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Nor knew the gulf between-
Eight times emerging from the flood
From hence, ye Beauties ! undeceived
TO CHARLOTTE PULTENEY
Chirping forth thy petty joys,
Ever-busy Time prepares ;
Arose from out the azure main,
And guardian angels sung the strain : Rule, Britannia ! Britannia rules the waves !
Britons never shall be slaves. The nations not so blest as thee
Must in their turn to tyrants fall, Whilst thou shalt flourish great and free,
The dread and envy of them all. Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
More dreadful from each foreign stroke ; As the loud blast that tears the skies
Serves but to root thy native oak. Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame;
All their attempts to bend thee down Will but arouse thy generous flame,
And work their woe and thy renown.
Thy cities shall with commerce shine ;
shore it circles thine !
The Muses, still with Freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair ;
And manly hearts to guard the fair :-
Confusion on thy banners wait !
They mock the air with idle state.
Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side
He wound with toilsome march his long array :Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance ; · To
arms !' cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quivering lance. On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o’er old Conway's foaming flood,
Robed in the sable garb of woe
Hark, how each giant oak and desert-cave
Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe :
Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day,
• Cold is Cadwallo's tongue,
That hush'd the stormy main :
: Mountains, ye mourn in vain
Modred, whose magic song
On dreary Arvon's shore they lie
The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by. Dear lost companions of my tuneful art,
Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart,
Ye died amidst your dying country's criesNo more I weep; They do not sleep ;
On yonder cliffs, a griesly band, I see them sit ; They linger yet,
Avengers of their native land : With me in dreadful harmony they join, And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.
· Weave the
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 The shrieks of death thro’ Berkley's roof that ring, Shrieks of an agonizing king !
She-wolf of France, 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 Heaven! What terrors round him
wait ! Amazement in his van, with Flight combined, And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.
' Mighty victor, mighty lord,
Low on his funeral couch he lies !
No pitying heart, no eye, afford
A tear to grace his obsequies.
-Gone to salute the rising morn.
While proudly riding o'er the azure realm
Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm : Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway, That hush'd in grim repose expects his evening
'Fill high the sparkling bowl, The rich repast prepare ;
Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast : Close by the regal chair
Fell Thirst and Famine scowl
A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. Heard ye the din of battle bray,
Lance to lance, and horse to horse ?
Long years of havoc urge their destined course, And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their way.
Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed,
Revere his Consort's faith, his Father's fame, And spare the meek usurper's holy head ! Above, below, the rose of snow,
Twined with her blushing foe, we spread : The bristled boar in infant-gore
Wallows beneath the thorny shade. Now, brothers, bending o'er the accurséd loom, Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.
Edward, lo ! to sudden fate
(Weave we the woof; The thread is spun ;) Half of thy heart we consecrate.
(The web is wove; The work is done ;) Stay, O stay! nor thus forlorn Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn: