave and true in fight unequal died. ( 60 ) THE THREE RINGS. A LEGEND OF MALLWYD IN MEKIONETHSHIBE. Brooding and stern th' Enchantress sate ; Her royal hall seemed desolate : Yet was the Ladye not alone ; Although no child of man was there, Obedient hovered round her throne Spirits and ministers of air. The lowering cloud was on her brow, The fire of hatred in her eye : " Since then," she mused, " he will not bow, " The man who scorns my love must die. *' Now haste, thou darkest of the throng " Who flit obedient to my spell ; " By secret rite and binding song, " By all the power thou knowest well, " Spirit of Vengeance, haste and fly, " Haste, ere the time allowed expire — "Why should I name him? He must die, " Withered like threads of flax by fire." THE THREE RINGS. <)1 She spoke, and turned aside her face, Where pride was struggling with her shame, And there was silence for a space, Until again the Spirit came. Even like the faint unearthlie quiver Of music, as it dies away, But yet with horror's creeping shiver I seemed to hear the Spirit say — ■ " I have gone, I have striven " To fulfil thy command, " And I gazed on thy foe, " But I dealt not the blow, " For there had not been given " Such power to my hand. " There are Three mightie Rings " In their circle have bound him, " There's a shadow that flings " Its protection around him : " Though I know not its nature, " And I heard not its name, " Yet, I ween, noxious creature " Ne'er could pass o'er the same." 62 THE THREE RINGS. " Go again, Spirit, go, " Strive again. Spirit, strive, " Nor return, while tliy blow " Yet have left him alive." Again the Spirit went, Again the Spirit came, Before the Ladye bent His phantom shape of flame : " Ladye, I conjure thee, " Send me not again ; " Ladye, I assure thee, " Effort is in vain : " There is a wall I may not pass, " There is a space I may not tread, " A wall more firm than triple brass, " A space more sacred than the Dead. " Though we may brave the wrath divine, " And lower fall than erst we fell, " No power of ours, no power of thine " Shall e'er prevail by might or spell. " Even in the Holiest name on high " He laid him down to sleep. OLBINIA. 63 " And flaming myriads from the sky " Their watch around him keep. " He spoke three Names I dare not speak, " Three names of mercie, three of power, — " These form a wall, which none may break, " More firm than adamantine tower." The fallen Spirit told his tale, And went upon his path of air ; While thou, Enchantress, doomed to fail. Hast found thy spells o'ercome by Prayer. OLEINIA. IN IMITATION OF THE ATYS OF CATULLUS. The young bright-eyed Oleinia, far the fairest maid of Wales, On all the wings of hope was borne from her pa- ternal vales ; Her heart beat high, and wandered wild her glances o'er the town. When first with greedie step she trod the modern Babylon ; 64 OLEINIA. There idlye wandering all astray and rapt in giddye dream, Slie plunged, alas ! in Pleasure's depth, and floated down the stream : So when she found her honor robbed, and lost her virgin name, And heard in all the silent air the still small voice of shame, Her snow-white hand in frenzye seized on Pleasure's idle lyre, Thy lyre, O fatal Siren, thine, that panders to desire ; And deftlie moving bright with gems her white and sparkling hand, She wildlie poured the thrilling lay amid the drunken band — " Oh, wake, my bright companions, wake and come ! oh, come along. And crowd to Pleasure's banquet high, with gay light-hearted throng ! For not to gloomie churls I speak, by sullen Dutie bound, But Joy's light-hearted band, who send the festive bowl around : OLEINIA. 65 My friends, who all have dared, like me, to banish thoughts of gloom, And hearing Pleasure's call, have laughed to scorn the Priestlie doom, Break into choral joy ; awake the wildlie-numbered song, AAvay with doubt and dull delay, and join the laugh- ing throng. To tread the soft luxurious hall, where dreamie pleasures dwell, And now the music melts away, and now its numbers swell ; Where manye a distant eountrie's child, and manye a foreign art Have woven soft the witching spell to lull the wanton heart ; We"]] tread the pleasant dance's maze, and crown our Ijrow with flovvers, And cliange the varied note of joy through all the varying hours : And there we'll wander at our will in ecstasie's career, Oh, come and let us hasten there, oh, haste, companions dear !" 66 OLEINIA. With greedie ear they drank the sound that fell from Pleasure's slave, And all with sudden frenzye caught the signal which she gave : Broke out the stirring trumpet's sound, the cymbal answered high, And hurrying on to Pleasure's hall, they sped with choral cry. There, lyre in hand, Oleinia moved, her beaming eyes on fire, Wandering in frenzye, reft of sense, and panting with desire ; Like some young fawn in graceful sport careering o'er the mead. She led the band that followed fast with wild and frantic speed. So there they trod that loftie hall, and tried the paths of Joy, Till dull Satiety came on their pleasure to annoy ; Then slowlie moved the languid hours, and dark Remembrance came. And now relenting Passion slacked its wild devouring flame. OLEINIA. 67 But when the golden-tressed Lord of morn with radiant glance Looked forth on ample Air, and Earth, and Ocean's vast expanse, And all creation woke anew and hailed the light of day, Then from the lost Oleinia's heart the phantoms passed away ; And gladlye in her open arms Religion, heavenlie Queen, Received the trembling fugitive with pitying blame serene. So when from gentle rest, in frenzye's blessed in- terval, Oleinia woke to consciousness of that dark festival. And knew with all her senses clear, from whom, and where she strayed, With burning heart she fled from crowded hall to rural shade ; And straining tearful eyes she looked o'er field and road unknown, And to her distant home she cried in sad and plain- tive moan : F 2 68 OLEINIA. " O mountain land, that gave me birth, my home, my mother land, Which I abandoned ignorant, like slave on foreign strand ! gentle home I left in scorn for Evil's glittering school. To dwell in vice corrupt, with knave, and profligate, and fool, And in my madness stray through all the dark abodes of 111 ; Oh, where, in what blest spot, does sunshine gild my native hill ? How eagerlie my glance would rest upon the dear abode, While yet for one brief hour my mind disdains its evil load ! Am I this wretched outcast? I, an exile from my home. From all my countrie's blessings, friends, and parents, doomed to roam ? — 1 shall not tread tlie simple dance, nor hear the homelie strain ; Oh, lost one, woe is me ! oh, lost one, woe is me again ! OLEINIA. 69 What blessing e'er had maid, what trophye meet for honest pride, Which once I could not boast, which now I have not cast aside? A cherished child and sister once, a maid and woman bright. The fairest flower of Meirion's fair, my simple sire's delight. To me the kindling glance was tm'ned, the youthful vow was paid. For me the bardic song was poured, that hailed the fau-est maid : For me the village pastor's ])rayer arose at break of morn — Am I this abject slave of vice — this outcast thiny of scorn ? Shall I remain a wanton, of my better self bereft, No hope of sacred household joy, or matron honors left? Am I to wear my life out in the dark and gloomie town ? Am I to live and sicken in this lurid Babvlou, 70 OLEINIA. Where everie form of Vice and Sin's pollution reign ? Ah, woe is me ! oh, heavenlie Father, woe is me again !" When from her pallid lips, so rosie once, went forth the sound. And reached the airie Powers unseen, that hover all around, The jealous Siren in her wrath, from her pernicious throng, False Shame and Dread of scorn sent forth, the ministers of wrong : " Go in your withering power," she cried, " and crush the wavering will. And let the maddened victim turn, to do my pleasure still ; Go, conjure up the images of calumnie and scorn, Let evil wliispers to lier ear on all the winds be borne ; Brood all around her homeward way, in shadowie terror dread, Lest from my vaunted yoke she fly, by Faith re- viving led." OLEINIA. 71 The jealous Siren spoke, and waved imperiouslie her hand, And eagerlie the fiends went forth obedient from her band : With bitter smile and mock they scatter evil all around, And when Oleinia almost heard her village church's sound, And almost reached the home where Love again w'ould take her part. They wrought those pangs too deep for speech, and crushed her broken heart : Then on her backward way she turned, with agonie within, And all her life in vice she spent, the abject slave of Sin. O Spirit, heavenlie Spirit pure I who swayest all the soul. Help us, when wild temptations rage, and Passion's tempests roll ; Help in our weal and in our woe, and in our lonelie hour, And keep us free from servile will, and Sin's o'er- whelming power. 72 ) TO AUGUSTA. I MIGHT as well go gaze upon a face Of marble, fashioned by the sculptor's hand To faultless beautie, and with vain demand Sigh for the spark of life, and think to trace Love's gentle workings ; or bewitched might stand On fountain brink, and hope th' unearthlie Grace, Or Naiad lurking in her faerie place. Would smile, invoked by passionate command, Upon my sleepless love. Thou art so fair, So bright, so noblie born, thou may'st not move From out thy sphere, alas ! nor I may dare To raise bold glances aiming at thy love. Yet from the shade my yearning eyes afar Shall watch thy course of pride, thou bright cold Star. ( 73 ) THE SEQUEL. It is over I and thoy say thou'rt given to another : And a moment's space I felt what gladlie I would smother : Far from gloomie anger, far from pang of envious mind, Yet it was a cloud, a shade, a something undefined. Though I knew the time must come, nor dreamt that I should mourn, Yet I heard it, and I felt more lowlie and forlorn : 'Twas a shadow, where I rested, rudelie torn away, 'Twas a slumber rudelie broken by the glare of day. Though my madness dreamt not that thou ever could'st be mine, Save as something distant, but as something most divine ; Yet thy vision often came athwart my noonday dream. And my fancye often sjjorted in thy beautie's sunnie beam. 74 THE SEQUEL, It is over, all is over — I must think of thee no more ; And I feel like sailor stranded on some desert shore : I am rescued from a storm, delivered from a chain, And I gladlie would be tost, and gladlie bound again. Fare thee well! since all is over, Ladye, fare thee well ! Where thou dwellest, there may never Pain or Sorrow dwell : He is noble, as they say, who takes thee for his bride ; Happie then, as lovelie, shine thou ever at his side. It is well thou canst not know who gazed on thee in vain, For I would not have to fear the smile of thy disdain : Haplie thou wilt read, and pitie Fiincye's wayward child, Little dreaming of my madness, and my cherished passion wild. ( 75 ) PENSIERL THOUGHTS AT DIFFERENT TIMES IN THE WALKS BEHIND COLLEGE, . I laie mee onn the grasse, yette to inie wylle, Albeytte alle ys fayre, there lackethe somethynge stylle. MynslreUe's Songe in jElla. Faik Hours, who in Idalian glade, Fair Hours and Graces, hand in hand, With flowerie-girdled Beautie strayed ; And Ye, who o'er my own green land, liecause of old we loved you well, (Such power is your's to bane or bless,) Have thrown the everlasting spell Of fresh and verdant loveliness ; Spirits, who in earth's recesses Dwell, by eye profane unseen, And bind with faerie gold your tresses Radiant of immortal sheen ; — Ye, who in the sunbeam hover, And twine the dance harmonious over 76 PENSIERI, The Rhaiadyr's^' eternal roar ; Then on the rainbow, heavenlie bridge, Pass to far Oriental shore, CUmbing now its golden ridge, Treading now its wondrous chamber ; Come from Vyrniew's pleasant side. And Wye and Conwye's liquid amber ; Come in all your jocund pride, And leave on Granta's margin green, Trace of rosie feet unseen, Shed the beautie which has power O'er mourner's pale and drearie hour. For sad the lot of Faneie's child, Who on the task condemned to pore Of frowning Science' rugged loi'e, No longer, as of old, may wander O'er gentle vale and mountain wild. And voluntarie music ponder. 'Twould break my verie heart with pining, But often at the setting Sun, On turf with daisies prankt reclining, I gaze upon the rays that run PENSIERI. 77 111 manie-coloured glorie bright, Tinging the ancient cloistral towers, Which stand in majestic serene, Until at length the silent hours, Ling'ring o'er the pleasant scene, Bring on the car of starrie Night : And ye, most proud ancestral Trees, Look darklie on the gliding stream, Which, ruffled by the fragrant breeze. Murmurs to poetic dream. Even here, methinks, though far away From all thy favourite haunt of old, Fair Glamorgan's land of day. And hallowed Arvon's rockie shore, — Yet here, I ween, the bardic mind Hath felt thy awful shadow lower, Thou wonderful, thou undefined, Dim and wild Aonian Power.™ Man hath not seen from whence it came. Sculptor nor painter drew its form : 'Tis bright and glorious as the flame, 'Tis dark and viewless as the storm. — ■ 78 PENSIERI. O light of life, and lamp of storie, Spirit, Genius, Muse divine. From whom, for ever robed in glorie. Names of old immortal shine ! Thy home is in the land of dreams, Thy wings are, like the rainbow, bright. Thy voice is like the lonelie streams Which murmur to the silent night : Thou passest in the chosen hour, When thou fillest all the air With deep unutterable power, And the Poet knows thee there ; 'Tis then thy shadow rapture flings Throughout his lonelie murmurings ; Then move in solemn train along The mystic deities of song, With manie a shadowie form of dread, Shrouded herald from the Dead, And all the Passions, fitful throng. Which deadlie as the lightning burn. Wayward Love, and Anger stern ; Powers that laugh to scorn control, Vulture tyrants of the soul. PENSIERI. 79 Even here, I ween, O heavenlie Power, Thee Milton felt in golden hour ; Here the mightie Minstrel young, Guiltless yet of factious rage, And gloomie regicidal page, Here with thee at eve he sung, And gazed with heaven-aspiring eyes On rosie joy and sable woe. And learnt the various-vested glow Of Mirth and Melancholie wise ; Not then upon his ear in vain Came sweeping from " the full-toned quire,'' The melodie of hallowed strain. Which fills the trembling heart with fire. Woe is me, by sickness pale Excluded from that temple high : Woe is me, that I must fail To swell the Church's heavenward cry : Smitten by the heavie hand Of Him who gave my nostril's breath, I turn me to the shadowie land. And to the gloomie stream of Death. 80 PENSIERI. But I can trace the Temple's round, And I can gaze upon her towers, And dimlie hear the blessed sound That issues at her solemn hours. Bowed to earth by heavie pain. Withered by consuming fire. Still in thought I can aspire, Rending from my seul its chain. And often by the winding stream,^' Known from of old by British name, I can soar in loftie dream To the heirs of ancient fame ; Now with Plato's loftie dream Scan tlie spirit's mysterie. And now the old Castalian stream Is present with its melodie : Then I hear the fatal stroke That slew the victor lord returned, Mourn the loftie maiden's yoke Whose soul in vain prophetic burned : J lark the agonizing cry Of her who in vindictive ire Condemned her womb's dear birth to die And Thee of parricidal sire PENSIERI. 81 Daughter and sister, injured maid, Thee in ray fancied grief I mourn, To all the tyrant's rage betrayed, In sisterlie remorse forlorn. Then in my loftier hour again I seek the raightie of our land. Our azure bards of wondrous strain. And all the lost devoted band. Here are shades and sacred bowers, Here the gentlie gliding stream , Lingers by ancestral towers ; Where could Fancye better dream Of Spencer and his Faerie song ? Where could Echo more prolong Tones of old poetic time. And elder chivah'ie sublime ? Only, alas ! fair Love, depart, Come not on forbidden ground, Nor tempt in vain my lonelie heart, — I may not listen to thy sound. Alas, when I began in mirth, That I must end with plaintive moan ! Of all the deities of earth, No place is here for Love alone. a ( 82 ) A HYMN FOR SACRED MUSIC. Miserere, miserere, pitie us, good Lord ! Have mercie, when our sins all throng with one accord. And when the soul's dark chambers echo tones and things gone bye : For Thou canst read the heart — on Thee alone we cry, Miserere, miserere, pitie us, good Lord. Miserere, miserere, pitie us, good Lord ! Have mercie when we shrink from thy avenging sword ; Oh, heal us when we pine in sickness, hear us when we sigh ; For Thou hast life and death — on Thee alone we cry, Miserere, miserere, pitie us, good Lord. CAMBRIDGE IN A LONG VACATION. 83 Miserere, miserere, pitie us, good Lord I Have mercie when we tremble on the brink of death abhorred ; Uphold thy loved ones when we sink, receive us when we die ; Thou art our help and hope — on Thee alone we cry, Miserere, miserere, pitie us, good Lord. Miserere, miserere, pitie us, good Lord ! Have mercie when we rise to hear the final word : Oh, then, Lord, shield us with thine hand, behold us with thine eye, For thou shalt be our Judge — on thee alone we cry, Miserere, miserere, pitie us, good Lord. CAMBRIDGE IN A LONG VACATION. BY A FUTURE SENIOR WRANGLER. Off, off to the ancient mountains. Off to the roar of the rock-girt sea ! Who would not drink of the limpid fountains. And be lulled by the Avild wind's music free ? G 2 84 CA^IBRIDGE IN A LONG VACATION, Our la^FUS are all parched and faded, Dwindled the Cam, flowing dull and slow : Beautie and joy, tho' by old elms shaded, Shrink withered and scorched from the sun's fierce glow. Forth from the halls immortal, Hoarie with age, and with wisdom pale, From cloister, and temple, and arching portal, All are gone far away to bid summer hail. Deserted and lone I linger. Wondering and scared by some chance stranger's tread ; Sad communion I hold, such as pilgrim singer. With the echoes that dwell in abodes of the dead. Yet here, still is here your dwelling. Patience, and Dutye with gentle mien ; Thou, Science, high tales of Eternitie telling, And Hope, which still points me to glorye unseen. ( 85 ) A. B. S. Op all who in the race had started, Striving for the olive crown, All bright of eye, all hopeful-hearted, Ah, how manye have sank down. Young in life's power ! One far away, in wild lauds fighting. One in stormie waves o'erwhelmed. One by the slow Destroyer's blighting. Brave and gentle, gowned and helmed. Met the dark hour. But thou, who on thy presence borest Stamp of immortalitie ; O ! best beloved ; O ! wept for sorest ! Dark in death's captivitie Thou too art bound. 86 A. B. s. We dreamed — vain dreams — of some great glorie, Dim, but wondrous as thy powers ; We held of all thy brightening storie Hopes, which like the storm-swept flowers. Lie on the ground. Thine was the dread and slow decaying, Life's vain shrinking from the tomb ; Sad hope sad anguish ill allaying ; Till the Angel came in gloom All links to sever. O Lord, our Lord, our helper onlie, Giver, taker of our breath ; All else thou takest — leave us onlie Love and hope, in darkest death Quenched not for ever. 1845. ( 87 ) THE EXECUTION. AT FLINT, IN 1840. ^* 'TwAS in a land where crime is rare, And years may roll away, Ere justice, impotent to spare, Bares her stern sword to slay, A murmured horror-stricken cry Through crowds assembled ran, When from his cell came forth to die That dark and guiltie man. E'en Pitie, while in tears she stood. Saw and forbore to plead ; And from the earth his victim's blood Cried vengeance for the deed. 'Tis o'er — the fatal die is cast, And, launched on unknown seas. The Spirit from his frame has past, Companioning the breeze. 88 THE EXECUTION. Hark ! while the hearts of manhood fail. The shriek upon the air ; It was the sound of woman's wail, The tone of wild despair. Blame not her fond enduring will, Nor ask what Love did there ; For know, he was her father still. And blame her if you dare. A weaklier love in tent may bide. With trim and decent woe ; But loving still, whate'er betide, She would not shun the blow. Daughter and woman to the last. She caught his dying groan, Ill-pleased if that stern sire had past His agonie alone. Gentle and fair, of nurture mild, Far from the hardening storm. Judge not of Nature's untaught child By rule of eourtlie form. THE VARIOUS WINDS. 89 Rather, when wander in the wold Those whom your God has made, Gather them gentlie to the fold, The Temple's fostering shade. If live beneath the darkest sky Some sparks of heavenlie fire. Shew them their kindred light on high, And teach them to aspire. THE VARIOUS WINDS. I HEARD the wind's career, whose viewless wing had swept the ocean, And half the tempest's sullen wrath was lingering in its motion, And it was full of woeful sound and shipAvrecked sailor's groan — Pass on, thou melancholic wind, thou moaning air, pass on. 90 THE VARIOUS WINDS. Again I heard the fleeting wind that came from battle-plaiu, And it was full of horrid clang of slayer and of slain, And it will bear the cry of blood before the heavenlie throne — Pass on, thou horror-laden wind, thou tainted air, pass on. Again there came the lonelie wind that swept the mountain bold. Where solemn^^ priest and people marked the boundarye of old, It was the violator's curse that swelled its awful tone — Pass on, thou delegated wind, thou conscious air, pass on. Once more, it was the happie wind that dwelt on Meivod's vale, And it had played on Virniew's wave, and bade my Bronwen hail, And it is fragrant with her breath, and sunnie from her smile, — Oh, tarrye, golden-winged Wind, oh, stay, dear Air, awhile. THE EXODUS OF ISRAEL. 91 Oh, tell me, is my fair one faithful as of old, And fill me with the joyous thrill of all who her behold, And tell her from her Anwyl in thy softest lingering sigh^ For hope of her alone I live, without her I must die. THE EXODUS OF ISRAEL. I HONOUR one Supreme, Sublime, Allmightie, Everlasting God, Enthroned in light ere space or time, And ruling with paternal nod The vastness of the heaven and earth ; Since at His word the world had birth, S]>ringing to life, where nought had been, Save night and mysterie unseen, Shrouding th' unfathomable wild, Which mocks the glance of Wisdom's child ; Where Chaos murmurs, " Here no voices raise," And Darkness answers, " Here forbear to gaze ;' There none shall ever kindle blaze, 92 THE EXODUS OF ISRAEL. Or show by Learning's lamp to mortal man, How once in wondrous course Creation ran ; Nor on the wings of Fancie buoyed, Shall pierce the unessential void, But from the realm of Night Bright-winged dreams shall turn their flight, Scared by Eternitie's primaeval daughters, Silence and Doubt ; Who hovering all about Brood o'er the infinite abysmal waters. Yet at His word the rosie light was born. And earth and sea and stars all sprang To life and joy upon Creation's morn, Each in his turn, and all things rang With multitudinous dehght ; Sun and planets, day and night. Each in turn l^his tribute bringing, Each Jehovah's praises singing. And, though unheard by sensual ear. Who knows if still their course prolong The wondrous harmonic of song. Hymning the one Eternal, whom they fear ? THE EXODUS OF ISRAEL. 