Verse > Anthologies > Francis T. Palgrave, ed. > The Golden Treasury
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Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury.  1875.
 
T. Gray
 
CXXIII. The Bard
Pindaric Ode
 
    "RUIN seize thee, ruthless King! 
  Confusion on thy banners wait; 
Tho' fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing 
  They mock the air with idle state. 
Helm nor hauberk's twisted mail,         5
Nor e'en thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail 
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, 
From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!" 
—Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride 
  Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay,  10
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  15
Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, 
  Robed in the sable garb of woe 
With haggard eyes the Poet stood; 
(Loose his beard and hoary hair 
Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air)  20
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 
Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath! 
O'er thee, O King! their hundred arms they wave,  25
  Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe; 
Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, 
To highborn Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. 
  
"Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, 
  That hush'd the stormy main;  30
Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed: 
  Mountains, ye mourn in vain 
  Modred, whose magic song 
Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topt head. 
  On dreary Arvon's shore they lie  35
Smear'd with gore and ghastly pale: 
Far, far aloof the affrighted ravens sail; 
  The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by. 
Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, 
  Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes,  40
Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, 
  Ye died amidst your dying country's cries— 
No more I weep; They do not sleep; 
  On yonder cliffs, a griesly band, 
I see them sit; They linger yet,  45
  Avengers of their native land: 
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;  50
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,  55
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!  60
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  65
  A tear to grace his obsequies. 
Is the sable warrior fled? 
Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead. 
The swarm that in thy noontide beam were born? 
—Gone to salute the rising morn.  70
Fair laughs the morn, 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: 
Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway,  75
That hush'd in grim repose expects his evening prey. 
  
  "Fill high the sparkling bowl, 
The rich repast prepare; 
  Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast: 
Close by the regal chair  80
  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 havock urge their destined course,  85
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!  90
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 accursèd loom,  95
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.) 100
—Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn 
Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn: 
In yon bright track that fires the western skies 
They melt, they vanish from my eyes. 
But oh what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height 105
  Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll? 
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight, 
  Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul! 
No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail:— 
All hail, ye genuine kings! Britannia's issue, hail! 110
  
  "Girt with many a baron bold 
Sublime their starry fronts they rear; 
  And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old 
In bearded majesty, appear. 
In the midst a form divine! 115
Her eye proclaims her of the Briton line; 
Her lion port, her awe-commanding face 
Attemper'd sweet to virgin-grace. 
What strings symphonious tremble in the air, 
  What strains of vocal transport round her play? 120
Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear; 
  They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. 
Bright Rapture calls, and soaring as she sings, 
Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-colour'd wings. 
  
"The verse adorn again 125
  Fierce war, and faithful love, 
And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest. 
  In buskin'd measures move 
Pale grief, and pleasing pain, 
With horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast 130
A voice as of the cherub-choir 
  Gales from blooming Eden bear, 
  And distant warblings lessen on my ear 
That lost in long futurity expire. 
Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud 135
  Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day? 
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood 
  And warms the nations with redoubled ray. 
Enough for me; with joy I see 
  The different doom our fates assign: 140
Be thine despair and sceptred care, 
  To triumph and to die are mine." 
—He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height 
Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night. 
 
 
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