"And the long blaze of tapers clear,
"The stoled fathers met the bier
"Through the dim aisles in order dread.
"Of martial woe, the chief they led,
"And deep entomb'd in holy ground,
"Before the altar's solemn bound.
"Around no dusky banners wave,
"No mouldering trophies mark the grave:
"Away the ruthless Dane has torn
"Each trace that time's slow touch had worn;
"And long, o'er the neglected stone,
"Oblivion's veil its shade has thrown:
"The faded tomb, with honour due,
'Tis thine, O Henry, to renew !
Thither, when conquest has restored
"Yon recreant isle, and sheathed the sword,
"When peace with palm has crowned thy brows, "Haste thee, to pay thy pilgrim vows.
"There observant of my lore,
"The pavement's hallow'd depth explore;
Glastonbury-abbey, said to be founded by Joseph of Arimathea, in a spot anciently called, the island, or valley of Avalonia.
"And thrice a fathom underneath "Dive into the vaults of death.
"There shall thine eyes with wild amaze,
"On his gigantick stature gaze;
"There shall thou find the monarch laid,
"All in warrior-weeds array'd;
"Wearing in death his helmet-crown,
"And weapons huge of old renown.
"Martial Prince, 'tis thine to save,
"From dark oblivion Arthur's grave!
"So may thy ships securely stem
"The western frith: thy diadem
"Shine victorious in the van,
"Nor heed the slings of Ulster's clan :
Thy Norman pike-men win their way " Up the dun rocks of Harald's bay* : "And from the steps of rough Kildare
Thy prancing hoofs the falcon scare: "So may thy bow's unerring yew
"Its hafts in Roderick's heart imbrew" †.
*The bay of Dublin; Harald, or Har-Fager, the fairhaired, King of Norway, is said, in the life of Gryffudh ap Conan, Prince of North-Wales, to have conquered Ireland, and to have founded Dublin.
+ Henry is supposed to have succeeded in this enterprise, chiefly by the use of the long-bow, with which the Irish were entirely unacquainted.
Amid the pealing symphony
The spiced goblets mantled high
With passion new the song impress'd
The listening king's impatient breast:
Flash the keen lightnings from his eyes;
He scorns a-while his bold emprise ;
Even now he seems, with eager pace,
The consecrated floor to trace ;
ope, from its tremendous gloom,
The treasure of the wonderous tomb :
Even now, he burns in thought to rear,
From its dark bed, the ponderous spear,
Rough with the gore of Pictish kings:
Even now fond hope his fancy wings,
To poise the monarch's massy blade,
Of magic-temper'd metal made;
And drag to-day the dinted shield
That felt the storm of Camlan's field.
O'er the sepulchre profound
Even now, with arching sculpture crown'd,
He plans the chantry's choral shrine,
The daily dirge, and rites divine.
WHEN late the trees were stripp'd by winter pale,
Young Health a Dryad-maid in vesture green,
Or like the forest's silver-quiver'd queen,
On airy uplands met the piercing gale;
And, ere its earliest echo shook the vale,
Watching the hunter's joyous horn was seen,
But since, gay throned in fiery chariot sheen,
Summer has smote, each daisy-dappled dale;
She to the cave retires, high arch'd beneath
The fount that laves proud Isis' towery brim:
And now, all glad the temperate air to breathe,
While cooling drops distil from arches dim,
Binding her dewy locks with sedgy wreath,
She sits amid the choir of Naiads trim.
Ан, what a weary race my feet have run
Since first I trod thy banks, with alders crown'd,
And thought my way was all through fairy ground,.
Beneath thy azure sky and golden sun:
Where first my Muse to lisp her notes begun!
While pensive memory traces back the sound,
Which fills the varied interval between;
Much pleasure, more of sorrow, fills the scene.
Sweet native stream! those skies and suns so pure,
No more return to cheer my evening road!
Yet still one joy remains, that not obscure,
Nor useless all my vacant days have flow'd,
From Youth's gay dawn to manhood's prime ma
Nor with the Muse's laurel unbestow'd.
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