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And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.
Hark, how each giant-oak, and desert-cave,
Sigh to the torrent's awful voice beneath ! • O'er thee, oh King ! their hundred arms
they wave, Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe; « Vocal no more, fince Cambria's fatal day, • To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewel
« That hush'd the stormy main :
bed: Mountains, ye mourn in vain - Modred, whose magic song • Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-top'd head.
« On dreary Arvon's * shore they lie,
Dear loft companions of my
eyes, • Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my
heart, · Ye died amidst your dying country's cries
* The shores of Caernarvonshire opposite to the isle of Anglesey.
+ Camden and others observe, that eagles used annually to build their aerie among the rocks of Snowdon, which from thence (as some think) were named by the Welch Craigian-eryri, or the crags of the eagles. At this day (I am told) the highest point of Snowe don is called the Eagle's Neft. That bird is certainly no stranger to this island, as the Scots, and the people of Cumberland, Westmore land, &c. can teftify: it even has built its nest in the Peak of Der. byshire. [See Willoughby's Ornithol. published by Ray.)
# As dear to me as are the ruddy drops That visit my lad heart-
SHAKESPEARE's Jul. Cæfar.
• No more I weep. They do not sleep. • On yonder cliffs, a griefly band, « I see them fit, they linger yet, • Avengers of their native land : 6 With me in dreadful harmony they join, . And weave * with bloody hands the tissue
of thy line.
“ Weave the warp, and weave the woof, , “ The winding-sheet of Edward's race. “ Give ample room, and verge enough « The characters of hell to trace.
“ Mark the year, and mark the night, “ When Severn shall re-echo with affright
See the Norwegian ode that follows.
- The shrieks of death, thro’ Berkley's roofs
that ring, • Shrieks of an agonizing King * ! “ She-wolf of Francent, with unrelenting fangs, " That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate, “ From thee be born, who o'er thy country
hangs « The scourge of Heav'n. What terrors
round him wait! “ Amazement in his van, with flight combin’d, “ And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude
* Edward the Second, cruelly butchered in Berkley castle.
+ Isabel of France, Edward the Second's adulterous Queen.
Triumphs of Edward the Third in France.
II. 2. “ Mighty
Mighty Victor, mighty Lord, " Low on his funeral couch he lies * !
“ No pitying heart, no eye, afford “ A tear to grace his obsequies. « Is the fable warrior y fled? “ Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead. “ The swarm that in thy noon-tide beam were
“ Gone to falute the rising Morn. “ Fair laughs the Morn I, and soft the zephyr
blows, « While proudly riding o'er the azure realm “ In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes ; “ Youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm;
* Death of that king, abondoned by his children, and even robbed in his last moments by his courtiers and his mistress.
+ Edward the Black Prince, dead some time before his father.
# Magnificence of Richard the Second's reign. See Froissard and other contemporary writers.