93 He wills — behold their course suspended; He breathes — their time of life is ended ; And often when on earth the turbid Nations Rise in revolt, He saith to Plague, " Go forth," To Death, " Have power ;" and from the south and north. Angels of wrath lay low our wild imaginations. So when the sons of Mizraim rose Rebellious to His high command, " Ah .' I will ease me of my foes," He said, and with His red right hand In wrath He smote the fountains of the waters. There was wailing through the land, There was loathing through the band Of Egx'pt and her Monarch's statelie daughters. They thirst, they come, they haste to drink — Why stand they shuddering on the brink ? The waves are blood, as if a tide of slaughters Polluted all the Nile. Then languished Beautie's smile. And rose the wild distracted cry From burning lip and blood-shot eye, 94 THE EXODUS OF ISRAEL. Till prostrate and o'ercome by woe The strong men muttered, faint and low. Yet have they still refused to turn, And though the Plague hath spent its force, Destroying in its destined course, Still must th' AUmigh tie's anger burn, And still tempestuous clouds o'er Egypt lour. Big with the coming storm of furie and of power. Again the Prophet came in wrath. The Monarch unrepenting still; Five times upon the Prophet's path Were sent the ministers of ill. Then in the caverns of the Earth, In all the womb of Air and Wave, Noxious and loathsome things had birth. Till Egypt was a living grave. In songless woe they mourned by day. In restless starts at night they slumbered, Even in the chambers of the King The crawling Pest hath found its way, The pest of creeping- things unnumbered ; Who dares to eat ? who dares to fling THE EXODUS OP ISRAEL. 95 His woarie form upon the bed, Where slimie reptile rears its head, And loathsome swarms aerial lour ? Nor ye, fair herds, who grazed the plain, Escape the wasting murrain's power ; With plaintive lowing in your pain Ye languish panting in the shade ; While mourning by their idol-shrine Your guiltie masters cry for aid, With slow corroding sore condemned to pine. Open your gates, ye Caverns of the storm, Be open, Fountains of ethereal fire ; With hand outstretched, the Prophet's awful form Hath stood and summoned your tremendous ire. He spoke ; and stricken at the sound The bending forests groan, The conscious Earth gives back the moan. The fierie deluge runs along the ground. Where smiled with joy the populous fields. And golden harvests crowned the plain, His sword th' Exterminator wields. And naked desolation reigns. 96 THE EXODUS OF ISRAEL. Nor loiter on their path of air Fresh summoned by the Prophet's hand, The winged myriads gleaning bare The relics of the wretched land. But Thou, with fierie-footed steed, Flashing tliy lonelie chariot through the sky, Orient and Hesper brightening with thy speed, Thou Giant of the stars on high, Hast thou too owned a mightier Power ? " Ah I when will come the morning's light I" They murmur, wandering in the gloom ; Morn has come, but all is night. All is darkness like the tomb. Have we not all one heavenlie Sire ? How can we smile upon our brother's doom ? How long shall his allmightie ire Roll o'er his trembling children wrath and gloom ? Alas ! they have rebelled in pride, They have detained in house of slaves The people whom He sware to guide Through angrie foes and stormie waves : He promised by his faithful Word, He sware by his tremendous Name, THE EXODUS OF ISRAEL. 97 From Israel, chosen of the Lord, To rend the galling yoke of shame. Night with her myriad stars came on, And all have sank in tranquil sleep, Where couch of gold and amber shone. And in the lonelie dungeon deep. Thy wings are on the sullen wind, Thy breath is in the fatal air. Exterminating Angel, and behind I hear the wailing and despair, " Speak, oh my firstborn darling joy \" Exclaimed the mother bending low, But king alike and peasant's boy Is smitten by the fatal blow. " Go out, ye people of the Lord," The monarch horror-stricken cried ; " In place of yoke and chains abhorred, Behold the jewels of our pride." Spoiling the spoiler's guiltie land, Went out in multitudinous array Jehovah's liberated band — And Israel saw the light of day. " Thou Dweller 'mid the cherubim unseen, Once more, O Lord our God, arise, H 98 THE EXODUS OF ISRAEL. For lo, in renovated pride and spleen. The chariots of our enemies. They di-ive us on the furious main, Which roars in front with all his waves; Our flight cut off, our combat vain, Where shall we choose our graves ?" Then rose the Prophet's form of power. And shrank the Deep asunder driven, On either side columnar lower The ocean waves abysmal riven. Speed thee, Destroyer, speed along, Roll on thy chariots thro' the waterie dell : If Israel passed with joyful song. Shall not the host of Mizraim pass as well ? In wonder from the farther shore All Israel gaze upon the wave ; The foemen's fierce career is o'er, The refluent ocean made their grave. How low the tyrant's vaunting scorn, How silent is the warrior's cry ! Too late in agonie forlorn They honoured Israel's King on high. " Great is our God !" with harp and timbrel's clang Break into high triumphant song ; 'AIAINON. 99 " Great is our God!" the earth and ocean rang, Responsive to the choral throng. So Israel sang in joyful tone, Swift to avenge and strong to save, Jehovah, Lord most high ! Art Thou not He, Whom still we own. Ruler of tempest and of grave ? Therefore we shall not die. "AIAINON. Ah, wayward Muse, with what a treacherous smile Thou lurest those who trust thy guiding hand ! Lo, how another victim to thy guile, Brynford's^ young bard, has sunk in distant land Alas, poor Minstrel, illstarred boy, Whom Genius courted to destroy. Were it not better, in the low abode Where dwelt his fathers, had he died unknown ! Alas, e'en there thy shaping genius strode. Thy fierie impress marked him for thine own ; H2 100 "AIAINON. Hark ! from his lyre in boyish hour How rung the tones of hope and power. Phantoms of beautie flitted by his bed, Glorie thro' time and space held out her crown ; Dim dreams and vague desires their captive led, Led him afar, where all his hopes sank down ; Far on that drearie plague-specked strand, Bowed by the dread Destroyer's hand. But tottering ere he yielded to the blow, Day after day beside the sounding main Under an oak he sat, and murmuring low, Mocked the wild mocking-bird's deluding strain ; Murmuring and sighing o'er the foam. Which washed perchance his distant home. Come, let me throw a flower upon the deep, Which haplie may be wafted to his tomb ; Help me, thou siren Muse, to lull his sleep ; Mourn in repentant tone thy victim's doom. And bend disshevelled o'er his grave, ^^ ith tears for him thou would'st not save. 'aiainon. 101 Ah, surelie long ago thy eyes were veiled, Thy pinions drooped in unavailing woe ; Gladlie thy art had saved, but there it failed ; Skilful to soothe, but not to ward the blow ; Nor thine the blame, if e'er thy son Falls by his wayward heart undone. Like some rich vine that leans upon the elm, All beautie's bloom, not strength, to thee was given : How oft thy boughs the tempests overwhelm, Most cherished, most adorned, but helpless riven, And to the blast an easie prey. With fruits that flourish to decay ! 4 Forgive, dear Mistress, my reproachful line. Yet deign to warn thy eager-hearted child ; Point his young eyes to holier might than thine, Teach him the homelie virtues undefiled ; Leaning on Virtue, thou art strong, Else vain are all the arts of song. 102 TITUS MANLIUS. TITUS MANLIUS. How proudlie strode the conquering son, How darklie brooding looked the sire, He decked with trophies newHe Avon, His father big with gathering ire. •■' No child degenerate I," he cried, "Of him who smote the giant Gaul ; I too have tamed the foeman's pride — Behold the tokens of his fall." Old Manlius turned, and ill could brook To see his son's ingenuous eye ; But with the tempest in his look, Sternlie he made his dread reply. •' O thou, unbidden who hast fought, Comest thou thus with swelling breast ? Thou who hast dared to set at nought Thy countrie and thy sire's behest. TITUS MANLIUS. 103 " The links thou breakest are the fence In which the Roman virtues grow ; Conqueror or conquered, think not hence Unscathed, O hapless boy, to go. " Me too the lie tor's axe will reach ; Stern Justice asks me for my own ; Nor thou, my son, refuse to teach, How for their sin the brave atone." Silent the champion heard and bowed ; But shriek and shuddering went round. When mid the horror-stricken crowd Was heard the axe's fatal sound. 104 ROGER WILLIAilS. ROGER WILLIAMS. The deer in the forest, the steed on the hill, The wild bird is safe in the lone realm of air ; But we, if we worship our God at our will, Have no rest from the sword save the den of despair. Sillie deer will not trample their brother when wounded, Winged raveners will pitie their fellow bird dying ; But ye, vain fanatics, by dark foe surrounded. Still combat and rend brother Christians in flying. Let us go, let us go, o'er the far western wave, Let us go where Religion with Freedom may dwell ; The religion which opens the sky o'er the grave. And the freedom our fathers defended so well. Let the Englander still play the tyrant at home ; But the true sons of Britain will never be slaves : In the name of our fathers, my men, let us roam. With our faith and our freedom beyond the far waves. RCGER WILLIAMS. 105 Let us found a new kiri'^dom,''^ where none shall oppress , And none shall be lord of his fellow man's creed : Like the angels we'll dlell, whose delight is to bless, And we'll hand down the rights of mankind to our seed. I If we lose the fair language our sires spoke of old, Yet with true British blood we can plant the far wild ; And we'll keep, as the bardic Taliessin foretold, To our Father Allmightie, our faith undefiled. And when years shall have swept like a tide o'er the land, And when glorie shall leave what she cherishes now, She will cross like the wind to America's strand, And the old world defiled to the new worldshall bow. THE LOSS OF THE PRESIDENT. " Farewell, our British friends, farewell !" Was said upon Columbia's strand : Their vessel now on ocean's sweU, Has owned the guiding helm's command. 106 THE LOSS OF THE PRESmENT. She needs no favouring breezes feel, She dares the breasting tide disdain, With fierie breath and foaming wheel She sweeps like chariot o'er the main. " Welcome, oh, welcome to your home," Alreadie we prepared to say, And deemed that o'er th' Atlantic foam They hastened to us day by day. But day by day and week by week Have lingered on their wearie way ; And yet no tidings came to break The spell that on our bosoms lay. Heavens, what has come of those we loved ? Do not prolong our agonie ; Be but the veil of doubt removed. E'en if we learn our miserie. Alas for those who yearn in vain! Bright eyes may wither, cheeks grow pale ; Their friends have never come again ; None ever came to tell their tale. THE LOSS OF THE PRESIDENT. 107 Who knows, if on some icie mountain Darkling they rushed upon their grave, Or if the deep's uplifted fountain Raised and o'erwhelmed them in its wave ? They will not lie in hallowed turf, With kindred's prayer to lull their sleep ; But they have gone beneath the surf, To feed the monsters of the deep. There perished comic mirth with Power, And gentle blood with Richmond's son. And, useless in that fatal hour, Courage and counsel were undone. Preparer of destruction's path, Lord God, we own thy high decree ; And pray thee in thy righteous wrath To spare our sailors on the sea. ( 108 ) THE DEFEAT AND CAPTIVITY IN AFFGHA- NISTAN. WRITTEN WHILE THE CONTEST WAS PENDING. Triumphantlie for those who fell in Spain, Triumphantlie for those on Belgic plain, In patriot pride we mourned with loftie woe ; But bitterlie, oh bitterlie, And shamefulhe, oh shamefulhe, We mourn for those whose gallant heads are low, Whose bones lie bleaching in the savage land. Where sword and storm destroyed ourcountrie's band. By treacherie, by treacherie, And not in laurelled victorie, Mourn Britain, mourn, for manlie Trevor lost, And all thy slaughtered and unburied host. Yet loftilie for those who made their stand, Right gaUantlie who fell with sword in hand. In pride unbroken let the numbers flow ; But bitterlie, oh bitterlie. And anxiouslie, oh anxiouslie. We mourn for those at mercie of the foe. THE DEFEAT AND CAPTIVITY IN AFFGHANISTAN. 109 Their honor and their life in savage power, On brutal passion hanging everie hour ; Afar, and in captivitie, Uncertaintie and miserie, Our kindred brave, condemned perchance to slaughters. But chieflie, Britain, mourn thy captive daughters. Submissiveh'e go now and pay your gold, Submissivelie unloose the savage hold, And let them see our lion fawning low, Submissivelie, submissivelie, And suppliantlie, oh suppliantlie — No, by our father's God, we thunder, no : Come rather all the vengeance fate can wreak, Come all the horrors which we dare not speak ; Undauntedlie, undauntedlie. And loftilie, oh loftilie Britannia's children can endure the end ; We may be broken, but we cannot bend. Most certainlie we will avenge our host, Most certainlie we will redeem our lost. 110 THE DEFEAT AilD CAPTmTT IN AFFGHANISTAN. But not with speaking fair and fawning low ; We'll ransom them, but not with gold ; The savage shall unloose his hold, But not for moaning mean, and suppliant show ; But for the terror of Britannia's arm He shall restore our own, in just alarm ; For loftilie, oh loftilie, Imperiallie, imperiallie Our armies shall prefer our high command, And rescue or revenge our captive band. Even in their chains our children shall not sue ; Even in their chains they shall have honor due ; Better than hurt them, savage, haste and die ; We swear it by renowned Assaye, And manye a laurelled battle-daye, Our father's spirit, and our own as high. They shall be safe and honoured in thy hand, Or else their funeral pile shall be thy land ; We swear, for everie precious hair. We swear, for everie woman's tear, A thousand lives shall fall : barbarian, hear, And learn Britannia's prisoners to fear. FAREWELL. Ill FAREWELL. Once more ere we part and thou cross the far wave, Farewell, my own, my onlie brother ; We may ne'er meet again on this side the dark grave, But ne'er believe me, ne'er another. However kind and true, can be What thou hast been to me. I may still love the friends of my earliest years. But thou wert of the selfsame mother : We have mingled in childhood our smiles and our tears, And ne'er, believe me, ne'er another, However kind and true, can be What thou hast been to me. Hot passion o'erclouded the light of thy morn ; But thou art wiser now, my brother ; Remember the lessons experience has borne, And ne'er, believe me, ne'er another, However kind and true, can be What thou hast been to me. 112 FAREWELL. May God be thy friend, and good angels thy guides, And bright thy future fate, my brother ; But in joy or in sorrow, whatever betides, Still ne'er, believe me, ne'er another, However kind and true, can be What thou hast been to me. The Atlantic may roll its broad billows between, New friends may greet us both, my brother, But our hearts yet will meet in communion unseen, For ne'er to either, ne'er another. However kind and true, can be What thou hast been to me. ( 113 ) HUGH PUGH. It was the famous olden time, when fighting was in vogue, And he who could not fight was thought no better than a rogue ; The jolUe rows of Town and Gown were scarcelie then a joke, For nianie a pint of blood they shed, and manie a head they broke. It was a lustie Welshman came out of his wild countrie, And gallanthe he fought 'midst Town and Universitie ; The strongest ' snob' would bargain for at least companions two. Before he went to fisticuffs, and ventured on Hugh Pugh. I 114 HUGH PUGH. It was a brawnie bargeman sat with pipe and pot in hand, And swore he did not care a curse for anye in the land; And as for all your Undergrads, or even that Hugh Pugh, Just let him have the chance to try, he'd teach them who was who. The gallant speech was noised abroad by all the tongues of Fame, And to the lists or to the ring the lustie champions came, And voices shouted loud and high, and bets went merrilie, And some the valiant Welshman backed, and some the broad bargee. Oh, sturdilie, oh, sturdilie, the lustie champions stood, Oh, merrilie, oh, merrilie, the fists of both drew blood. But ah, the fame of Wales and eke of Universitie, The ample-shouldered Hugh is down, and leaning on one knee. HUGH PUGH. 115 " Fair play, you bargee brute, fair play," tlie gowns- men shouted all, As still the bargeman forward pressed upon his foe- man's fall ; But pleasantlie the Welshman smiled, and to his friends he cried, " Now make your bets, my merrie men, I'll just embrace my bride." Then like a bolster in his arms the broad bargee he took, And everye living drop of breath from out his bodye shook ; •' Oh spare him sir, for heaven's dear sake," the towns- men shouted all, And right good need they had, I ween, to raise their suppliant caU. For like the broad Antseus once in Hercules' embrace, Even so the broad and bold bargee had blackened in the face ; And when the rugged clasp relaxed in pitye and remorse, Upon the ground the bargeman fell, scarce better than a corse. 12 116 HUGH PUGH. And when at length he came to life, the Welshman all in vain Invited him in courtesy e to try a turn again. " I thank you, sir," the bargeman cried, " but I've had quite enough — If that's the way you hold your wife, she'll soon have quantum suff!" Now if you fain would know the space, Hugh Pugh could leap across. You must enquire at Oxford, sir, or else be at a loss ; I'll onlye say that no two men in leap combined could clear it. Such as at present freshmen are — and if you doubt, I'll swear it. But years can tame the strong of limb, and wrinkle o'er the fair, And manye a hoarie winter's snow will change the raven hair; And stout Hugh Pugh is waxen old — and, vanquished in his turn, His steps draw nigh the bourne from whence no travellers return. HUGH PUGH. 117 In pride of youth and health, from out the wild and west countrie, Two joUye countrymen there came the stout Hugh Pugh to see : The old man's gentle heart was touched to hear the sound of Wales, And fondlie sighed, remembering all her pleasant hills and vales. He did not, like an Englishman, direct them to the inn, But kindlie bade them come and try what cheer he had within : His rustye black the old man doffed, and donned his Sunday best, [zest. And sent the old port round the board with hospitable Right merrilie he told his feats and fought his battles o'er, And mourned that men no longer were as men had been of yore : But silent sadness came at length, and spite of all his cheer, The old man bent his head in vain to hide the trick- ling tear. 118 HUGH PUGH. " Would God," he sighed and said, '•' would God I had been born of old, [the bold : While Greece in high Olympic game gave honour to When manlie feat of strength and skill with due applause was crowned, Perchance my temples then had been with olive gar- land crowned. " Now all unhonoured, all unknown, I sink into the grave, [lave ; And I shall tread the silent shore oblivion's waters When young men strive, and old men praise their feats, alas ! how few Will sing in song or tell in tale of young and strong Hugh Pugh. " My old and loved compeers are gone, and I am left alone, And scarce a friend above my head will raise memo- rial stone : And you, my countrymen, farewell ! heaven grant, I pray, to you Some more enduring name and praise, than fell to old Hugh Pugh. ( 119 ) SAILOR'S SONG. In the darkness of night, when the stars in their motion Twinkled brightlie as gems on the face of the ocean, 'Twas a young British sailor stood musing alone, And the wild breezes answered his song with their own. I've a father and mother I've left far at home. And there's Betsie sometimes thinks of me while I roam; How they'll smile when I come all victorious and free, When we've chased all our foes from the face of the sea. Hurrah for Britannia, the Queen of the wave. The land of our fathers, the free and the brave ! Though her glories are ancient, her day's not gone bye. While her sons are determined to conquer or die. As her flag at Trafalgar victorious arose, So again and again it shall rise o'er her foes ; If they cheat us in peace, we can beat them in war. Both the Yankees and French, and his highness the Czar. 120 A WANDERING FANCTE. The Yankees are heroes for long proclamations, And if talking was fighting, they'd conquer all nations ; But put us together, we'll bring down their spleen, And we'll teach all the Congress to kneel to our Queen. We'll teach them to reverence the rights of our land, Not to come o'er the frontier with plundering band ; And we'll break off the chains of the poor negro slave, While we conquer for Britain, the Queen of the wave. I've a father and mother I've left far at home, Andthere'sBetsiesometiraesthinksof me while I roam; How they'll smile when I come all victorious and free. When we've chased all our foes from the face of the sea. A WANDERING FANCYE. From all I loved so rudelie torn. So earlie and so far away ; I die, but would not have thee mourn, I would not darken o'er thy day, Nor ha\e thee think of me. A WANDERING FANCYE. 