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Mark the year, and mark the night, When Severn shall re-echo with affright

The shrieks of death, through Berkeley's roofs 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 Heav'n. What terrors round him

wait!

Amazement in his van with Flight combin'd, And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude, behind.

II.-2.

"Mighty Victor, mighty Lord,
Low on his fun'ral couch he lies!
No pitying heart, no eye afford
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.

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,
That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his ev'ning
prey.

H.-
-3.

"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.

L

Heard ye the din of battle bray,

Lance to lance, and horse to horse;

Long years of havock urge their destin'd course,
And through the kindred squadrons mow their way.
Ye tow'rs 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,

Twin'd with her blushing foe, we spread;
The bristled boar in infant gore

Wallows beneath the thorny shade.

Now, Brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom, Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.

III.-1.

"Edward, lo! to sudden fate

(Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.)

Half thy heart we consecrate.

(The web is wove.

The work is done.)"

"Stay, O stay! nor thus forlorn,

Leave me unblest, 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
Descending slow, their glitt'ring 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!

III-2.

"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!

Her eye proclaims her of the British 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!
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.

III.-3.

"The verse adorn again,

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.

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,

Rais'd 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 diff'rent doom our fates assign.

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 plung'd to endless night!

SONG.

GAY.

'Twas when the seas were roaring
With hollow blasts of wind;
A damsel lay deploring,

All on a rock reclin'd.
Wide o'er the foaming billows
She cast a wistful look;

Her head was crown'd with willows
That trembled o'er the brook.

"Twelve months are gone and over,
And nine long tedious days:
Why didst thou, vent'rous lover,
Why didst thou trust the seas?
Cease, cease thou cruel ocean,
And let my lover rest;
Ah! what's thy troubled motion
To that within my breast?

"The merchant, robb'd of pleasure,
Views tempests in despair;
But what's the loss of treasure
To losing of my dear?
Should you some coast be laid on,
Where gold and diamonds grow,

You'll find a richer maiden,

But none that loves you so.

"How can they say that nature
Has nothing made in vain?
Why then beneath the water
Do hideous rocks remain ?

No eyes the rocks discover,
That lurk beneath the deep,
To wreck the wand'ring lover,
And leave the maid to weep."

All melancholy lying,

Thus wail'd she for her dear;
Repaid each blast with sighing,
Each billow with a tear.
When, o'er the white wave stooping,
His floating corpse she spied;

Then, like a lily drooping,

She bow'd her head, and died.

MARCELIA.

PROCTER.

-Ir was a dreary place. The shallow brook That ran throughout the wood there took a turn, And widen'd: all its music died away,

And in the place a silent eddy told

That there the stream grew deeper. There dark trees

Funereal (cypress, yew, and shadowy pine,
And spicy cedar,) cluster'd, and at night
Shook from their melancholy branches sounds
And sighs like death: 'twas strange, for through
the day

They stood quite motionless, and look'd, methought,
Like monumental things, which the sad earth
From its green bosom had cast out in pity,
To mark a young girl's grave. The very leaves
Disown'd their natʼral green, and took a black

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