121 When joy is in my father's hall, And when my sister is a bride, May heaven in mercie smile o'er all ; Let them not mourn for him who died, Nor vainlie think of me. My friends in boyhood and in youth From manie an old remembrance dear, Although I doubt not of their truth, Let them not shed an idle tear, Nor vainlie think of me. My green and unforgotten land. The mountain fortress of my sires, Cambria, will have her patriot band To feed her old immortal fires. And need not think of me. But thou, the last for whom I weep, My own most tender and most true, My Cariad, when afar I sleep, I would not have thee vainlie rue. Nor sadlie think of me. 122 A WAXDERIXG FANCYE. To others give the hours of light, And thoughts which shudder at the tomb ; Yet sometimes in the silent night, And sometimes in the hour of gloom, My loved one, think of me. When all alone in evening's shade. Or gazing on the ocean wave. When musing on the flowers that fade, Or passing by the rustic's grave, My loved one, tliink of me. My ashes rest in foreign ground, I died without a fi-iend at hand, I died unknown to glorie's sound, But haplie in my father's land My loved one thinks of me. ( 123 ) TO A STREAMLET BETWEEN TEOYES AND BAE-SUK-SEINE. Gentle Naiad, with thy stream Creeping through the willows green, Other waves may brighter seem, Others lave a fairer scene : Yet since thou has gentlie given Freshness to my thirstie mouth, Dazzled by the noonday heaven, Drooping from the sultrie south. Therefore may the vernal showers Feed thee with their softest dew. Therefore may the rosie hours Crown thee still with garlands new ; Therefore be thou ever blest, More than all thy sisters bright. And when thou on Ocean's breast, Gentlie murmuring, sink at night, Where the waterie spirits dwell. Tell him, 'twas Goronva's prayer, That in pearl and coral coll. He would give thee welcome fair. 124 THE TRAVELLER WITHOUT IMPEDIMENTS. So when meaner streams shall perish, Lost amid the nameless throng, Thee with pride old Time shall cherish, Hallowed by the poet's song. THE TRAVELLER WITHOUT IMPEDIMENTS. Oh with what pleasant triumph on the arm I sling my modest pack ; when, work all over And sights all seen, I haste, light-hearted rover, From each fair spot I tread to fresher charm. No wearie pile of baggage, no alarm. Lest this or that be lost ; but like the plover Or partridge, springing from her golden cover, I wing my flight with fancie's impulse warm. Full soon the hour will come, when to a bourne Distant and dread, on perilous journey bound, We must arise and go ; then least forlorn. Then happiest he, who little from the ground Shall need to gather, but with easie flight Shall spread uncumbered wings to realms of light. ( 125 ) THE TRAVELLER'S PROCRASTINATION. The loiterer in everlasting Rome, Or soft Parthenope, sees day by day Go gliding onward in their easie way, Until the spring, when to his island home And dutie's round he turn, no more to roam : Then manie an ancient fane and ruin gray, Or painter's work or place of poet's lay Unseen, reproach him as he ploughs the foam. O wanderer, learn in time, and with thy might Let all thy work be wrought ; since all in vain We call the sunnie hours, when ample night Clothes heaven in starlit gloom. Now break the chain. And in the day do battle for the right ; Else Death brings dark regret and self-disdain. ( 12G ) UNSTABLE AS WATER. AN ALLEGOEIE. Oh, who could foretell, when we parted in sorrow, That our love ere we met would have loosened its hold? But we know not to day of the clouds of to-morrow. We foresee not how hearts grow indifferent and cold. So we met after absence of years and of danger. When her heart in its fondness no longer was mine ; And I scarce touched her hand, like the hand of a stranger, And our eyes coldlie met like the wintrie stars shine. O fickle as air, and unstable as water. Yet fairer than light when it breaks o'er the sea ; Can I ever forget thee, O Beautie's false daughter, Can the feelings be quenched I have cherished for thee? UNSTABLE AS WATER. 127 Thougli my heart would have sprang to my Hps as she entered, And I fain would have clasped her fair form to my breast ; Lost affection and pride their dominion concentered, And we met unrejoicing, and parted unblest. So we lose as we live all the accents of kindness, Which grow fainter in absence or die in the tomb ; Or we spurn their soft sounds in our passionate blindness. And we quench the fair light which illumined life's gloom. Everie day thus the shadows fall thicker around me, And my path is more lonelie throughout the vain throng : Cheer up, my brave heart, and if sorrow have bound me. Let us break off its fetters with wine and with song. ( 128 ) OUR GOLDEN PRIME. "O meines leben's goldne zeit.'' — Schiller. O THOU, who in thy plaintive lays Wouldst call again thy golden prime, Say, hast thou felt in all thy days. Enjoyment of the present time ? Thou tellest of the visions falling In rapture on thy youthful eye ; And vainlie on the blank void calling, Thou heavest now the drearie sigh. Say, does not memorie gild the past With radiance caught from fancye's beam ? Say, is not all our life at last A drearie and deluding dream ? For me, I never knew the season I fain would pray to live again ; But passion ever strove with reason, And hope with disappointment vain. OUR GOLDEN PRIME. 129 Joy into speedie woe subsiding, Repentance following on sin, Strife for the truth, the one abiding, Cold hearts without, mine weak within. My boyhood's smiles were drowned in tears, My keen youth bound in labour's chain ; My manhood varies but the years With strife, with error, and with pain. Friends well beloved feU off, or died ; Love onlie held liis torch afar : And thou,^= dear Muse, hast onlie cried, How far above the clod the star. Take not the future hope away, Say not it must be drearie still ; There let the picturing fancie play, The hungrie soul her craving fiU. For wisdom gathers strength from time. And chains well worn more lightlie bind ; Then, rather far than in our prime, Even in our Avoe, our weal we find. ( 130 ) OPSINOUS. If I had known how far I was to fall, What fascinating power to please or pain Would twine around my spirit, like a chain Binding in sweet but too engrossing thrall ; Then had I stood afar, nor heard the call Of that dear voice which lured me with its strain ; Nor watched that form whose verie footsteps rain Joy and desire, like queen of Faerie Hall. But oh poor fool of love ! who idlie came And trod within the circle of her charms, Till I was blinded by her starrie eyes : Like simple child, to whom the lightnings' flame Glitters a plaything, and with outstretched arms He courts, and withered by its radiance, dies. ANWYL AND BRONWEN. THE OLD FASHION OF WELSH COUBTSHIP. Why waitest thou, fair maiden, at the midnight hour ? They all are gone to rest, but thou hast not the power : ANWYL AND BROXWEN. 131 Why watchest thou, and mournest in thy niurnun-ed strain, " Oh, woe my restless heart, I cannot lull its pain. " Why tarrie, O my Anwyl, when for thee I wait, The hours have all run on, but Anwyl's foot is late ; The glowing peat has faded, and the night is chill, But at my heart there is a flame consuming still." " The stars have been my bright companions on my way. But it is dark until I see thee flashing daye : The torrent crossed my path, the night frost gemmed my hair, They have not quenched my love, my own, my Bronwen fair." '• Why dream I wait for thee, thou false and per- jured boy ? What care I if thou go where fairer maids decoy '?" " O Bronwen, though I passed the Fairies' haunted tree, I looked not on their dance, but hastened on to thee." K2 132 FREEDOM FROM PAKTIE SPIRIT. If water soften rock, and tyrants yield to prayer, Then he who prays to maiden never need despair : Their joy was like the joy when wildest dreams are gained, Like when the gloomie deep is passed, and heaven attained. FREEDOM FROM P ARTIE SPIRIT. Lire eagle^' — born the monarch of the sky, But pent in prison and forbid to range, While gilded bars, for freedom sad exchange, Confined the wandering of his restless eye — Bursts from his chains, and instant springs on high. Treading at will the path of purer day, All heaven and earth's expanse his open way, Rapt in grand silence free from discord's cry : So in my boyhood, yearning to descry Truth's onlie light, but yet untaught to stray From narrow bound, where candour's blossoms die. Paled by the lurid light of faction's ray, Now am I free ; no tempest driving bye Can daunt or dazzle now my calm survey. SYMPATIIYE WITH THE UNKNOWN. 133 THE SAME CONTINUED. Who holds his mind beyond the reach of fate ; Who feels no jealous pang from wealth or pride, Nor, at their bidding, honour sets aside : Who stoops not on the multitude to wait, Nor with plebeian envye slanders state. Nor yet with cold disdain surveys the tide Of hopes and yearnings which mankind divide ; Who would not chain the press, yet scorns its hate ; Who for the throne would die, but not do wrong ; Believe the church, yet raise no bigot tone, Nor truckle to the manye nor the strong, — This is my friend, my brother ; though alone, 111 used, ill known, belied by libel's throng, While blind men judge his motives by their own. SYMPATHYE WITH THE UNKNOWN. Manye the friends to whom I've never spoken : One has knelt bye me in a foreign land ; One in some wood or vale or rockye strand Shared of the season's change each pleasant token : 134 LADY CHARLOTTE GUEST. One I've heard eloquent in some great cause ; In one a kindred heart I understand ; In one, by nature destined to command, Wisdom or loftye glance my spirit awes ; — All these, and manye more, I never knew. Nor e'er shall know ; but follow with my eye And heartie aspiration : may the dew Of heaven fall kindlie where their steps draw nigh ; Their power draw o'er to good, what I ne'er drew ; And may their light wax bright, though mine may die. LADY CHARLOTTE GUEST. Oh, if my power might equal my desire. Imperishable melodic thy name Should all enshrine ; and I would woo great Fame In her eternal dome to throne thee higher Than fair Hypatia,^ who with mingled fire Of wisdom and of beautye free from blame. The Orient's saint and sage could melt and tame ; Or that inspired Gorilla, on whose lyre MRS. HEMANS. 135 All Rome the garland Capitolian hung ; For thee of English birth, but British heart, Our bardic harp neglected and unstrung Moved to the soul, and at thy touch there start Old harmonies to life ; our ancient tongue Opens, its buried treasure to impart. MRS. HEMANS. And thou too, stranger minstrel of our land, Like some bright foreign bird all summer long Repaying hospitalitie with song. Whom woodland Elwye heard with woman's hand Awaken music, and with high command Send forth the strain, which echo bears along Through all the nations' many-voiced throng, To comfort broken heart on manye a strand ; Thy genius has wrought out its own renown, Thou wilt not need from feeble hand like mine One flower the more to gild thy laureate crown. Yet oh, most gentle ladye, if from shrine Of minstrel glorye thou wilt deign look down. Then hear me praise and bless thy song divine. ( 136 ) WELSH RIVERS. Dost thou ask of old immortal streams ? Go and climb Ereiri's^' steep, Where the rainbow-winged angel dreams Hover o'er the poet's sleep : 'Tis there where Memorie's bright-eyed daughters Play by the Glaslyn's azure waters. Does thy heart beat high at actions brave ? Go and gaze on the gentle Wye ; 'Twas the scene of Freedom's bloodie grave, And Llewelyn's latest sigh. Ah, lightlie deems the stranger cold Of all our patriot brave of old. Go and muse by the Conwye's roaring fall, Where the rocks are white with foam ; Or the glen where it sleeps 'mid forests tall, Which o'erhang its amber home ; There let the bardic waves prolong The memorie of our sons of song. DOURANIA. 137 Thou wilt love in the Vyrniew's pleasant vale On its woodland bank to linger ; Thou wilt go where the Dee still tells its tale Of the blind immortal singer, And echoes dim of wondrous lore Are heard along the haunted shore. In the Dovey's waves the salmon play, And I love its everie hill ; It is there, as erst in Cambria's day, Thou wilt find the Cymry still. Flow on, my own ancestral river, Flow brightlie, merrilie, for ever ! DOURANIA. God, who inspires the lonelie seer, God, who gives wisdom where He will, Gives to the storm-swept mountaineer Wild faith and old tradition still. 138 DOURANIA. I nevei" heard a wondrous storie By foreign stream or ancient strand, But lingered in remembrance hoarie Its fellow in my father's land. How many an echo of romance, What strains from harp inspired of old, Oifspring of wild unearthlie trance, Still linger round our shepherd's fold. The strong hills hold their treasure ever, The wild wind murmurs as of yore ; From heart unstained no time can sever The deep-traced spell of hallowed lore. If of the Moringer they tell, Who ghost-like to the bridal came ; Give but the art of minstrel's shell, Our peasants still recount the same. Or if they moan the lost Undine, Hard bye Beddgclert's wondrous vale There rolls a lake of wintrie sheen, Whose waters tell the same sad tale. DOURANIA. 139 The fairer than the fair of earth, The child and dweller of the rill, The mingler in the wierd-like mirth, Whose wild tones haunt the trackless hill, Dourania to her deep abode Deigned the young shepherd's step to lead, The depth's strange treasure fondlie showed. And asked of human love the meed ; Asked, that of sorrow she might share, If wedded to a human heart ; So might she breathe love's holier air. And in mankind's great hope have part. Ah, all unworthie, Glyndor vain. Of that fair form and gracious spell ; How could'st thou dare with blow of pain To violate who loved so well ? Thee, rugged churl, her kindred's law Smote down in guilt's untimelie grave ; She pined and sighed, nor man e'er saw Again the dweller of the wave. ( 140 ) THE ISLE OF ANGLESEY. Darkness and storm were on Menai's flood, When arose the bright genius of Mona, Mourning her robe of ancestral wood, Which had rivalled the haunted Dodona. " Oaks which beheld the tremendous rites. When the Druid once hallowed my shore ; Shades which had waved o'er a thousand fights, Are statelie and verdant no more." Angel of nations, thou heardest aU, And thy answer rose high on the blast — " Favoured of Glorie, not vain thy call. Not unheeded thy wailing has past. " Tempests may sweep o'er thy naked isle, Rugged Ocean around it may foam ; Valour and Faith, and bright Beautie's smile. Notwithstanding shall make it their home. MORTS LLOYD. 141 " Bards^" shall be born on thy sacred soil, Who shall gild it in Poesie's beam ; Valour and manhood shall often foil The enemie's pride-swollen dream. " Murmur not, Queen of the Druids' isle. That thy forests are verdant no more ; Look on thy harvest of men, and smile, For their glorie shall clothe thy wild shore." MORYS LLOYD. THE LLEDWIGAN THRASHER, Though not of knight or baron old, Yet listen, gentles, to my tale ; 'Tis of a thrasher stout and bold, Who wielded lustilie his flail. For he was true to Britain's king. In spite of Rump and rebels' reign. And o'er his toil he still would sing, " God send our Prince his own again." 142 MORYS LLOYD. With sword and lance the soldiers came, (A price upon his head was placed) ; The coward rebels thought no shame A single man their thirtye faced. Forward his right foot's ample stride, His left was firm against the wall ; There all their numbers he defied, And forced their steel-clad heads to fall. Seven of that companie he slew With flail and with his own right hand ; Heaven grant, his spirit firm and true May pure before his Maker stand I A stone," I've heard my father tell, Stands yet above his simple grave ; It says, he fought the battle well, His countrie and his king to save. I'd rather sleep beneath that stone. Than rule with traitors in their pride ; For faith and loyaltie alone Are better than the world beside. ( 143 ) EUTHANASIA. " The kindest wish of my friends is Euthanasia." Arbuthnol to I'ope. If friend there be, who fain would raise Prevailing prayer for me on high, Ask not for health and length of days, But heart and hope to calmlie die. Oh, let me pass the gloomie stream, Nor tremble in the hour of dread, But cherish well the heavenlie beam. That lights the chamber of the dead. And when I tread the shadowie shore, Like phantom on the wings of sleep, When myriad spirits round me soar, And ghostlie voices strange and deep ; Lest in that hour of wonder dim I faint in dark perplexitie, Let me have help and power from Him Who robbed the grave of victorie. ( 144 ) THE ARRAN'S SIDE. 'TwAS on the Arran's rugged side, Rolled the mist and sunbeam mingled And as I gazed, in quicker tide All my blood with pleasure tingled. And where I trod the downward steep. Rose a cottage small and lowUe, And loveliness and quiet deep Threw around a sunshine holie. A mother in the pride of youth Met me with her infant smiling ; I saw, how God in tender ruth Gave us love our toil beguiling. When she had told my onward way, Yet she stayed my steps retreating ; And, hesitating, turned to say, " Haplie, thou hast need of eating. A poet's fate. 145 " My husband's house hath humble show, Yet may everie stranger rest there ; So ere upon thy way thou go, Take ' a morsel'" of the best there." I needed not her offer kind, But I thanked the God of heaven, That in our hills to humble mind, Gentle goodness he had given. A POET'S FATE. I HAD a dream in boyhood, I should be Famous, and move a giant in my time ; Yet it foreshadowed, all around should climb, Quicker and deftlier up the fruitful tree Of wealth and fair repute ; for vainlie me Its boughs would tempt, if soiled by earthlie slime So might I gaze and muse, or idlie rhyme, While others grasped the prize or golden fee. 146 NEKYO-MANTEIA. Half has been partlie true ; for all around My young compeers succeed ; and I, meanwhile, Train my lone heart by wandering fancies fed. Alas, what chance ! the other will be found As trulie boding : yet content I smile, And bless the dew which falls on others' head. NEKYO-MANTEIA. ' TwAS when the clouds were fleeting fast Around the chariot of the wind, Touched like an aspen by the blast. Fell loose the fetters from my mind. I saw with my diviner eye, Vast crowds of spirits swell the air : Now hovering far, now bending nigh, They bade me high communion share. " Learn, mortal brother, learn," they cried, " The secret of the world unseen ; Throw^ pride away, cast mirth aside. Tread like a pilgrim life's short scene. NEKYO-MANTEIA. 147 " Lo here the youngest of our throng, Him thy companion and thy friend : So live, that thou mayst join our song, Nor waihng with our welcome blend." '• Oh, hear their warning !" cried the spirit Who last had entered Death's grim portal ; " Oh, flee the stain which must inherit Dishonour in the realm immortal. " Me too, thou knowest, life's vain dream Lured oft to soil my garment bright : Oh, purge thine own — thou know'st the stream Where it may gather hues of light," Then came a sadder, lowlier cry From one whom also I had known ; Gloomie and dim, afar on high. He lingered from the crowd alone. He might not tell, I weened, his fate. Though hope was mingled in his gloom ; But like a guest scarce entered late, Scarce safe he seemed from some dark doom. L2 148 A CATHEDRAL SERVICE ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON. Sad and bewildered as I saw, My ears drank in his earnest tone ; And wondering of his lot with awe, I turned to muse upon my own. A CATHEDRAL SERVICE ON SUNDAY AFTER- NOON. Is this Thy worship, Searcher of the heart ? Or does thy Spirit love the column's height, The fretted roof, the window's pictured light ; The organ's peal made eloquent by art ; And this gay crowd, who, like in showie mart, With wandering glances feast on sight and sound, Soiling with worldHe feet the holiest ground. Spectators merelie of some well-played part ? — Rather, far rather, at the humble shrine Of some poor mountain church, where wind and rain Beat through the time-worn walls, I could resign My soul to prayer, 'mid gray-haired rustic's strain, Thrilling with awe more real, more divine. Than in the pomp which giddye crowds profane. MISOCHLOS. 149 FRET NOT THYSELF. " Purge out thy vineyard, purge it swiftlie, Lord, And, as of old, into thy house of prayer Come, and cast out what works pollution there !" Almost I cried, with fond and hastie word, To break the slumber of thy tarrying sword ; But thy dear Spirit gentlie said, " Forbear A towei', which on thy head may fall, to rear : For what art thou, to break the fair accord Which Justice holds with Mercie ? linked on high, They bide their destined time ; and if in wrath Their bond were loosened, what were then thy cry ? Where might be first the dread avenger's path ? — Be still, and if thy fancye must have scope. Fear for thyself, and for thy brother hope." MISOCHLOS. Not that I think me better than the meanest Of all earth's children ; not that I could scorn Communion with the least of Adam born : No, but for this because I long with keenest 150 LITERATURE AND ACTION. Desire and yearning — therefore, when thou leanest On broken reeds and trifles, jests long worn, Unmeaning words, smiles chillie and forlorn. Hollow Societye ; and when thou weanest Men from their better selves, from food the heart Requires to live on, therefore I disdain And loathe thy painted forms and feigning art : Give me fresh thoughts, which in the shrine have lain Within the soul ; else let me stand apart, And to myself and nature access gain. LITERATURE AND ACTION. Wondrous, I grant, and caught from heaven the flame Of Grecian inspiration ; cast in mould Of iron were the hands, whose grasp could hold Old Rome's dominion o'er the nations tame : But shall our soul's great fabric to their fame Mere echoes render back, and not enfold And cradle in its depth things new and bold ? Who thus would ape the dead, but lives to shame. CHRISTIAN THEISM. 151 Comej, rather, feed the flocks on Snowdon's side, Or snatch fresh fields from rock, or moor, or wave ; Or risk the world's great strife ; or, patient bide, Warning, where Christ's flock tempt the greedie grave ; Or feed, or clothe, or heal ; coimt better meed Things to be sung, than song of others deed. CHRISTIAN THEISM. Art Thou not He who made us, God for ever, God of the Patriarchs and the Saints of old. By whose true Spirit those high seers foretold The distant future ! Shall we dare dissever The dread Eternal, or in fancye's mould Fashion a dreamie thing, an idol sign. And trust the random voices at its shrine, Oflspring of vain desire and vision bold ? — Rather we cling to Him, of Jacob's line Father and God ; whom everie conscious tone In Nature's great expanse proclaims divine. Anchor and Rock of might ! since Thou hast shown Thy power and mercie, therefore, when we pine. Yet dare we hope in Thy dear love alone. ( 152 ) THE GODDESS OF REASON. AS PROCLAIMED DURING THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. Madmen ! who dared to rend the Altar's frame, Profane the temples of our living dread, And, tramplmg on His faith, to rear instead That idol incarnation of their shame. Worms of an hour, who dreamt th' Eternal name Could perish from the earth ! Serene on high A moment slept the thunders of the sky ; So they exulted on — but lo, what came ? The strife, the fall, the shame, the slayer slain, The death unblest, the hopeless hour of woe. The cup of anguish drained, and filled again. Wretches ! their dream is past — th' avenging foe Rudelie aroused their sleep, and different strain Breaks from the humbled kingdom, bending low. APOLOGY TO FRANCE. O GLORIOUS France ! dear land of chivalrie, Not thee I blame, but those dark foes of truth Who were thy bane. For hospitable ruth, And kindness of the heart, with courtesie, SUFFERING, OR SIN. 153 Not bought by gold, but flowing eagerlie, Greeted me ever, as my lone steps wound Their foot-sore wandering o'er thy sunnie ground, Though War's grim clouds were lowering glooniilie. Deem not, I join the slanderers of thy fame : When by the ruder children of our land Thou art belied, my hot cheeks burn with shame ; And not unbreathed my sigh, that Truth might stand, Chasing the mists between each neighbouring shore. Teaching us war and calumnie no more. SUFFERING, OR SIN. There never was calamitie, or pain. Or withering strange disease, which men have known, But often, when the suffering hour was gone. Men smiled, and said in self-devoted strain, *' We would not have it otherwise, nor fain Would wish God's providence were not thus shown." But thousand, thousand times before the Throne Of mercie, men have knelt, and knelt again, Wishing, with bitter tears, past wrong undone, Lost hours recalled, or sin's polluting stain 154 RELIGIOUS DOUBTS, AND THE WAY OF HOPE. Never contracted. Still incessant on The dark wheels roll, and Time with fierce disdain Scowls from his fierie car. Oh, pray to shun Before, what after to recall is vain. RELIGIOUS DOUBTS, AND THE WAY OF HOPE. The seed bears fruit, the fountain swells a stream ; Our acts to habits, sins to sickness grow, And death succeeds — so everiewhere below All things alike with consequences teem : Therefore, O dread Necessitie, I deem Thou must be governor of all we know. Then how can God forgive ? or who can show Those laws will change, which everlasting seem ? But Christ, by dying, took the curse away — ■ Took it from whom ? for some, we own, will die ; Some wUl be saved — ^but if our destined day We spend in sin, who knows, shall thou or I ? " Well, but believe" mcthinks I hear thee say — I'll worship thee, if thou canst tell me why. RELIGIOUS DOUBTS, AND THE WAY OF HOPE. 155 Is it then unbelief to doubt our end ? Rather, niethinks, it were audacious sin To boast of idle oracles within Predicting glorie, while we fail to mend Our hearts and lives corrupt, and while we send Our prayers on high, all mingled with the din Of strife and pursuits to the world akin. The pure may hope with puritie to blend — But I, poor worm, a thousandfold defiled, I onlie dare in impotence bow down. Veiling my eyes, to pray — " Eternal Lord, Have mercie on thy weak and wayward child ; Thou knowest how sinners gain the saintlie crown — Forgive my doubting, while I trust Thy word." " The pure may hope with puritie to blend," I wrote and still I hold ; for it is said, Our God is holie ; therefore must I dread The fearful bourne to which our reasonings tend. Yet not of uprightness untaught to bend, Nor spotless puritie, I speak ; for dead Were then all hope, and all the promise fled ; But still repentance may have blessed end. 156 NON EADEM EST iETAS. What then remains, but to subdue our pride, Deaden our lust, and agonising cry To Him who helps the tempted in their need ; Even in the world cast worldliness aside, Wielding the fierie armour forged on high : After repentance, then may hope succeed. NON EADEM EST ^TAs. Too late, dear George, too late you wear That simpering face and spritelie air, — Too late the young man's part you play ; In vain you toil to move with ease. Make it your life's dull task to please, And to the fair your homage pay. Young was Apollo in his pride. And young, Adonis, when he died ; Youth may its course of follie run : Grant it to sigh and smile in turn, And with its graceful raptures burn, From seventeen to twenty-one. LONDON VIOIiETS. 157 But you, whom by the wrinkling brow, Whom by the solemn priestlie vow Voices of nobler import call ; Who see you in your mission stand. Ask, if who bears high heaven's command Sink to the heroe of the ball. Learn with your years your mind to change ; Lest, while you strive with ease to range O'er follie and o'er wisdom's scale, Wanting the grace of boyish hour, And wanting manhood's graver power, Grasping at both, in both you fail. LONDON VIOLETS. Poor withered flowers ! How all the charms are faded, Which gentle sun and showers Have fostered day by day, Beneath some hedgerow shaded In valley far away. 158 LOXDON VIOLETS. How dull the blue, Which imitated heaven ! How dim the verdant hue, Which seem'd by Nature's hand A robe of gladness given To bless the wintrie land ! What now remains Of all the fragrance cherished ? The idle air disdains To linger on the leaves Where all the charm has perished, And silent Patience grieves. Surelie around Your birth-place Nymphs are mourning ! SureUe the rifled ground Will fear to flower again, Lest on to-morrow's dawning It find its labour vain. ST. David's street, Edinburgh. 159 Yet not in vain Your beautye perished, %vreathing With hope dull labour's chain ; And in the drearie town A gale of incense breathing From spring else hardlie known. ST. DAVID'S STREET, EDINBURGH. Light lie the earth on him who gave St. David by St. Andrew place ; He reckoned well our good and brave Akin in honour and in race — Free were the Cymry ever. Free are the kindred Gael. He was not dead to glorie old. Or all the virtues still remaining ; He gave not heed to false tales told. Or Saxon lies our lineage staining ; For slandered are the Cymry, And slandered are the Gael. 160 TO THE PRINCE OP WALES. We hate not now the sons and daughters Of those our heritage who rent ; But ever in the mingling waters Honour the purer element : Give honour to the Cymry, Give honour to the Gael. Ours is their noblest, gentlest blood ; Our toil has helped to raise their fame ; So in renown by land or flood, Not won alone by Saxon name. Sharers be the Cymry, And sharers be the Gael. TO THE PRINCE OF WALES. How can I pay the homage of the heart, When thou art scarce of British race ? How can I play the courtier's busie part, Or robe in smiles my eager face ? TO THE PRINCE OP WAX,ES. 161 Scarcelie a lingering drop of Tudor blood In all thy veins retains its force ; Yet dearer far to me, than all the flood From Gothic and polluted source. Ah ! not with melodic of Cambrian sound Thou wilt ascend the path of fame : The glories of the ancient Table Round Are merged in loveless alien name. Yet to thy infant greatness, princelie boy, True faith and loyaltie we own : Britannia's general prayer, and fear, and joy. Will gather round thy future throne. Even I, a dreamer of forgotten things, Scarce breathing in this Enghsh air. While all the land with acclamation rings. Am forced the general joy to share. And when I stood by Windsor's lordlie shrine. And saw the Queenlie mother mild, And heard that meek old man, in pomp divine. Call heaven to bless the regal child ; M 162 TO THE PRINCE OF AVALES. Then I forgot my injured countrye's wrong, And joined the universal prayer, The aspiration of the choral song, That heaven would make our prince its care. And may the Spirits of our purer light, The gentle of chivalric fire. Hovering around thy cradle in their flight, Princelie and generous dream inspire ; Save thee from Teuton treacherie and pride, And England's mercenarie leaven ; With liberal hand and gentle heart allied, To rule as delegate of heaven. And oh, remember in maturer hour, That Freedom was of British birth : Though all the world should honor lawless power. We must remain the free of earth. So shall the glorie of the patriot king Thee from the vulgar tyrants sever ; So shall thy people love, and poets sing The memorie of thy reign for ever. THE DECAY OF OLD THINGS. 163 So shalt thou worthilie the sceptre sway Of Her, our dearest dread and joy ; On whom all heavenlie blessings fall, we pray. And lightlie sit the state and world's annoye. THE DECAY OF OLD THINGS. 'TwAS in the wildest, loneliest place. On Horror's consecrated ground, Unconscious of a human face, Unhearing of a human sound ; Where the torrent's foam has birth ; Mightie queen and mother Earth In her native pride rejoices. Listening to her children's voices ; Now the brawling torrent's shock, Headlong tossed from rock to rock. And now from gloomie hiding-place The brooding tempest's sullen roar ; Nor there unheard the gentler wind, Which ruffles with its nameless grace For ever free and unconfined The dimples on Llyn Idwal's face,*' M 2 164 THE DECAY OF OLD THINGS. While playful waters shake The undulating lake, And loiter ere they break Redundant on the lonelie shore. All alone I sank to sleep, Shade and gloom of horror deep Lay heavie on my soul ; Deeper than the sleep of men, Deep as darkness o'er the glen, When storms o'er forests roll. They came around me in a throng, Their waiUng rose upon the air ; I knew their wild unearthlie song, I knew that shadowie forms were there. 'Twas like the solemn scene of mght. In time of orphan kingdom's gloom : Sepulchral strain and fitful light. The march of monarch to the tomb ; Now the drum in muffled woe. Now the trumpet wildlie wailing, Here the mourning murmured low. Anguish there o'er awe prevailing. THE DECAY OP OLD THINGS. 165 " Let us mourn, let us mourn for the land of our sires," Was the song of the shadowie band, " Since the music is hushed and the language expires Which were echoed of old through our land. When wandering man in ages hoar First trod on Europe's vacant shore, Then from his lips admiring rung The accents of our primal tongue, Startling the silent solitude : And ere the walls of Rome arose, Or Tiber saw Pelasgic foes, Our tongue, our music, in the feast Of Cimbric wanderers from the east, Thrilled through the ancient multitude. Oh, for the tongue and sounds of old Familiar to our hills and vales ! Oh, for the tales our fathers told, The legend and the song of Wales ! Take up the song of shame and woe. Take up the strain of lamentation : Not that our warlike pride is low, Not that we are not now a nation ; 166 THE DECAY OF OLD THINGS. Though our blood once was warm, and our warriors were bold, We lament not the feuds which have perished. But we mourn that the strain and the language of old Should no longer in Cambria be cherished. She fell into a sister's arms, Her stream absorbed in England's ocean ; So let them rest with mingling charms. Their peace disturbed by no rude motion. But ye, whose sires were bold in danger, Whose ancient bards harmonious sung, Sons of the Cymry, why should stranger Teach noble lips a barbarous tongue ? — We hover round our ancient places, The scenes in which of old we moved ; We yearn to look upon the faces, Children of those whom once we loved. But ah ! we hear another sound, Men called by rude and sigmatising name ; Like water spilt upon the ground. We seek in vain the accents dear to fame. THE DECAY OF OLD THINGS. 167 Where is Goronwye, Fancie's child? Where is the high Carkdoe now ? Where is Aneirin's valour wild ? Or where is Bronwen, snowie brow*'? Where is he who crossed the ocean ? Where the valour-girdled king ? Would not harps in high emotion Gladlie to their echoes ring ? And where are all the names of old. From everie river, vale, and hill, From feature fair, or battle bold, Or gentle smile, or loftie will ? — Have they not died away ? Have they not given place Unto a rudeness of to-day, Caught from an alien race ? Who would tread down the ashes of our sires, And roll oblivion's waters o'er their fame ? Who taught your hands to quench the ancient fires, And dulled your ears to sound of Cimbric name ? 168 THE DECAY OF OLD THINGS. With Mordred and with Vortigern for ever Be counted traitors, who would sever The Past and Present's mystic chain ; Who mock the patriot, if he cling To ancient shrine, or name, or string. And count his generous faith in vain. Never, oh, never on their grave The lilie or the violet be born ; Nor lucid from the Orient wave Glitter the dewie jewels of the morn ! Nor ever bard, in rapture kneeling. Dare to invoke the powers of song, With inspiration o'er him stealing. To hymn the loveless traitor throng ! Where lies their dull unhonoured head, There, lovelie Spring, forbear to tread. Nor ever may the nightingale Choose her melodious dwelling there ; But let the dim and ghostlike owl Prolong her melancholie howl. And filth profane and horror pale Be dark companions of Despair ! THE DECAY OF OLD THINGS. 169 Child of old dreams, arise ! Though in degenerate time, Yet to the mountains and the skies Proclaim in kindling strain the crime Of those who blind in heartless pride The robe of ancient honour cast aside." I woke, and saw the dawn of day, And heard no more that awful strain ; The wailing all had passed away, But ah ! its horror wiU remain. Yet as I saw the giant sun Stride o'er Llewelyn's Carnedd hoarie, " How fayre the light awakes," I cried, " When men might dream that it had died ! Who dares to say the days are done Of Cambria's everlasting glorie?" ( 170 ) ST. ASAPH AND BANGOE. " O Lyeida, vivi pervenimus, advena nostri (Quod nunquam veriti sumus) ut possessor agelli Diceret; hsec mea sunt, veteres migrate coloni. Nunc victi, tristes, quoniam Fors omnia versat, Hos illi (quod nee bene vertat) mittimus agnos." I GAZED upon the living stars on high,*" The lamps, which in the Son of Man's right hand Burnt with a lustre brighter than the sky, And shed their quickening light o'er sea and land. Beneath their blessed influence half the earth Revived her vernal powers, and snuled again, As erst in Eden, ere the woeful birth Of sin and sorrow sprung jfrom knowledge vain. Even in the crowded citye's twilight pale, Meek hearts were gladdened by their constant beam ; And many a rugged hill and lonelie vale Blossomed with virtues bright as poet's dream. ST. ASAPH AND BANGOR. 171 But as I looked, behold a star that fell, A lamp in darkness quenched by sudden guile ; Even one which cheered the land of hill and dell, The ancient home of freedom in our isle. The crosier from the pastoral hand was torn, The shepherd from the wandering sheep was driven ; And they, poor flock, forsaken and forlorn. Drank at their wayward will of cisterns riven. How could my eyes restrain indignant tears ? How could I not in angrie voice exclaim — " What foeman hath prevailed, what dark compeers Have quenched that glorious light in gloomie shame ?" Then rose a thrilling echo from the dead, Accumulated plaint of saints of old ; " Ah ! not by open foes in armie dread Hath rapine entered into Christ's pure fold. Even like our Master, by his own false friend, By his apostate follower, betrayed ; So have our ancient seers been brought to end By those who plighted faith to yield us aid. 172 ST. ASAPH AND BANGOR. Our plunderers are our brethren, and their chief — Call him not Judas, with reproachful line, But ask his better heart, what shame, what grief Should haunt the spoiler of our mountain shrine ! Is it then nothing to the passing throng, That we must mourn our place made desolate ? Turn and behold and see, was ever wrong So wrought by friend, and not by foeman's hate ? A COMPARISON OF THE MASSACRE AT BANGOR IN MAELOR. Behold the Host of God !" unarmed they stand. In white-robed panoplie, with passionate prayer Asking for Christ's pure shrine the heavenly care : And yet more earnestlie, with numerous hand Clasped and upheld, they gaze upon the sky. When ruthless Ethelfrid, with bloodie brand Reeking fi*om ill-starred Britain's vanquished band, Purpled their sacred hairs, and mocked the cry Of Priests unarmed. But soon he rued his doom. Soft is the Martyrs' sleep ; their glories sliine. ST. ASAPH AND BANGOR. 173 Who fell by Pagan hands, and on whose tomb The saints of Britain wept ! They did not pine Like us, degenerate, in our day of gloom. When Christian England robs our mountain shrine. What curse is on us ? What unhallowed deed Has stained our soil, that now we must behold Our ancient sees abolished, and their gold Torn from our mountain povertie to feed Some citie swollen high with wealth untold ? Saith not a voice from heaven ! — A vaunt, nor dare To break the slumber of those martyrs fayre And British saints, nor violate the fold Of that primeval flock, the mountain home Of God's unspotted ark — Oh, deign to spare What spurned the yoke of overweening Rome, Nor all the bloodie Teutons' swords could tear Out of our land. Now violators come, And weU we have deserved, because we bear. Compatriots, are we made of difierent clay, And not alike imbibed the quickening flame ? Or how can men, impenetrate by shame. Look coldlie on, consigning to decay 174 ST. ASAPH AND BANGOR. The godlike tongue of Britain, and the lay Of sacred bards ? or how can we betray Our primal church, its fair and goodlie frame Marred by the spoiler's hand ? I scarce restrain Indignant tears, and on my temples high Mantles the blushing blood, and in disdain I gasp for verie breath, with such deep sigh My heart unbidden heaves, until I fain Would seize my father's sword, and haste and die. Yes, they have wrested from our soil Trophies which lived through many a broil ; And we must yield our mitre hoarie To English Torie, They scorned the humble tale we told. And robbed the shrine beloved of old By British saints, and fixed a brand Upon our land I Are we all cold and dead to shame, And shall we say in accents tame, " Go on, our altars to dissever ?" That will we never ! ST. ASAPH AND BANGOR. 175 We had forgotten ancient wrong, Or made it theme for careless song : Now they revive the smouldering fire — We'll fan it higher ! 'o' We will not bow in slaverie low, Nor hug the chain and court the blow, Unless our Father's spirit fails Throughout wild Wales ! EPIGRAM. ADDRESSED TO AX ECCLESIASTICAL COMMISSIONEK. A LUSTIE thief was Robin Hood, But yet, they say, had something good Even in his mode of thieving ; For when he robbed the rich man's store. He gave a trifle to the poor. Distress in turn relieving. But you, my Lord, in fashion strange. With neither rhyme nor reason change The ancient mode of plunder : Your pious hands from poor men take, Richer the rich and proud to make, — Which seems a trifling blunder. 176 ST. ASAPH AND BANGOR. THE VISION. A GIANT spirit gazing on our land By shadowie moonlight, on the haunted strand, Called to the mourning hills, and uttered loud In voice that broke like thunder from a cloud — " Behold a land of slaves, to honor dead, Whose blood is bastardized, whose glorle fled." — To whom I answered, " Mightie spirit, say, How are they bastards ? surely these are they. Whose sires unconquered mocked the might of Rome, And made their countrie Faith and Freedom's home." Then seemed that a■^^^l form to melt in tears, And sink beneath the agonie of years ; " Such were they once," he said, " and therefore now More bitter shame should mantle o'er their brow. Since they betray their countrie ; since they bear, That reckless England from their shrines should tear The pure inheritance of saints of old, And snatch the Christian pastor from his fold." Now if your line of mitred seers must end. Your guiding lamp be quenched by hollow friend ; Your old ancestral shrine be trampled down. Will not a gem have perished from your crown? ST, ASAPH AND BANGOR. 177 O sons of Cambria ! gallant once, and true, Keep for your sons what kept your sires for you : Now must you either don the robe of shame, Losing your old inheritance of fame ; Or else be roused, and firm in union stand. Scaring the Saxon vulture from our land. UPON OUR DISUNION FROM DISSENT, POLI- TICS, &c. A TOWN besieged, with garrison divided ; Shepherds who wrangle o'er their slaughtered flock ; A stranded bark, whose crew upon a rock Will die by strife, though ocean's wrath subsided ; These are but emblems of our state misguided. And all our pettie strife, by which we mock Our couutrie's hopes, and by intestine shock Betray the solemn dutie God confided. Who shall awake us from this troubled dream ? O genius, genius ! passionate of heart. And mightie to persuade, arise, I pray, From south or north, and pour the sacred stream Of patriot love through Cambria's every part ; So on our hills may shine a brighter day. N ]78 ST, ASAPH AND BANGOR. A CALL TO UNION IN THE STRUGGLE. Welshmen, if the tales be true Which our fathers down have handed, Nought has ever made us rue, While we stood in union banded. Now then, hear our countrie's call In the hour of shame and danger ; Stand united, one and all, Trusting not the heartless stranger. Though we fight not in the field, Like the lords of ancient storie ; There are weapons we can wield To preserve our countrie's glorie. Eloquence that sounds afar. Song, the abject bribe disdaining. Union in the Senate's war, — These are weapons still remaining. gT. ASAPH AND BANGOR. 179 THE CURSE OF MEROZ. " A deep tragedy is opening. The first scene lies in the silent and solitary mountains of Wales; the last will be in the crowded and agitated streets of London." — R. W. Evans. " Curse ye the miscreants bitterlie, " Who came not to avenge the Lord," Sang Israel's host triumphantlie, When they had broken Moab's sword. Now that our altars woefullie Are shivered by the spoiler's hand, Who will arise, and manfuUie Defend the glorie of our land ? If like old Laish wretchediie Was plundered, distant from its friends, So England leave us carelesslie, While half our church in ruin bends, WiU not the curse wake bitterlie ? Will not our Lord and Master care ? Will not the ruin certainlie Extend to England's Church her share ? N2 180 ST. ASAPH AND BANGOR. WE WON'T DESPAIR. Oh no, we won't despair — who said despair ? Though our hope has been chilled once more ; Lift up again the prayer, lift up the prayer, For our church and her shrines as of yore. Their's is plebeian Peel, too cold to feel For the faith of a thousand years ; Their's is the ii-on lord, with laurelled sword, Thinking nought of the weak one's tears. Our's is a holier might, the power of right, And the courage which falls but to rise ; Our's is all gentle blood, the brave and good ; And the faith which sees deep in the skies. Hold on our purpose still, with steadfast will, As the helpless one wept of old ; The unjust judge gave way — some better day We may soften the proud and the cold. Onlie hold fast for ever : like some great river Let our yearlie murmur swell on ; Though death may quench our fire ; what asks the sire May be written in heaven for the son. ( 181 ) EDUCATION IN WALES. I SAW a garden with a thousand rills, Which thro' the flowering shrubs, down sloping hills, Flowed pleasantlie and merrilie ; And as they went they murmured, not in tone Inspired by breath of art, but nature's own, With free and living harmonie. But there were rocks which broke their eager course, And heaving undulations which of force Made slow their passage to the sea ; There came a crowd" of dark and deep -browed men, To smoothe the hill, make straight the winding glen, That they might flow more easUie. Fain would they change the course the waters went, Leave not a rippling stone, nor winding bent. Nor let them speak their natural voice : They loved not nature's music, and they strove That not a rill from formal line should rove. Nor, rippled by the wind, rejoice. 182 EDUCATION IN WALES. Oh, wise compatriots ! much I praise your zeal ; But pray you, as of old, the wave may steal Its own most fair and gentle way : And may I see each Naiad from her urn Feed still the violet, when by the burn My wearie footsteps lingering stray. Help them, I grant, their onward way along, But let them murmur still their inland song. Force not as yet the sea's hoarse tone : So when they join the ocean where they te)id, By kindlie Nature's teaching they vnll blend. And learn its accent from their oion. Come fi'om the harp and leani a parable : He who would teach its chords a loftier swell. Apes not the organ's harmonic ; But let him bring more art, or add fresh strings, Till, taught and handled well, its music rings High 'mid the choral minstrelsie. EDUCATION IN WALES. 183 Teach you a hound with art his prey to trace, Or steed, to mock the tempest in the race ? Let nature's instinct be your guide : Would you a child should speak some foreign tongue? First let him know the language which has rung Familiar by his own fire-side. Touch through the ear the heart ; then not in vain In/ite your nurslings to some loftier strain ; Then let them learn untrodden ways : But force their ears to lore half-learnt, half-known. Nor heart nor reason reached by alien tone. What can you hope save stranger's praise ? Oh, wise compatriots ! deem not that to-day The effort first was made, by rugged way To make us climb high wisdom's hill : Ask of the byegone years, and they will tell, How art has strayed from nature, and how well The mightie mother triumphed still. 184 EDUCATION m WALES. Children have conned with pain your English lore, In dull toil sick of heart ; and as of yore Have cherished still their fathers' tone. How could such knowledge profit ? how could ever Their hearts, untouched, be grateful to the giver Of knowledge with its key unknown. I fray you, deign to follow Nature's guiding ; Teach men their own tongue first ; not there abiding, But stretching thence yowr hands for more: Who drinks the well of knowledge, thirsts again ; Who understands a little, not in vain Will come to learn your newer lore. And oh, by all most dear in earth and heaven. Not godless, not unblest, I pray, be given The teaching of our ancient fold : Tread not with discord's foot on holiest ground, But guide with heaven-taught hand and hallowed sound The men whose faith was pure of old. ( 185 ) ST. DAVID'S DAY IN AMERICA. 'Tis the day of St. David, the day of our glorie, When we think of our land, and our ancestors' storie : Cast away everie burden of care and of sorrow. Let to-day's sun be bright, though the cloud come to-morrow. Thousrh we 're far from the land where our fathers drew breath. We behold not her valleys, we tread not her heath ; There 's a place in our hearts where we cherish her name, There's a day in our year when we drink to her fame. When deep called to deep, and when horde after horde Scattered ruin o'er Europe with flame and with sword. Our fathers stood firm, and in dark danger tried From their hearths and their altars bore back the wild tide. 186 ST. David's day ix America. So their gentle blood kept the fair culture of old, And the rude savage quenched not the light of their fold; But their sons in that green land of vale and of hUl Gentle virtue maintain, their inheritance still. And when Destinie willed the strange waters should blend, And oui' feuds like the tempest in sunshine should end. Still we trod with the foremost the great race of glorie, And have hallowed with virtue our fatherland's storie. Once more then, once more, since we know not on earth If we ever again shall unite in our mirth, Once more here 's a toast to the glorie of Wales, To her sons and her daughters, her hUls and her vales. Once more here 's a toast to the mightie of old, To the fair and the gentle, the wise and the bold ; Here's a health to whoever by land or by sea Has been true to the home of the brave and the free. CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 187 As for us, when we go where our sires went before, May our countrie remember our names evermore ; May our children be proud of the blood they inherit, And adorn theii* descent by their deeds and their merit. CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. TO A FRIEND. " Nisi quod pede certo Dififert sermoni, sermo merus." — Hor. Now that you've gained all sorts and sizes Of essays, odes, and college prizes, You doubt what next you should pursue, And ask me how the case I view. — Some friends, in common whom we own, Would have you let all choice alone, And trust to destinie or chance The guidance of your steps' advance ; For by events, they sagelie say, Mankind must humblie pick their way. But ne'ertheless, I apprehend, We should consult our nature's bend. The duckling from the frightened hen By instinct seeks the waterie fen. 1^8 CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. And in the meadow, bending low, The bull-calf huts with unarmed brow. I doubt if Wellington in rhyme Had shone, the genius of his time. Or Coleridge on the tented field Had learnt the nation's fate to wield. Therefore I venture to advise That on yourself you turn your eyes, And choose (though not by whim inclined) The place best suited to your mind. So, if you smile and move with ease, And studie all the arts to please ; If undisturbed by strong conviction, You never sin by contradiction. But free from inconvenient pride, Can take the fashionable side ; Go on — the heiress or the lord To you their patronage afford ; Or you may flourish, prim and sleek, In mutual-flatterie-loving clique, With ruffled shirt and brow serene, Rising in time to be a dean. If this yodr taste, go take your fill. But not my counsel or good will. CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 189 But if with mind of manlier mould, Cool, and deliberatelie bold, You fain would venture on the war That shakes the senate or the bar : If with ambition's keen desire There mingle philanthropic fire : If you can read eight hours a-day, Forswearing women, wine, and play ; Dine on a shilling, yet, at need. Appear a gentleman indeed : If hope deferred you can endure. In self-sufficing genius sure ; And, in the race if after all By sickness or by chance you fall. If, in true manliness resigned, You still can keep your steadfast mind ; Go with good omens on, my friend, All health and hope your steps attend. And yet, assayed by soundest test, They will perhaps have chosen best, Who venture from the world to turn, And feel their hearts witliin them burn, 190 CHOICE OF A PROFE,SSION. Aspiring in devotion pure The Christian's conflict to endure, To nerve the soul with might divine, And now to guard the hallowed shrine, And now console the drearie hour, When wealth and fame have lost their power. And they whose dailie words inspire The boyish heart with generous fire, Training aright the youthful mind To serve their countrie and mankind. Nor yet disdain the scholar pale, Although in worldlie strife he fail, Who follows wisdom on her way Through sleepless night and anxious day ; Who forces from the womb of night Great nature's mysteries to light, And brings, to swell his countrie's store. The pearls he culled on ancient shore : Be sure that he too boasts liis joy. Secret, but free from base alloy. So, as your wisdom most inclines, Go with the lawyers or divines : Or if you fain would be discerning In physic, or in other learning, EnirPAMMATA. 191 No path 's so bad but boasts enjoy ance, And none so good but has annoyance. But if the first, or if the last, When once you 've chosen, hold it fast : Better walk straight the roughest way, Than into diverse paths to stray. EnirPAMMATA. FOR WATEELOO. Great Britain's children we, on Belgic plain, With Arthur stemmed the iron-crested wave ; Far from our island homes, the Gallic chain Rending from Europe's neck, we found our grave. THE MARQUESS OF WELLESLEY'S TOMB. Wellesley's meridian let the tyrant's doom, And fame, which thro' the orient thrilled, attest : Thou, Eton, boast his cradle and his tomb ; Here prayed his boyhood, here his ashes rest. 192 EnirPAMMATA, TO AN INFANT. Drink, from the breast thou ne'er shalt drink again, Thy mother's milk, unconscious orphan, drain : E'en now her spirit from her frame has sped ; But yet her love supplies thee from the dead. [Both the above stanza and the next (of Archilochus) are translations from the Greek Anthology ; the four following from the Welsh.] DEJECTION. O MIND, dark mmd ! confused by helpless woe, Rise and upbear thy breast against the blow, Firm 'midst the meteor lances of the foe : Nor boast of victorie abroad ; nor, failing. Lie idlie prostrate in the hall of wailing ; But in thy joy rejoice, in sorrow moan With measure — and the world's great order own. ON BOULCH-Y-GKOES. Remember, travelling on this rugged hill. To own Jehovah's fostering care ; Let his dread Name thy mouth with reverence fill ; He brought thee on thy way so far. EnirPAMMATA. 193 NIGHT. Grand silence wrapt the realm of night and sleep, And black the hills with darkness like the tomb ; The sun lay lulled to slumber in the deep, The moon shed silver on the ocean's womb. MISFORTUNE. Behold that ruling star, how fayre, how bright, How all men bend their eyes on it alone : Let but some envious cloud obscm-e its light, We leave it all unnoticed, all unknown. LATE MARRIAGE. As I strayed thro' the garden, I sought me a flower, And the rose I rejected, the lilie I past ; Tlien, returning dislieartened in evening's dim hour, I seized, and I bEought home a nettle at last. AN EPITAPH. Here lies J. H., and lest there should be anye Chance of his rising, pray don't waste a pennie. o ( 194 ) THE BATTLE OF ACTIUM. (PROPERTIUS, BOOK IV. ELEG. VI.) Hear, Heaven, the poet's prayer I be silent. Earth, While falls the stricken victim on my hearth ; Let Rome's young bard with Grecian wreath be crowned, Old streams of song, here lend" poetic sound : Haste with the spikenard ; fragrant incense rise, And weave the mystic rite that woos the skies ; Sprinkle my brow, and round the sacred fire Let Phrygia's ivorie pipe wild thoughts inspire : Away to other realms, dark fraud and sin. Pure be the garland which I now shall win : Pour on a loftie theme, O muse divine. Strains to be worthie of Apollo's shrine : Caesar the subject, Csesar's praise I sing, And Jove's great name awhile must yield the string. Where on the fabled shore the harbour blest Lulls in its depth th' Ionian wave to rest, Where Actium's trophic looks upon the deep, And glides the bark secure o'er waves that sleep ; THE BATTLE OP ACTIUM. 195 The world's great navies met in stern debate, Navies embattled with unequal fate : There Rome's degenerate minion took his stand, With arms misguided by a woman's hand ; Here Jove expanded Csesar's everie sail, And patriot standards waved, untaught to fail. Now was each host in crescent form arrayed, Their arms all radiant on the waters played ; When Phoebus came to judge, and bade meanwhile No wind or wave disturb his floating isle ; O'er Csesar's bark he hovered, heavenlie flame In triple radiance curling as he came ; Nor then his ringlets looselie waving fell, Nor thrilled the melting music from his shell. Such as the Grecian king beheld him dread, When on the greedie grave he strewed their dead ; Such as he gazed, when prostrate on the plain The Python's folds relaxed their scalie train ; So stern he spake — " O champion undefiled, Alba's descendant. Hector's mightier child ! The sea remains to conquer, earth is thine, And thine my arrows and my aid divine ; Thy countrie save, her liberator thou, Her prayers for freedom hover round thy prow ; o:' 196 THE BATTLE OF ACTIUM. For if thou fail, her founder saw in vain Jove's sacred birds announce eternal reign ; The foemen boast their fleet, forbid the tale, That Roman waves endure a tyrant's sail. What though his hundred vessels plough the main. Be bold — the ocean bears him with disdain : What though their frowning centaurs terror spread. Reck not their hollow blocks and painted dread. On Justice Valour waits, with Justice ends, He spurns his arms who blushes for his friends : Lead on thy fleet, since now the destined hour, My laurelled hand shall guide thee in its power." He spoke, and prodigal his arrows sped. While Caesar's spear close followed where he led. Wail, haughtie queen, the God avenging Rome, And cast thy broken sceptre on the foam ; But thou, great Julius, from thy godlike shrine Behold the tokens of thy race divine. Hark 1 where the victor's vessels glide along. The genii of the deep bi^ak out in song ; The Nile beholds its vanquished mistress fly, Her onlie refuge now the power to di£ : YOUTH AXD DEATH. 197 So willed the gods, lest woman led in thrall, Should dim the meniorie of Jugurtha's fall : — Thus, by his shaft the foeman's fleet undone, The victor God his Actian trophie won. Enough of strife I Apollo's foes are slain, Unarmed his hand, relaxed his brow's disdain, His choral triumph now demands the strain. Now let the banquet all of pleasure breathe. Now vernal roses delicatelie wreathe ; Stint not the oifspring of Falernian vine, With golden^' saffron let my temples shine ; So with the goblet, so our mirth prolong, Till garish day arise, with wine and song. YOUTH AND DEATH. " At the sight of this last conflict I felt a sensation never known to rae before ; a confusion of passions, an awful stillness of sorrow, a gloomy terror without a name." — Johnson. How can my heart believe his soul has fled, Ne'er to return among us, — ne'er to move In all our social haunts ; where manye a year We knew and loved him ; where his form had grown 198 YOUTH AND DEATH. Kindred and natural, at the common board, At meals, in sports, in dailie-trodden paths, At morning, and at evening, and at noon, On well-known s])ots familiar ; and in prayer Of social worship kneeling by our side ; Till all his smiles and accents, all his words And ever-varying gestures, on our hearts Were deep engraven, intertwined with joy And grief of years in dim remembrances ? — But he is gone ! to what dim place ? Oh, grave, And land of shadows, have ye closed for ever O'er his young head ? Can gloom of nothingness And earth's dark chambers hold him ? Say it not ; Believe not, O fond heart, the heavenlie spirit Can die in death : believe not that the grave Can dim its brightness ; though I saw him lying All cold and lifeless as the earth we tread. Arrayed in all the dismal pomp and paleness Of death's mysterious vests, whose everie fold And wrinkle seems a dwelling-place for horror. A few short hours before, I heard him speaking, I saw his living glance and moving gesture ; YOUTH AND DEATH, 199 Though weak and faint, yet while he lived, we hoped. Now his grey eyes were closed, the ruddie blood Had perished from his lips, and oh, how changed ! The raanye-voiced fountain of his speech V'^as closed and silent, like a well in summer. Well might I stand and gaze, until the tears Birst irrepressiblie, like liquid fire, Fo.-cing their way, impetuous with grief. Dark, dark forebodings, evil-omened thoughts O'erwhelmed me like a storm ; and all my soul Sank down bewildered, wondering whether death Could never by some spell, or prayers, or tears, Be changed to life ; and whether there was hope, Sure stedfast hope, not forged by anye fraud, That man shall certainlie have life in heaven. What if our bodies were but mere machines, Fashioned to move on earth, but, broken once, Not to revive ? Then never should I know My friend beloved in vain, nor see him move, Nor hear him speak — but he was gone for ever, Lost, lost in darkness and in mysterie ! Forbid it, heaven ! and Thou, great God, whose word Called us from nothing into life and feeling ; 200 YOUTH AND DEATH. Let not thy work, once loved, be wrought in vain, But pitie us, and save us fi'om the grave. From dark annihilation and despair. Lord, I believe, — forgive my unbelief. Such were my miserable thoughts and prayers. Until at last I forced me to depart ; Then turned to weep again, and said farewell, The last farewell : it seemed impossible To say the bitter word ; and yet I said it. And went reluctant, lingering on my way. And my sad heart rebuked my eyes' dehght. The flowers, the fields, the river as it flowed, The trees, whose shade was green in pomp of summer, Shewed like some wicked mockerie of grief, Living, it seemed, and flourishing for ever, While helpless man was gathered to the tomb. So all that night in one bewildered dream Of mourning stupor passed : though outwardlje All nature bloomed the same, there was a blank And vacant gap within our world of friends, A fair ship wrecked amid our companie. YOUTH AND DEATH. 201 So passed a day : — Then faltering again I sought his chamber, and I saw his features Moulded by Death's cold handling to a form More rigid and more fixed, and void of meaning, As if he ne'er had lived, and smiled, and spoken. Once more (it was the morning when the grave Was to receive its own), once more I entered. Meaning a last farewell, and there, O death And twin corruption, with your loathsome power — Your pestilence had touched his comeliness, And now there was a form, which none could look on, But shuddered while they looked. Yet comforted. With step more buoyant, conscious as of triumph, I left the chamber ; for I knew in spirit He could not dwell within that mass corrupted, Those shackles could not hold him. He had passed I know not whither, but believe I will, His soul had passed away to happier places, Regions where death and sorrow are not known. Loftie thy gate, and statelie is thy entrance Which opens from the west, thou wondrous temple. 202 YOUTH AND DEATH. Triumph of hallowed art, from royal saint Fit offering to heaven ; the evening sun Loves with his rays to linger on its beautye, Yet seldom with remembrance free from gloom My steps may pass that portal, which in time Of funeral mourning chieflie I have entered. Once I had seen it open for the aged, Stricken in years, and full of well-earned honour ; Men mourned, but could not wonder, if the corn Was gathered to its garner, ripe for harvest. But now 'twas for the young, my own compeer, Who in the race of life, (how far too earlie), Even by my side sank down ; the portals opened, The pomp obsequial entered, and the strains Arose high swelling with their melodic. Soothing, yet full of melancholic awe, " I am the Resurrection and the Life, They who believe in me, shall live for ever, Even after death." We heard, and durst not doubt The heavenlie promise, even while we trembled. Now then farewell — not lost, but gone before. Farewell awhile, my friend, and since on earth MODERN ASSASSINATION. 203 Fondlie thou gavest praise, and didst foretell, Hereafter I might win the poet's laurel. So let me hang upon thy earlie tomb A garland rude, yet twined by friendlie hand, Earnest of loftier fame thou might'st have won, When youth's vain follies and the weeds of passion Had perished, and thy mind put forth its power. Since now this may not be, and since thy merits, Known but to few, and where most known, most loved, Have perished in their blossom, let my song Say that I loved thee well ; and when the hour Shall reach us with our proper destinie, Then may we die with hope, in happier realm To hail our friends, Avhere mourners' tears are dried, And love and joy unmingled live for ever ; — Now then farewell, my friend, once more farewell ! MODERN ASSASSINATION. AN IDYLL. Our fathers sink and slumber in the grave ; We stand and see them fall, and cannot save ; 204 MODERN ASSASSINATION. And when we grow to manhood, all around Our fond eyes mourn the»desolated ground, Missing the grave, the reverend, and the wise, Who stroked our infant hau's, and turned our eyes On things of honour and of sanctitie. When those who went before in life's array Have fallen in their rank, we hold our way Among the Promachi, who look on death And all the foes of our humanitie. Frail and obnoxious to their fierie breath ; Since those on whom their furie wont to rave. Our fathers, sink and slumber in the grave. Therefore we gird ourselves with younger friends, And train the sapling where the oak tree bends, Speaking to others what to them was spoken. Weaving anew ties destined to be broken ; Leaning our reed-like hearts on favourite forms. With love as strong as death, and dear communion With kindred spirits ; or we breast the storm Of popular strife, to build our names a home Which may defy all time, like marble Sunion Frowns everlasting on the idle foam. MODERN ASSASSINATION. 205 And we have need of strength to stem the wave, Whose fathers sink and slumber in the grave. But if their forms have mouldered in their tomb, Does not their fair inheritance remain ? Their virtue and their faith on life's drear gloom Flash cheering radiance, and th' enduring strain Of echoes from the storied hall of fame Thrill on our hearts, that when they fall, in turn We may arise and quit ourselves, to claim An equal meed, if in our time we burn Unquenchablie pure incense on the fires Caught from the glowing ashes of our sires ? Alas ! where are they ? pure-hearted faith. And openness of soul, and love of home, And manliness, and fairness to our foe, Where are your relics ? Like the shadowie wraith, That flitted as we saw it, like the foam That melts into the water, or the glow Of sunset clouded by the tempest's wing, Alreadie they depart ; and, while I sing. They severallie sink in Tipie's vast wave, And, like our fathers, slumber in the grave. 206 MODERN ASSASSINATION. Is this that ancient Britain, where in haste The verie abjects lifted from the ground Their fallen foe ? and on the blood-stained waste Of civil war, fair flowers would still abound. Friendship surviving in the stern debate, And courtesie triumphant over hate, And helping of the helpless, though abhorred, And hospitalitie that opened wide Its portals to the vanquished, and in pride Frowned on the golden bribe and conquering sword. O godhke virtues, O ancestral glorie ! Dear trophies of the field of Britain's storie, Leave us not yet, — compel me not to groan. That in the land of Arthur and Glendore, The maiden Tudor's rainbow-cinctured throne, Your names are but a dream, yourselves no more : Surelie you yet remain, our land to save, Even though our fathers slumber in the grave. But that was in our countrie's summer prime. When men" still deigned to reverence earlier time ; When Shakespeare wrought the tale of Cymbeline, When gentle Fletcher clothed in virtue's charms MODERN ASSASSINATION. 207 Our sires impenetrate by dire alarms, And Milton honoured in his song divine " The old and haughtie nation, proud in arms." We, who, disowning those from whom we spring, Hymn the barbaric stranger, and no more Shed patriot rapture from the sounding string. Waking dim echoes of Britannic lore, — We too have lost the virtues of our race. Some spurious element of Saxon birth Imbuing with its venom everie trace Of ancient kindliness, and homelie mirth. And manliness, and fairness to our foe ; When with their squallid features bent on gain, Men deal with reckless hand the treacherous blow, Trusting to passion law's prerogative. And smiting in the darkness, till in vain Authoritie extends her golden chain, And innocence unarmed scarce hopes to live : Oh, all degenerate from the wise and brave. Our fathers, idlie slumbering in the grave. Societie has snapped its mystic chord ; Not for our poor, our neighbour, and our friend. 208 MODERN ASSASSINATION. But for ourselves and wealth — O pest abhorred ! We severallie strive with selfish end ; And that ingrained malignitie, whose smile Has venom in its dimple, from its den Points the dark gibe, rejoicing to defile All sanictitie, and all that severed men From devil and from brute : and now its brain Invents the slander, now it multiplies Each trifling error ; so for lust of gain Panders to evil passion with its lies. And thou, crowned Ladye — whom our willing dread And love so mingled gird, we cannot tell Should we thy subjects or thy guardians seem, But each, by varying age or humour led, Finds reason in his heart to love thee well : The poor man's sceptered friend, the poet's theme, Gray wisdom's cherished daughter, youth's bright star, And woman's fair example ; whom afar Guilt should have reverenced as it turned aside — Against thy sacred form rose lawless hand, Whose weapon impotentlie wandered wide. Turned by good angels pitying our land, And by thine innocence which rose between. Proof armed in prayers like triple mail unseen ; MODERN ASSASSINATION. 209 And as the ark-borne patriarch's sous, with eyes Downcast and backward, veiled their father's shame, So, weaving to ourselves a vain disguise, We called our countrie's crime by frenzye's name. Meanwhile the stranger's mock and foeman's scorn Rose bitterlie, proclaiming we were shorn Of all we claimed peculiar : like in vain The tree boasts fruit it ne'er shall bear again, So the degenerate mistress of the wave Boasts of her fathers slumbering in the grave. Who shall breathe life into the slaughtered form ? None but the heavenlie Spuit, who could form And can revive, and with his quickening breath Wake our forefathers' virtues fi'om their death. Yet come, Aonian Power, and on the tomb Of our great ancestors, within the gloom, Upon the dizzie verge between the past And present, let us stand, and like the last Of shipwrecked mariners upon a rock Calls to his comrades whelmed in ocean's shock, In bitterl^ess of spirit let us cry — " O godlike virtues, O ancestral glorie, p 210 MODERN ASSASSINATION. Dear trophies of the field of British storie, Return unto your own — you cannot die I This is your land — you were of British birth ; And we are Britain's children — come along, Roused by the accents of ancestral song, And crown our countrie still the queen of earth. Let then the Saxon stab, and those who praise The Saxon spirit. By the better days Of ancient Britain, and the flame divine Of England sanctified by British line, Return once more ; that we may raise again Our standard 'mid the nations free from stain. Unstained, unshackled as our natal wave. Even though our fathers slumber in the grave." So rudelie sung the shepherd on the hill, With dread that magnified the distant ill : Yet fondlie gazing on the western sun. Before he sought his cot, his labour done, " Once more, O harp," he cried, " once more oh fling On heaven's wild winds the echo from thy string, That wandering through our island's pleasant places. Lingering on manlie forms and modest faces. THE DESCENT INTO HELL. 211 They may inbreathe the spirit of the past, And wake old virtues ere they sleep their last. But if in vain on England's sons thou call, Then raise prevailing prayer, that heaveulie •wall May gird this simple land ; and, like her strand Of adamant, between her childi-en stand And ill's contagious breath. Let eourtesie. Her heritage of old, with pietie Go hand in hand ; nor let them rudelie rend The altar's framework, nor in sloth unbend Their ancient harhihood ; but like the showers Make green their hills, so fed by holiest powers Flourish their virtues ; so, though crumble towers, And Time's rude waters ancient landmarks lave, From shame of sons degenerate let us save Our fathers, though they slumber in the grave." THE DESCENT INTO HELL. When sin and death had done their worst, And Ho had borne the cross accurst, He descended into hell ; P2 212 THE DESCENT INTO HELL. Where light nor joy had ever come. But, wailing in their penal home, All the guiltie spirits dwell. All thoughts of iU and shapes of wrath, And driving storms beset the path. Calm and awful where He trod : One moment Satan vengeance drank, Then cowed with waning sceptre shrank From the presence of his God. Serene, as erst with ruling sway He trod the tempest's waterie way. So in hell's dim world He stood : Yet on His majestic divine Were traced, I ween, full manye a line, Lines of pain, and fire, and blood. The myriad phantoms of the past, Our fathers' spirits, first and last, Heard and gathered as He spoke : What light o'erspread the pallid gloom, What joy for freedom from their doom, When His word their fetters broke ! THE martyr's crown. 213 Onlie the fiends and fiondlike host, In unrepentant darkness lost, Wailed and murmured far apart ; Thou, who would'st shun their doom of dread, Arise, and 'mid the living dead Bear the cross within thy heart. THE MARTYR'S CROWN. Oh for the brave and olden time, Though time of peril, wrath, and woe. When in the war with power and crime. Meek, yet in fervent faith sublime. The Martyrs laid them low. How calm they met the tyrant's rage, Put on the withering crown of fire ; Calm, when the lion from his cage Rent shrinking child and helpless age, They hailed his savage ire. 214 THE martyr's crown. Who would not die for Him who died To save our race from sin and shame ? Who would not brave the Gentile pride. The sword, the flame, the raging tide, For Christ our Lord's dear name ? But lapped in soft luxm-ious life, Unproved by want or woe forlorn, How shall we wage the martyr's strife ; Leave home or parent, cliild or wife, And with our Master mourn ? But is the straight gate closed for ever ? And must our love in sloth sink down ? Nay, never deem, the flowing river Of time, or clime, or space, can sever The Martyr from his crown. Behold it shine in Christ's right hand ; Behold our warfare round us stUl ; With tempting sights by sea and land, With all the passions, sleepless band, With thoughts and words of iU. THE SECRET OF RELIGION. 215 Say, would'st thou rather die than yield To lust, to anger, and to pride ? Do ill desires and spirits wield Arms in thy heart's wild battle-field, 'Gainst Him who for us died ? If thou canst tame those foes within, And turn unmoved from Pleasure's shrine ; If lust and self thy heart ne'er win, If thou would'st sooner die than sin. The Martyr's crown is thine. THE SECRET OF RELIGION. " Velis tanturamodo Expugnabis; et est qui vinci possit, at idem DiflSciles aditus primos habet."— IIoR. HuMiLiTiE at earlie morn Went forth upon her way alone ; No adverse hate, no passing scorn Could cloud her smile or change her tone. Alike in lowliest tasks of earth. And enterprise of loftie birth. Straight on she went, and from her secret soul A spring of deep content for ever seemed to roll. 216 THE SECRET OF RELIGION. But Waywardness, who slept away The morning and its golden prime, In follie wasted half the day, And passed from follie into crime ; Nor wanted still before her eyes The shadow of some better prize : A void was in her heart, a yearning stiU To curb the passions wild, that mocked her better will And as she wantoned in the shade, And in uneasie sloth reclined, She saw by chance that heavenlie maid. And at her happiness she pined : " O stay," she cried, " and let me know The secret of your bliss below. What holie spell is yours, what secret power, To link your dutie and your love through everie hour. " Oh, deign to teach me what you know, And let me learn of you the way ; So shall my footsteps dulie go, Nor into vice abandoned stray." She spoke, and with a pitying smUe The maid replied in gentle style, THE SECRET OF RELIGION. 217 And taught her all she knew, and murmured all The spells which free the heart from vice and follie's thrall. Yet was that spirit restless still, Nor found in all religion's lore, Or novel charm or secret skill, Nor aught but what she knew before. No visions from the burning shrine Of terror and of power divine, Nor mightie conflicts in the shadowie \ ale. With ghostlie forms of horror and amazement pale. In patience and in lowliness To nerve the self-devoted mind, In prayer and faith and tenderness To scorn all comfort, so to find — For first rough Dutie's path we tread. And so to happiness are led : And all this secret she had learnt before. But wanted stedfast heart to practise heavenlie lore. ( 218 ) A HYMN FOR A CONGREGATION. Lord, behold thy church adore Thee, Hear thy ransomed church implore Thee ; Since thy virgin Mother bore thee In this world of sin and sorrow, So that men new hope might borrow, Hear us, Lord ; to-day, to-morrow. For ever save us. Lord, we pray. Save throughout the world each nation. Save this priest and congregation ; Save in trouble and temptation, In death, and at the judgment-day. God the Father, great Creator, God the Son, and Mediator, God the Spirit, Renovator, One God, Three Persons we adore. Child and parent, young and hoarie, Meet in church to praise thy glorie : Hear us. Lord, and let our storie Be full of mercie evermore. ( 219 ) WAITING FOR THE SERMON. Lord, since in Thy courts to-day We have sought Thy face -with dread. Send us hungrie not away, Feed us with thy heavenlie bread. Pour thy Spirit from on high ; Fill the preacher's word with power ; Let thy quickening grace be nigh. Quickening else a barren hour. Lead us for our Saviour's merit, Lead us for His tender ruth. From the letter to the spirit. From the shadow to the truth. Make them. Lord, a strengthening charm, Everie day and everie hour ; Shield us with Thy mightie arm, Guide us by Thy holie power. ( 220 ) HYMNI ECCLESI^. FERIA VI. P. 20. Thou onlie Lord" Tripersonal, Who rulest all the world with power, Hear Thou our suppliant matinal, Sung at the first awaking hour. Hear us arising from our sleep, Ere yet the busie world has sounded. Thy love imploring while we weep, To heal whate'er is sick and wounded. Whate'er we sinned, by dark ill powers Deluded, as asleep we lay. Pour from above Thy heavenlie showers Of grace to wash it all away. Let not our bodies come unclean, Let not our hearts be dead within ; Let not our spirits' fervour keen Decay, infected by our sin. HYMNI ECCLESIyE. 221 For this, redeeming Lord, we pray, Renew us with divinest light ; Grant that throughout each circling day We fall in no dark deeds of night. Grant this. Thou mightiest, holiest Father, Grant this, co-equal, onlie Son, And Thou who wuth the Son and Father For ever reignest, Three in One. AD VESPERAS. P. 9. Lord and Creator of the light, From Whom the days thehr course began ; With elements of purer light, Creator of the world again ; Whose word the evening and the morn Twined into one, and called them day ; The night brings on its gloom forlorn — Behold Thy servants weep and pray. 222 HTMNI ECCLESI^. Let not our mind, bowed down by crime, Be exiled from Thy gift of life. Dwelling on things of earth and time, And bound by chains of sin and strife : But let it knock at heaven's high gate. And bear the crown of life away ; So let us shun what Thou dost hate. And purge all soil from our array. O Merciful, O Father, hear ; Hear, O thou one co-equal Son ; And Thou, of comfort and of fear. Most Holie Spirit, Three in One. CHRISTilAS DAT. P. 123. The Son, Whom God decreed to send Ere the created world began, The First and Last, his titles ran. The Source of all things, and the End ; Of all that was in ages old, Of all to come in time untold. For ever and for ever. HYMNI ECCLESI^. 223 He whom the Prophets' faithful page, Wliom all the seers in bardic throng, Rapt in high vision or in song, Foretold from rolling age to age, Behold His promised glorie shine ! Let all things praise His Name divine, For ever and for ever. How full of blessing was the birth, When, pregnant by the Holie Ghost, The Virgin bore amid the lost Christ the Redeemer of the earth ; When Jesus, our incarnate Lord, Shone forth, a light to be adored For ever and for ever. Break into song the heaveulie height, Break out the cherubim in song ; Swell to our God the choral thronof, Whate'er creation boasts of might : Let no ill tongue be silent found. But everie voice prolong the sound, For ever and for ever. 224 HYMNI ECCLESI^. Thee, Lord, the old, and Thee the young, And Thee the infants, lisping band. Matrons and virgins hand in hand, And girlish voices feeblie strung, Harmonious all and pure, combine To hymn and praise thy Name divine, For ever and for ever. To Thee, O Christ, be with the Father And with the Hohe Ghost, our Lord, High hymn and strain and sounding chord. And thanks, which from the heart we gather, Honour and praise ascribed, and might. And kingdom by eternal right, For ever and for ever. AD PRIMAil. p. 6. HuMBLiE to God Almightie pray, Now ere the morning star arises. To save us through the livelong day From all the tempter's dark sui-prises. HYMNI ECCLESIiE. 225 Pray for a guard upon our speech, From hastie clamour anger raising ; Pray that our eyesight He may teach From worlcllie glance and idle gazing. Pray that our thoughts may all be pure, And free from wayward passion's madness ; Pray that our haughtie frames endure The yoke of fasting and of sadness. So when the light of day shall wane, Night in her destined course returning. By temperance freed from everie stain, Our hearts may feel devotion burning. Now to the Father and the Son Be glorie, as it was, for ever ; And to the Spirit, Three in One, The Trinal Dread, which none may sever. 'I ( 226 ) PSALxM XLII. My spirit yearns, in panting after God, Like yearns for waterbrook the panting deer : I have a thirst — it is a thirst for God, A longing in His temple to appear. By day and night I have been fed with tears, While scorners ask me, " Where is now thy Lord ?" Ah, sadlie I remember byegone years, And pour out all my soul in fervid word. Once with the multitude I went my way Rejoicing to the temple of the Lord ; With hymns of joy we kept our festal day, And sang Jehovah's praise with high accord. Wliy art thou all cast down and shorn of power, Why art thou all disquieted, my soul ? Put thou thy trust in God — in happier hour Light from his face shall shine and make thee whole. PSALM XLII, 227 Lord my God, my spirit is cast down, Yet still from Hermon's hill, by Jordan's wave, 1 turn with prayer to Thee, though at Thy frown Deep calls to deep, and billows round me rave. Thou wilt command Thy kindness in the day, And nightlie I will sing Thy present song ; My prayer shall be to Thee, and I will say, " Lord, why hast Thou forgotten me so long ?" Why must I walk in mourning for the foe. And in my heart endure the dailie sword ? Mine enemies reproach me in my woe, And ask me scornful, " Where is now thy Lord?" Yet be not all cast down, or shorn of power, Be not thou all disquieted, my soul : Put thou thy trust in God — in happier hour Light from his face shall shine and make thee whole. ii-^ ( 228 ) PSALM XLVI. (VEHSE 1 7.) God is our refuge sure, God is our strength and tower, God is our present help In trouble's darkest hour. Therefore we will not fear, Though earth upheave in motion ; Though mountains from their place Be tumbled into ocean. There is a pleasant river. Whose streams are ever nigh. They shall make glad the place Where dwells our God most high. God is amongst us ever. Therefore we stand secure ; God shall provide us help Right earlie and right sure. ASCENSION DAY. 229 Rebellious nations raged, Tumultuous kingdoms rose ; His voice was heard on high, And melted all his foes. He dwells with us for ever, The Lord of hosts His Name ; The strength of Jacob old, Our God is still the same. ASCENSION DAY. God has gone up with triumphal psalm. And sound of angels' heraldrie ; His own right Hand and His holie Arm Have gotten Him the victorie. Christ has made known His salvation and power, The world beheld of God the token ; Death could not hold him beyond the hour, The portals of the grave were broken. 230 PSALM XXIV, Behold captivitie captive led, Behold the sepulchre is riven : God has gone up from the shrouded dead- Break into song, all earth and heaven ! PSALM XXIV. Open ye gates, ye everlasting portals Be open for the glorious King ! Who is the glorious King ? and why should mortals Aspire such loftie strain to sing ? Christ is the glorious King, the King appointed. The King triumphant o'er the grave ; Christ is the glorious King, the Lord's Anointed, Mightie and powei'ful to save. Open ye gates, ye everlasting portals Be open for the glorious King ! Christ is the glorious King, and therefore mortals Aspire such loftie strain to sing.. ( 231 ) THE APOSTLES' PRAYER. (Acts iv. 24—30.) Lord Almightie, Tliou art God — Both the water and the land, And the glorie of the heaven, All were made by Thy command. Thou hast spoken by Thy prophet, " Why do nations rage and strain ?" Thou hast spoken by Thy prophet, " Why imagine things in vain ? Lo I the kings of earth arose. And the mightie were arrayed — 'Tvvas for strife against the Lord, x\nd the Christ he has displayed." For against Thy holie Child, Even Jesus, gracious Lord, Jew and Roman, king and people. Raged and rose in one accord ; And they did what was prepared By Thy counsel and Thy hand. Now, O Lord our God, behold. Look upon their threatening band ; 232 EPODE. Stretching forth Thy hand to heal, Honour Thy Almightie child : Let us boldlie, full of power, Preach our Saviour undefiled. EPODE. Here, like some wandering bird, ill-skilled to soar, But whirled by driving tempest o'er the main ; Here, weak and wayward muse, break off thy strain, And rest thy wearie wing ; nor ever more Tempt with audacious flight the ocean's roar. Not thine the pinions which the storm disdain, Or climb with daring course th' eternal fane : So rest thee, landed on the quiet shore. Here may no harsh tones scare thy timid glance. Nor anye, injured by thy breath, complain ; But, gentlie wakened from her sleeping trance, Cambria shake off " the dew-drops from her mane !" So to her children all, o'er hill and dale, And all who love her well, bid kindlie hail. NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS. The Banquet, SfC. ' " Whenne Hengistus hadde experience of the great boost of Brytons, he then ordeyned meanes of treaty and of peas. Where lastly it was concluded, that a certayne nonibre of Brytons and as many of Saxons shulde upon a Waye day assemble upon the playne of Ambrii, nowe called Salesbury. Whiche daye certainly prefixed, Hengistus usyng a newe maner of treason, charged all his Saxons by hym appointed, that eche of theyra shuld put secretly a long knyfe in theyr hoose, and at suche season as he gave to theym this watche or byworde " iSTcmpnitf) your Sells," [Nemet oure saxas], that every eche of theym shuld drawe his knyfe and slee a Bryton' nat sparynge any one except Vortiger [Gourtheyrn] the kyng. And at the daye before appoynted, the kyng with a certayne of Brytons nat ware of this purposed treason came in a peasyble wyse to the place before assygned, where he fande redy Hengistus with his Saxons, the whyche due obeysaunce made unto the kyng receyued hym with a contenaunce of all loue. Where after a tyme of commynycation hadde, Hengiste beynge mynded to execute his former purposed treason' shewyd his watcheworde by reason whereof anon the Brytons were slayne as shepe amonge woluys, hauyng no maner of wepyn to defende theymself, except that any of theym might 234 NOTES. by his manhode and strengthe gette the knyfe of his enemye. Amonge the nombre of these Brytons was an erle called Edolf [Eldol], erle of Caerlegion or Chestre, the whyche seyng his felowes and frendes thus murdred, as affermeth myne auctour Gaufride and other ; he by his manhode wane a stake in the hedge or ellyswhere, w'*' y' whyche he knyghtly sauyd his owne lyfe and slewe of the Saxons xvii, and fledde the cytie or towne of Ambrii, now named Salesbury." So far the chronicler jFalipan, fol. xxxv., in the uncastrated edition of 1516, of which the greater part was burnt by order of Cardinal Wolsey. Besides GeofFry, he quotes as authority for a variation of the story " an 'Suctour, tallcO ^StlljElmUS Ue ^cglbits ; and the Latin of Geoffry, Bishop of Saint Asaph, Matthew of Westminster, and Roger of Wendover, correspond severally, I find, almost word for word with his account. It is only fair to add, that notwithstanding this array of black- letter authorities, the whole story may be suspected of belong- ing rather to the romance than to the history of the overthrow of Christianity and civilization in our island by the savage hordes from the north. The author, however, of " Britannia after the Romans," who is generally full of Saxon scepticism, says, " This transaction certainly occurred. It has been un- justly brought into doubt." See his Essay, p. 46. The reader will have scarcely failed to notice that the Eldol, who is generally called " Consul Glocestriae," or lord of Caerloyou, rather than Caerlegion, is the Savior of Mr. Mil- man's beautiful poem. ' " Intravit itaque Sathanas in cor ejus [Vortigemi], qui, cum esset Christianus, cum pagana coire desiderabat. Nup- sit (!) itaque eadem nocte rex Paganse, quae ultra modum placuit; unde inimicitiam procerum et filiorum suorum in- NOTES. 235 currit." — Roger of Wendover, Flores Hist, in init. lib. ii. Here again Geoffry, Matthew of Westminster, and Fabyan, correspond as above. Llywarch Hen. ^ For a full account of Lhowark or Liowarch Hane, the Priam of Wales, who, after losing his numerous sons in suc- cessive battles, lived to extreme old age, and retired to the neighbourhood of Bala, where he lamented his fate in some- what rugged strains ; the curious reader may consult Dr. Owen Pugh's edition of his remains. He is the earliest au- thority who mentions Arthur. I will only add a suspicion that he is represented by the Lamorac of the romance writers ; requesting also the reader to remember, that the present poem is professedly an imitation of a quaint and rugged style. Aneirin. * That Aneirin was a brave though arrogant soldier, as well as a bard with no ordinary degree of fiery inspiration, seems generally agreed. I must confess a doubt, whether, according to a right translation of his verse, we should not suppose three companions (the two war-dogs of Aeron, and Conan) to have cut their way out, and the bard himself to have been taken prisoner, but to have been released in consequence of his poetical or musical skill. The lines most quoted from his poem may be thus translated : The men who went to Cattraeth were men of name ; Wine and mead out of gold was their drinking ; Three men, and threescore, and three hundred, with golden torquis : Out of all that marched forth after excessive drinking, 236 NOTES. r from 'j There escaped but three •( or >■ the gashing of swords, [ with; The two war-dogs, Aeron aud Conan, (who are now) buried; Cfrom"! And myself \ or l my blood-shedding— price of my song. ( with 3 Some further specimens of the bard may be found in the notes to the Mabinogion, which will well repay the real student of poetry; and there is a meagre account of him in some editions of Gray, who paraphrased Mr. Evans' Latin version of the above. Owen Gwynedd. 5 " Shorllie after died Run the sonne of Prince Owen of North Wales, a faire and a goodlie young man, whose death when it came to his father's eares did so trouble him, that no kind of plesure could comfort his heavie hart, so that he led the night in teares and the day in heaviness, till God, who took compassion upon the poore leavings and remnants of the Brytaines, even as he had discomforted the prince with the death of his sonne, so he did glad his sorowful hart with the overthrow of his enemies. For there was a castell at the Mould [Montalto], verie strong and well manned, which did trouble the whole countrie about, and had been oftentimes besieged but never won. Prince Owen levied a power and laid siege to it, but the garrison defended it manfullie, and aboad diverse assaults : but at last, mauger their heads, the sight of the prince did so incourage his men that they entred by force, and slew a great number, and tooke the rest of the defendants, and razed the fort to the earth ; which victorie atchieved did so please the prince, that he left his solitarie plaints, and fell to his accustomed pastimes." The above NOTES. 237 quotation is from Caradoc of Llangarvan, or his editor Dr. Powe), page 199 of the edition of 1584, which is the earliest I have been able to procure, and far more interesting than Dr. Wynne's revised and modernised edition of 1697. I^ would seem that Owen took the castle fairly ; so that the poem does him injustice in supposing a night assault. Lest also this humane and christianlike sort of consolation should give the reader an indifferent opinion of the ablest of our princes, I subjoin his character from the same author. " Cadwalader and Owen Gwyneth, the sons of Gruffyth ah Conan. in whom remained the hope of all Wales, for they were geutle and liberal! to all men, terrible and cruell to their enemies, meeke and humble to their freends, the succour and defense of widows, fatherless, and all that were in necessitie: and as they passed all other in good and laudable vertues, so they were paragons of strength, beautie, and well proportionate bodies." Ibid. p. 189. And again, p. 22.5, we are told that Owen " passed out of this world after he had governed his countrie well and worthilie 32 yeares. This prince was for- tunate and victorious in all his affaires ; he never tooke any enterprise in hand but he atchieved it." Prince Madoc, * The discovery of America by Madoc, son of Owen Gwyn- eth, is one of those traditions " poeticis niagls decora fabulis, quae nee afiirmare nee refellere in animo est." As the poem by Southey has made the subject familiar to most readers, I shall give only a short extract from Dr. Powel, which he seems to have taken from H. Lloyd, the earliest translator of Caradoc, whose work I have not seen. " Madoc, another of Owen Gwyneth his sonnes, left the land in contention 238 NOTES. betwixt his brethren, and prepared certayne ships with men and munition, and sought adventures by seas, sailing west, and leaving the coast of Ireland so far north, that he came to a land unknowen, where he saw manie strange things. This land must needs be some part of that countrie of whiche the Spaniards affirme themselves to be the first finders sith Hanno's time ; for by reason and order of cosmographie this land to the which Madoc came must needs be some part of Nova Hispania or Florida Of the viage and returne of this Madoc there be manie fables fained, as the common people doo use in distance of place and length of time rather to augment, than to diminish: but sure it is, that there he was. And after he had returned home and declared the pleasant and fruitful countries that he had scene without inhabitants; and upon the contrarie part for what barren and wild ground his brethren and nephues did murder one another, he prepared a number of ships, and got with him such men and women as were desirous to live in quietness, and taking leave of his freendes, tooke his journeyt hitherward againe." (Page 227-8.) ' The Ghost of the Living. With respect to this poem and some others, such as " The three Rings" and " Hugh Pugh," which will appear later in the collection; it is only necessary to acquaint the reader that tliey are genuine living traditions, not invented by their versifier, but told nearly as he has heard them. The Hall oj the Nations. * Lago Maggiore. " Some account of Merlin may be found in the Morte d'Arthurj in the notes to the Mabinogionj and in the Auctores Monastic], edited by Mr. Giles in a manner above all praise. NOTES. 239 '» Viviane was the Ladye of tlie Lake, whose beauty en- slaved the mysterious prophet, and whose treachery confined him as alluded to in the text. " And if thou ever happen that same way To traveill, go to see that dreadful place ; It is an hideous hollow cave (they say) Under a rock, that lies a little space From the swift Barry, tombling down apace Emongst the woody hilles of Dynevowre : But dare thou not, I charge, in any cace To enter into that same baleful bowre, For fear the cruell feendes should thee unwares devoure. But standing high aloft, low lay thine eare, And there such ghastly noyse of yron chaines And brasen cauldrons thou shall rumbling heare, &c." Spens£R. Faerie Queene, book iii. canto 3, stanza vii.-xv. Ariosto indeed places " I'antica e memorabil grotta Ch' edifico Merlino, il savio mago. Dove inganoUo la donna del lago" in the south of France, (canto in. stanza 10.) This imprison- ment however did not prevent the wild diviner from prophesy- ing at some length to the heroines of both Spenser and his master. " It has been before mentioned that the Welsh claim a share in the blood of Milton, as in many of the brilliant worthies of Great Britain. The great object of this poem being to vindicate the large contribution of our race to the general fame and welfare of the island, the descent of our greatest poet is naturally mentioned; and the reader will find great but not undue stress laid upon the similar descent of our greatest and noblest names, so far as it can be traced ; not to mention the many minglings of the Hood of races, of which vulgar history takes little cognizance. As to the degree in which the 240 NOTES. English nobility share the eldest blood of our island, in- formation may be found in the " Cambria Triumphans" of Enderbye, a curious book published in the year 1661, to which my attention was lately called by one of the most eminent Welsh scholars now alive, '* Many readers will here recognise something of the feeling with which they have entered St. Peter's at Rome, or some of our own cathedrals, whenever the churchwarden or dean-and- chapter style of architecture has not succeeded in destroying the effect of the original. " The dragon is sometimes represented as the armorial bearing of our Welsh princes, and was certainly borne as such on the field of Bosworth. The readers of Mr. Deane's interest- ing book on " Serpent Worship" may perhaps speculate whether this emblem symbolized the reminiscences of a tra- dition connected with the Fall of Man, which prevailed largely throughout the ancient world, and was at one time strong in Britain. It may be well to advise some readers that in this and the following stanza the writer seems to personify Britannia with her two races, the earliest of southern or oriental, the younger of northern origin ; while the third seems to represent Ireland, or her genius. '* The wolf is generally a Saxon emblem, and when borne by the British, as the Williams' of Penhryn or Cochwillan bore three wolfs heads in the time of king John, it is to be con- sidered as a trophy. " The success of the Saxon hordes is connected chiefly with two causes— the intestine division of the Britons, and the • NOTES. 241 general overthrow of Roman civilization by the savage out- pouring from the north. The text only asserts in the next and the following stanzas, what history and philosophy appear to indicate, that the coarser efflux of the north was destined by Providence to receive refinement and to be fused with a nobler and gentler element when it came in contact with the elder and more finely organized children of civilization and the earlier inheritors of Christianity, '* Asser the wise was one of the learned of his day, and the teacher as well as the biographer of Alfred. His name is one of interest as forming the link between the elder civilization of Britain and that which Alfred formed anew among his bar- barous subjects. When we read of Alfred playing the harper and the legislator, it is impossible not to connect his accom- plishments with the instructions of Asserius Menevensis, to whom the laws of Dovnwal Moelmad the old British legislator must have been familiar. So Caradoc (or Powell) expressly asserts (page 42), " 5Il)is prince translatctj t\)e ancient latos of Bpfntoal JWoclmut, feing of 13rptainc, out of ISrsttsf) into lEnglisi)," " The epigram contrasting Elizabeth and her successor is too hacknied to quote. It is not so well known that Cromwell, " our great usurper," was of immediately Welsh descent. I must add that these stanzas were written very long before his statue and his character had become subjects of popular dis- pute. The " distant persecutor" is, of course, the " bloody Piedmontese" of Milton's sonnet. '* There never was a greater victim of the malice of party in life and in death than Archbishop Williams. Were I to R 242 NOTES. attempt his defence, the materials would swell into a volume. " Envy itself could not deny," says Fuller, who was no friend to his memory, " that whithersoever he went, he might be traced by the footsteps of his benefaction." In the laborious habits of a student he was scarcely ever equalled, and in patronage of learning unsurpassed. He knew familiarly the fathers, the schoolmen, and the darker as well as the more obvious pages of ecclesiastical history. He was reckoned '' the most complete bishop that the age afforded." (Hacket ii. p. 110.) As Lord Keeper, he at first was embarrassed by legal difficulties, but " all reproaches on this score were quickly unsaid as soon as the court had trial of his abilities ;" and " in the trial of two terms the counsel at the bar were greatly satisfied with him." He sat in court before daylight, never sleeping more than three hours out of the twenty-four. Though the successor of Bacon, he " had a hand clean from corruption and taking of gifts." " Lime hounds were laid close to his footsteps to hunt him, and every corner searched to find a little of that dust behind his door ; but it proved a dry scent to the inquisitors — for, to his glory and the shame of his enemies, it could never appear that the least birdlime of corruption did stick to his fingers." Nor were his decisions ever reversed, " except upon new presumptions." Why then was he condemned ? As well ask, why was Aristides banished or Russell beheaded? " The bishop's case," says Hacket, " was to be severed from other men's." The chancellor told him, " the proclamation indeed is full and clear on your side, but I have special directions that you shall have no benefit thereof." The Attorney-General Nov, " a man of a cynical behaviour but of an honest heart, .professed a great averseness from pleading in this case, for he wanted grounds to plead upon." After his death, the "notorious Kilvert....a man NOTES. 243 branded long before in a parliament for peijury.. ranted it, and bore down all justice before him." The bishop was not allowed to prove the falsehood of his accuser's testimony because, as they were the king's witnessess, this would have been treason against the king. " And who was ever used like this defendant since the Star-chamber sate? When was it known before, that in every of the ten days that the case wag in debate, a closet meeting was held at Greenwich, the lords sent for to it one by one, the proofs repeated to them, and their votes bespoken ?" (Hacket, p. 119-125.) Well might the injured prelate exclaim, " Now the work is over, my heart is at rest; so is not many of those that have censured me." But why had he such bitter enemies ? And why did Laud persecute his old patron and benefactor? Because, says Hacket, the Lord Keeper had always warned both James and Charles against " Rehoboam's earwigs 5" because he disliked severity, and shrank from cutting off puritans' ears j because he held the uncourtly doctrine, that " an Englishman's tribute comes not from the king's exaction, but by the people's free oblation, out of the mouth of their representatives." (Hack. Mem. i 60, 61.) He foretold that "the storm would gather" and though no man more lamehted or strove against the ruin of the church and monarchy, the fact of his foreseeing it was treason in the eyes of those whose blindness partly provoked it. For else, although his great nature carried itself somewhat loftily, and his innate scorn of meanness was extended to those who practised it, he was a man to be loved and feared, rather than hated. "The sun never went down upon his wrath. There did not live that Christian that would put up with greater wrongs, or pass them over with a more slight contempt. He forgot injuries as if they had been dreams ;" — very different in this respect from Laud. Again, " if he had his match, b2 244 NOTES. I think upon earth he had not his superiour, being most exorable to offenders, facile in taking satisfaction, faithful after reconciliation., using his power too much to protect some, but never to injure any." The above fragmentary quotations are chiefly from Racket's life, which, notwithstanding its cumbrous quaintness, is deeply interesting, and should be well studied by those whom other and less trustworthy sources of information have prejudiced against the stately prelate. I will only add, his sentence was absolutely reversed, and his innocence acknowledged by his very persecutors ; that as he foretold the king's ruin, so be strove to prevent it, and died, apparently of a broken heart, on hearing of his execution. " " His [Laud's] severity in the Star-chamber and in the High Commission court, but above all, his violent and indeed inexcusable injustice in the prosecution of Bishop Williams, were such visible blemishes, that nothing but the putting him to death in so unjust a manner, could have raised his cha- racter." — Burnet. Own Times, i. p. 49, 50. ^^ That the family of Inigo Jones [Inco ab Sion] came from the neighbourhood of Llanrwst is generally acknowledged .' but there is perhaps room to doubt whether the great architect himself was not actually born in London. In the following stanzas the claims of Gibson and of Sir Hugh Middleton to honorable mention are sufficiently obvious; while the mother of the Wellesleys, a daughter of the house of Trevor, gives us part and portion in the greatest names of modern time. '' It may be enough to mention here the names of the princess Gueudolen, and of Sir William ab Thomas, the fol- NOTES. 245 lower of Henry the Fifth, and son-in-law of Sir David Gam as connected with the noble families of Talbot and Herbert. Other links are supplied by Enderbie and by Collins. ** That theory seems here to be adopted, which represents the dark complexion and nervous as well as intellectual organization of the Hesperian or quasi-Celtic race, as op- posed to the light hair and ruder physical development of the Teutons. Giraldus seems to have held this : his words are " The English, although placed in a distant climate, still retain the exterior fairness of complexion and inward coldness of disposition, as inseparable from their original and natural character. The Britons, on the contrary, transplanted from the hot and parched regions of Dardania into these more temperate districts, (as caelum non animum, &c.) still retain their brown complexion and that natural warmth of temper from which their confidence is derived." GiR. Cambu. De- script, of IVales, chap. xv. p. 323, vol. ii. of Hoare. ** We have here the Cumraic or ancient British tongue represented by its genius. *■ The Isle of the Mightie, " Ynys y cedyrn," is the bardic title of Great Britain, which is here apostrophised paren- thetically amidst the address to France. ** This stanza is diluted from some lines by a friend, whose fear or participation of John Bull's prejudices has prevented him from publishing them. *' Spain. 246 NOTES. ^ Nothing is more remarkable in the history of Germany than the inability of her children to hold fast any belief or creed in religion, philosophy, or politics ; and the smothered murmur with which they have ever coveted the well-ordered freedom of the British race, while they have never extorted from their sovereigns more than the semblance of a constitution- This historical fact, so long disguised by the stolid dream of Anglo-Saxonism, has of late been fully acknowledged by Mr. Laing, an impartial witness. Let me add from my own ob- servation, that nowhere in the world are the results of our constitution so invidiously and systematically slandered and depreciated, as in the censured prints of Austria and Prussia. -' The daughter of Israel. Llew-elyn ah Gruffudd. *' With respect to this poem, my notes shall be confined to a few points, such as may have escaped the ordinary reader of Warrington, or other histories of Wales. The last Llewelyn is not to be confounded with the former prince of the same name, the son of lorwerth. The Snowdon for which Llewelyn contended was not the mountain generally so called, but a mountainous and snowy district, comprehend- ing part of three counties. He was willing to submit to Edward, had not the terms offered been such as his national cotincil of chieftains declared to be dishonourable and unsafe, and therefore forbade him to accept. This fact is curious, as shewing the practically free constitution, which then obtained in Wales. Upon his refusal he was excommunicated, as the early British bishops had been by Augustine. When the war broke out he carried hostilities into South Wales, and engaged in NOTES. 247 negotiations with the lords of Buillt. They promised to meet him in a wood on the Welsh side of the Wye. In the mean time his troops were to keep the bridge, and he expressed his confidence of their doing so, as in the poem. The lords, how- ever, were treacherous : a ford lower down the river was betrayed, which Elias Walwyn and Adam de Francton passed; and the sequel is well known. Even recently the bad faitii of their ancestors was a sore subject with the men of Buillt. The well from which Llewelyn drank when dying is still shewn, and local tradition preserves many little circumstances full of romantic melancholy. In the last stanza of the poem, the slaughter of the bards who lamented the fate of Llewelyn is alluded to. A poem by GrufFudd ap yr ynad coch, men- tioning the ill-fated Prince with merited honour, is still pre- served, and quoted by Warrington and by Evans in his Specimens of the Welsh Bards. There is also a poem extant on the same subject by Gwilym Ddu of Arvon, whose name I originally intended placing in the text. Pensieri. ^ Rhaiadyr {paUiv, frangere) the Cumraic word for a cata- ract ■'° The Awen (connected with du< and Aonides) is invariably the bardic term for the " afflatus" or inspiration, which is the only equivalent in Welsh poetry for the many names of the muse. '' The Cam (as in Camlan) becomes the name of the Granta at that part of its course where its winding is remarkable. The word KafiTTTw will strike the etymologist as kindred. 248 NOTES. The Execution, ^ The incident mentioned in the poem happened at Flint in IS'l'O, and was generally cited as a proof of extraordinary depravity. My object has been to give it a different and, I trust, a truer colouring. The Winds. ^' George Herbert, in his Country Parson, insists on the duty of walking the boundaries : and wherever it was performed with the solemnity natural from its importance in a mountain district, its effect was very different from that of the ludicrous scenes enacted in our towns. A'lXivov. ^* The subject of this poem was a native of the district called Brynford in Flintshire ; and after acquiring some poet- ical distinction became, as was said, restless and dissatisfied, and emigrated to Mobile. During the illness which preceded his early death, he is described by an eye-witness as having sought daily the fanciful solace described in the fourth stanza. This is all I know of him. '^ Roger Williams. " His history belongs to America rather than Kngland; but we must not even thus casually mention his name without an expression of respect and reverence, for he was one of the best men who ever set foot upon the new world — a man of genius and virtue, in whom enthusiasm took the happiest direction, and produced the best fruits." ''If ever a Welsh Fuller should write the worthies of Wales, Roger Williams will deserve, if not the first place, yet NOTES. 249 a place among the first, for he began the first civil govern- ment upon earth that gave equal liberty of conscience. This man (whose name, if all men had their due, would stand as high as William Penn's for that upon which Penn's fame is founded) wrote a book against what he called The Bloody Tenet of Persecution ; and the older Cotton answered it by another with this dreadful title, The Bloody Tenet Washed and made White in the Blood of the Lamb." The above character is by a writer (probably Southey) in the tenth volume of the Quarterly. ^ This stanza is, I fear, a decided, though at the time it was written an unconscious, reminiscence of one in the German poem to which these lines refer. 5' With respect to this and other poems of the kind, the reader is reminded once for all, that the poet speaks per- petually in any one's character rather than his own. His im- pulses are not of feeling or experience so much as imagination. Nothing therefore would be more unreasonable than to charge with egotism or vanity such poems as the above, which may be put in the mouth of whoever pleases to adopt them. Those readers who fancy that a poet's character or history may be deduced from his works would do well to look at an anecdote in the life of Thompson, in whose case the experiment was tried. *• Hypatia. " Fille de Theon le geometre, d' un genie superieur a son pdre, elle etoit nee, avoit ete nourrie et elevee ^ Alexandrie; savante en astronomic au-dessusdes convenances de son sexe, elle frequentoit des ecoles, et enseignoit elle- meme la doctrine d' Aristote et de Platon ; on 1' appeloit te 250 NOTES. P^27o«op^e....L' admiration qu' inspiroit Hypatia n' exclu- oit point un sentiment plus tendre : un de ses disciples se mouroit d' amour pour elle ; la jeune platonicienne employa la musique a la guerison du malade, et fit rentrer la paix par 1' harmonic dans 1' arae qu' elle avoit troublee. L' eveque d' Alexandrie, Cyrille, devint jaloux de la gloire d' Hypatia." (Chateaubriand, Etude iroisidme, Sec. Part.) Among the cor- respondents of Hypatia was Synesius, the worthy though eccentric Bishop of Ptolemais. The more learned reader may consult, if he pleases, Suidas, under the word 'TiraTta. Madame de Stael has rendered the name of Gorilla (Corinne) sufficiently familiar. ^ Ereiri or Eryri is the Cumraic name of the Snowdon chain, and means either the " Eagle mountains", or more pro- bably " snowy mountains," so corresponding to the English word. It has been before remarked that the name is of more extensive application than is generally supposed. *" It would be unpardonable not to mention here the name of Goronwy Owen ; while the reader of Welsh history will recollect the battle of Moel-y-don, where, by a successful stratagem, the English were allowed to cross the strait in just such numbers as to admit of their being cut off with considera- ble loss. ^' The stone may still be seen above the reading-desk in the primitive little church of Llanddeiniolen. It records the names of Morys Lloyd and his wife, with the following addi- tion, "This man fought a good fight (ymdrechodd ymdrech dig) for his king and country." NOTES. 251 « The word " tamad," literally perhaps a cut (ra/uEli/), is used rather in the way of invitation ; and perhaps has no better equivalent in English than " morsel." " If the reader should ever walk from the Penhryn slate quarries up Nant Francon, he will perhaps thank me for advising him not to turn by Llyn Ogwen to Capel Curig, but to mount the hill in front until he reaches the theatre of living rock in which Llyn Idwal is partially imbedded. He should subsequently continue his course upwards until he see beneath his feet another little lake or mountain pool. The whole scene is remarkably wild and grand ; and, unless per- haps the drive from Tremadoc by Pontaberglaslyn and through Nantgwynant to Llanberis should be excepted, surpasses any- thing of the kind in North Wales. ** If any inconvenient Welsh critic should contend that Bronwen denotes fairness of breast, rather than brow, I must remind him of the analogy of the cognate word frons, as well as the necessity of my rhyme. With respect to the rationale of the poem, I refer to the lines on Welsh education, and the notes appended to them. *" In page 170, under the head of " St. Asaph and Bangor," are retained the least vehement among some crude and rude rhymes, which " in my hot youth" were published under another title, and intended to do the work of a pamphlet against the proposed union of the sees. Having only retained (as I hope) what are tolerably free from offence, I reprint them in token of my earnest and deliberate protest against that mise- rable measure — not in order to cherish unavailing resentment, but because there is still room for the Anglican Church to 252 NOTES. repnnt; and " if for no other cause, yet for this, that posterity may know we liave not loosely through silence permitted things to pass away as in a dream." ** The event to which these sonnets refer was a sad tragedy perpetrated near the famous monastery of Bangor; where two hundred unarmed ecclesiastics were massacred in the act of prayer by Ethelfrid, who however was defeated and slain in his next battle. There is no proof that this massacre was imme- diately brought about by that equivocal saint, the Romish Augustine ; but whoever compares the account given by Bede of Augustine's interview with the British bishops and Alfred's translation of the same, with the comments of Hickes and others, will find room for strong and uncleared suspicion that it did indirectly arise from Augustine's instigation. It is not necessary here to discuss the question farther. " A note somewhat long for insertion here will be found in the Appendix. ♦* In this and several other lines the sense aimed at by Propertius is given, rather than the allusion explained. There is often a learned pedantry in his allusions, impossible to be rendered at the same time literally and intelligibly to the modern reader. I thought it however worth while attempting to give one of his finest poems in an English dress ; though nothing in general is farther from my ambition than the mere reproduction of classical and obsolete modes of thought. ♦' The " spica cilissa" of the original seems to mean the ointment produced from the Cilician crocus or saffron. NOTES. 253 *• No poem perhaps in the book is more open to the censure deprecated in my preface, than this on the subject of " Modern Assassination." Before, however, the reader altogether con- demns it, let him consider whether the exclusively Philo- Saxon tone and the depreciation of our eldest race which has entered into modern English literature, be not due to the same cause as the decay of many old and homely virtues, — namely the breaking down of natural afiection, and the slackening of those kindly bonds which formerly knit the people of ou^ island together as a whole. If then this be in any degree the case, it is only natural that the concurrent effects should be classed together strongly, and even with something of polemical exaggeration, in an idyll put into the mouth of a shepherd. The play of Fletcher referred to is Bonduca, to which might be added the Virgin Martyr by Massinger, where a British captive refuses to abuse the heroine. It must however be acknowledged, that the Masque by Ben Jonson, from which a quotation has been given at the beginning of the volume, is conceived in a different and more satiric vein. *' The remaining poems in the volume consist, with scarcely an exception, of translation or paraphrase. They must there- fore be judged, not absolutely, but with reference to the original. APPENDIX. About three years ago one of the large American steamers homeward bound was detained by some mis- chance off Holyhead, and several passengers, to whom time was important, profited by the opportunity of landing, and proceeded on then- journey. An American gentleman on board, although anxious to save time, and heartily sick of his voyage, could by no arguments be induced to follow what he conceived to be so rash and perilous an example. Holyhead, he was credibly informed, was in Wales ; and Wales, as he learnt from the papers, was terribly vexed by the rebellion of the Rebeccaites ; how therefore could he trust the person of a free and en- lightened citizen among a people so ignorant of divine and human law, and in a country so utterly destitute of civilization ? Thus reasoned our transatlantic cousin. Ludicrous, however, as it appeared to the good people of Anglesey, that their country should be pronounced un- safe, and themselves unciviUzed, because a few obnoxious turnpikes had been broken down in South Wales ; there is reason to fear that we need not cross the Atlantic to find almost equal ignorance of things in the principality. 256 APPENDIX. Though a journey of twelve hours from London will land you safely in the country, its name retains in the ears of John BuU an outlandish sound, and he pictures it as a place in which the Pilgrim's Progress, or any other story of wonders, might, for aught he knows, be literally enacted. It is to this feeling that we must attribute his facility of belief in any marvellous statement, provided only the scene be laid in Wales. Hence the well-meant but exaggerated declamation of the member for Coventry, on the subject of education in Wales, did not appear so extraordinary to his hearers in the House of Commons as to his readers in the principality. The picture of neglect which the hon. Member drew may not be over- drawn as regards the particular district which he men- tioned in South Wales — a sort of " Cuxteth Heath," where motley refugees from all quarters, men in debt and distress, in danger of the law or iU odour with their neighbours, are attracted together by coalpits and the congenial license of a mining population. But if the same statements are applied elsewhere, they must be considered as romance. The very zeal of religious secta- rianism renders it impossible they should he true. Almost everywhere the Church does something, and her numerous opponents are not backward either in rivalling her efforts, or supplying, after their fashion, her deficiency. So far in fact are the Welsh peasantry from lagging behind their English fellows in actual education, that we may repeat at present the comparison drawn by Humphrey Llwyd, nearly three hundred years ago : " Nuper tamen urbes habitare, artes mechanicas discere, mercaturam exercerc, terram optime (?) colere, reliquaque omnia mu- nia obire non secus ac Angli solent ; hdc tamen in re eos vincentes, quod nullus sit adeo pauper quin liheros suos APPENDIX. 257 aliquo tempore scholce ad liter as discendas iradat." " Paucos etiam ex rudiori populo invenies, qui legere et scribere proprlum sermonem, citharamque suo more pul- sare nesciunt." H. Lh\7d, Comment, p. 77, edit. 1731. [The first edition was 1568. The harp-playing, I am afraid, cannot now be claimed.] Not indeed that I mean to assert the general sufficiency of education either in England or Wales, or would do otherwise than haQ with joy any improvement in either country. We must not however imagine such an utter scarcity of this blessing in Wales, as to render advisable the first crude measures Avhich alarm may suggest. Now if it be asked in all calmness, what is the greatest error in the existing schools in our rural parishes? the true though para- doxical answer would be, not that it is the want of English teaching, as the member for Coventry supposes, but the neglect of teacJiing Welsh. Let us examine the matter calmly, and allow, for argument's sake, that the existence of the Welsh language is a great evU and draw- back to the country. Nevertheless, if children hear one language from their infancy at home, it is in vain that you attempt, in the very limited period they can probably spare for your instructions, to familiarize their ear with the sound, and reach their intellect with the meaning of English, as long as it is unaided by the habit of translating what they read. Test this doctrine by the old Eton Latin Grammar. What conceivable boy would learn to speak or read Latin to any good purpose, by being simply taught the Latin " As in prajsenti" and the Syntax, without construing it ? Or would his case be much helped by reading daily one or two chapters of the Vulgate? The answer to these questions is obvious. Yet such are the principles of teaching which, in their s 258 APPENDIX. anxiety to force the cultivation of English, people adopt in our village schools. Now what is the consequence? I have often known people, whose reading language was English, but whose speaking language was almost ex- clusively Welsh. What a confused medley of words and things must thus be produced in their minds ! How the eye of the intellect must be dimmed, and its edge blunted, by the half-caught gleams of ideas and tangled mass of doubts thus presented, which it can neither see distinctly nor decide with certainty. Can this be called education ? or is it giving the mind of our peasantry fair play ? Then some philosophical John Bull exclaims at their ohstinacy, that they prefer speaking a language whose familiar tones they understand ; or at their dulness, that they do not understand better what they have been so imperfectly taught. Now let us suppose the system of instruction were so far altered as to be in accordance with nature, and that children were first taught to read the language which they speak at home. Even if we stopped here_, the pro- gress would be so far i-eal; we should have given the innate faculty of reason a tool to work with, and our education would not be a thing of show, but of real benefit. But in fact you would then have an easy road opened to the acquirement of English ; and it would require far less toil for children to learn English, -n-ith their reason working through the medium of their own language, than to do so now as a matter of rote. Again, the habit of construing would be in itself a most valuable instrument of education. So far we have been reasoning on the supposition that the Welsh language in itself is a thing detrimental ; and even so, common sense seems to require that for Welsh APPENDIX, 259 children its study should be considered the best pre- liminary to their acquirement of English ; unless, indeed, education is something or other in which the lips are much concerned, but with which the intellect and heart have nothing to do. But what if by our neglect of Welsh we are throwing away a great gift of Providence ? Is there any reason why a people should not learn and thoroughly understand a neighbouring language, without immediately smothering their own ? It is just as easy to speak two languages as to speak one. There are many parts of Europe where the peasantry do speak two, and are on that account generally remarkable for their intelligence. Nay, by knowing a second language a man is at once in some degree educated, and is twice as much an intellectual being. Now all this might not prove the expediency of teaching our peasantry any fai>fetched tongue, such as Latin or French, — but it is a strong reason against throw- ing away their own language which you have already at hand ; it being universally allowed that, if possible, they are to be taught English. Why then is it obstinate or unreasonable, if we hesitate before we sacrifice a tongue endeared by a thousand reminiscences, most noble and eloquent in sound, ancient in structure, and with some qualities which peculiarly fit it for evoking the powers of the intellect. For instance, it is homogeneous;* it forms and evolves itself from certain roots ad injinituni, as oc- casion may requu-e. In such a language the mind thinks as it talks, and speaks by reason more than by ear. Whereas, in English, not one man in a thousand is capable of expressing himself otherwise than by ear, the meaning of words being fixed to the multitude not • On this subject there is an interesting passage, confirmatory of the view in the text, in Mr. 'Wilson Evans' " Bishopric of Souls. " s2 260 APPENDIX. by derivation so much as by the caprice of custom. This perhaps may be a reason, as well as greater gentleness of blood, •why the Welsh peasant is a being of a higher order in subtlety of reasoning and clearness of under- standing, compared to the English rustic of the same rank. Almost the only argument against the retention of the Welsh language is, that by rendering more difficult the task of the clergy, it ministers to dissent. Experience however shevrs, that wherever on this ground the language has been discouraged, Nature* has avenged herself on her short-sighted assailants, and increased the very evil against which it was intended to provide. The good-natured reader will, I trust, forgive me for having beguiled him into a note, which has almost swelled into a pamphlet. My countrymen too in AVales (who have far less Welsh imaginations than I myself I'etain in England) will perhaps reconsider a ques- tion which has often been summarily pooh-poohed rather than reasoned upon. Whenever our old language dies out of itself, let it go quietly. We cannot check the providential stream of events, but we can refrain from accelerating it to our cost v-^-ip nopov. The same sen- timent will apply to other customs and manners, so far as they are still peculiar. Let time, rather than our rashness, be their destroyer. Rather let us lay them gently to rest, and not grudge them the dirge of song, or the tear of fondness over their grave. Hitherto we have gained little by the introduction of more English pastimes than our own. The soaped pig-tails, and the greased pole, and the racing in sacks of the coarser English merry-making, are poor and debasing substitutes for the harp and the dance, the reciting oi pennillion, and * Nunquam aliud natura, aliud sapientia (licit. APPENDIX. 261 our old games of strength and activity. Perhaps also it may be doubted if our religion is purer, because its peculiar manifestation in our country has frowned with gloomy brow upon some of the amusements just men- tioned. Unless scandal greatly errs, the assemblies for field-preaching and the nightly conventicles, in which the feelings are roused by vehement appeals, (as if Christianity consisted in passionate emotions,) have not been more favourable to morality than the harp and the dance, for which Solomon said " there is a time," but which are now looked upon by many as heathenish. Let us glance at the bearing of the above considerations upon the subject of Welsh names. It has often been regretted, that an anxiety to conform to English practice has produced, instead of our older names, a number of patronymics formed by the mere addition of the English letter S. The result is not only a series of hisses, but such an uniformity as to render our simiames no dis- tinction, unless we add to the person's name that of his residence, which in some parts of "Wales is done as regularly as in Scotland. If this practice were uni- versally and on a consistent principle adopted, the present surnames might be either entirely dropt or practically disregarded. Each person's surname might then be taken from his farm or his cottage, or from the mountain on which he lived, or, in some cases, from the township or hamlet. Such surnames, when once regularly adopted, might descend in families, and would answer their pur- pose in being really distinctive ; nor Avill any one deny that we should be gainers in point of euphony. The Tre, the Bod, the Glan, and the Vron, in their various combinations, would furnish an inexhaustible store. The Mab might sometimes be introduced, like the 3Iac. Trt- 262 APPENDIX. maine, Bodowen, Glanavon, Broneirion, Caereinion, Ma- bevan, would be no bad substitutes for Hughes and Jones. If some such change could be brought about, I should address my country with the comic boast, iawa-a v in TiLv aly/xa, toIi; ^a^wvLKwv. How far this is practicable, let others judge. My own purpose will have been answered, if I impress any one with the conviction that, in things great or small, imitation of strangers is not necessarily improvement ; that we may cultivate the national intellect, and labour manfully in our generation to upheave the mass of our countrymen, a double step in the scale of comfort and civilization, without divorcing their sympathies from everything ancient, but rather by drawing upon our native resources, and knitting faster the chain of childlike veneration and manly hope, which connects the history of our ancestors and the fortunes of our posterity. In the courage and the struggles of our forefathers against the barbarous hordes from the north, in the gentle blood and the traces* of archaic civilization which we still inherit, in the peculiar history of our pre- papal Church, and in our own stedfast determination never to betray her to the Romanist by whom she was persecuted of old, or to the dissenter by whom she is now calumniated, we may find securities against that self- contempt from which no people can recover, and incentives to quit ourselves manfully upon whatever stage we may be called to fill. " If our neighbours boast with pride Higher rank or richer store, By our land we still abide, She will need our love the more." • As a mere instance, there is evidence in the Transactions of the Royal Society, that either inoculation or vaccination (I forget which) was practised in South Wales before either Lady M. W. Montague, or Dr. Jenner. APPENDIX. 263 It is not then with any stupid dreams of traditional vin- dictiveness, from Avhich the sound practical sense of my countrymen would sufficiently preserve them, but in order to awaken some such hopeful and unselfish feelings as those above mentioned, that I have risked my little ven- ture. It seemed proper for this purpose, that the land of the Bards should be addressed in song, though my vocation was rather to prose. Animated by this object, I shall not shrink from a little wholesome ridicule,* though for my very object's sake only I dread utter failure. In fine, it is on this account that I shall await the verdict of the public, and especially of my country- men, on this little book, with an interest which no per- sonal hope or fear could easily awaken. • Or even from the "hurdy-gurdy" condemnation of the /i/Aen^HIBRARYG<: ^&Aavaan^^ aWEUNIVERS//, &Aava8n-# <^tlIBRARYa<^ .^\\E11NIVER% A^10S•J •&Aav8aiiiS^ ^WEUNIVER% - ^>^HIBRARYQc. «A\^EUNIVERS//j, i? ,411 c?- ^ I iiiili iiii i ii iiii