Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB
[ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors]

With liquid glory: so may thy renown

Shower'd prodigal her dainties, poisons sweet, Burn in my heart, and give to thought and word And balesul splendour. Fierce the Saxon gazed The aspiring and the radiant hue of tire.

On goblet, and huge charger carved with gold,

Contemptuous wonder. But the Monarchi's brow Forth from the gates of Troynovant hath pass'd

'Gan lighten, as with greedy joy he quafi d King Vortigern; the Princes of the Isle

Oblivious bliss; thus ever guilty soul Around him; on the walls, for then (though now

Woos frenzy, and, voluptuous from despair, Scorn bounds her mighty wilderness of streets,

Forgets itself to pleasure. High aloof, And in magnificence of multitude

Each in his azure robe, the band of Bards Spread, and illimitable grandeur), walls

Mingled the wanton luxuries of sound; | With jealous circuit and embattled range

Gentle melodious languor, melting fall, Girt Britain's narrow Capital; where swarm'd

With faint efseminate flattery the soul Eager her wondering citizens to see

Guiling of manhood. Silent veild his harp The Monarch. llim the Saxon llengist met,

White-hair'd Aneurin, and indignant lears And Horsa, with their bands in triumph led,

Stood in the old man's eye, for wrathful shame As from a recent victory; their blue eyes

To hear his god-like and heaven-breathing art Sparkled, and proud they shook their saffron hair;

Pampering loose revels with oflicious chime. And in the bicker of their spears, the toss

Then rose the glorious madness; forth he sprung Or ponderous mallets, the quick flash of swords, Th’emblazon'd White Horse on their banners waved, Won silence deep as of a summer eve

With one rude stroke along the clashing chords
Was triumph. Thus King Vortigern began:

After a noontide storm ; his silver locks
“ Welcome, Deliverers! of our kingdom's foes, Waved proud, the kindling frenzy of his cye
Welcome, thrice-honour'd Conquerors! never more Flash'd triumph, as the song of Chariots rose.
Shall painted Caledonian o'er our realm

The song that o'er the van of battle shower'd
The chariots of his rapine wheel, so full

Pale horror, when that scourged Icenian Queen The desolation, havoc so complete

Through the square legions drove her car; were heard Hath smote and blasted in Erle Hengist's path. Her brazen wheels to madden, the keen scythes The mouldering ruins of our Roman wall,

Gride through their iron harvest; then rush a rout, Leagued with the terror of the Saxon name,

Wail'd havoc; seem'd Bonduca fiercer urged
Shall be defence more mighly, than when soar'd The trampling steeds; behind her silence sank
Its battlements unbroken, and above

Along the dreary path of her revenge.
The imperial Eagle shook its wings of gold.
Oh, toil'd with victory, burthen'd with renown,

Ceased the bold strain, then deep the Saxon drain'd For ye our baths float cool and clear, our air

The ruddy cup, and savage joy uncouth Is redolent with garland wreathes, and rich

Lit his blue gleaming eyes : nor sale unmoved Within our royal citadel is crown'd

'The Briton Chiefs ; fierce thoughis began to rise For ye the banquet; welcome once again,

Of ancient wars, and high ancestral fame. Mighty to save, and potent to defend !”

Sudden came floating through the hall an air

air A faint acclaim, a feeble sullen din

So strangely sweet, the o'erwrought sense scarce felt Ensued, with less of gladness than fierce grief,

Its rich excess of pleasure; softer sounds And wrath ill stifled. Seeming all unmoved,

Melt never on the enchanted midnight cool, Elate the Monarch onward led the way ;

By haunted spring, where elfin dancers trace Slow follow'd Saxon Hengist's martial train,

Green circlets on the moonlight dews; nor lull Clashing their armour loud, as they would daunt

Becalmed mariner from rocks, where basks All Britain with the clamour: march'd behind

At summer noon the Sea-maid ; he his oar The island Nobles, save some restless hands

Breathless suspends, and motionless his bark
Were busy with their sheathed swords, they moved Sleeps on the sleeping waters. Now the notes
Silent, and cold, and gloomy, as a range

So gently died away, the silence seem'd
Of mountain pines, when cloudy lowers the storm. Melodious; merry now and light and blithe

They danced on air: anon came tripping forth
Upon the azure bosom of the Thames

In frolic grace a maiden troop, their locks Reclining, with its ponderous mass of shade,

Flower-wreath'd, their snowy robes from clasped zone A rose the royal Citadel, the work

Fell careless drooping, quick their glittering feet Of the great Cæsar. Danger he and dread

Glanced o'er the pavement. Then the pomp of sound Of Rome and Pompey; yet 'gainst savage foes

Swell'd up, and mounted; as the stately swan, Vantage of trench and tower and massy wall

Her milk-white neck embower'd in arching spray, Scorn'd not, so swift, so perilous, so fierce

Queens it along the waters, entered in Cassivelan his painted charioteers

The lofty hall a shape so fair, it lull'd Whirl'd to the frantic onset, standing forth

The music into silence, yet itself
Portent of freedom 'mid a world enslaved.

Pour'd out, prolonging the soft ecstasy,
They pass'd the portal arch ; the sumptuous hall The trembling and the touching of sweet sound.
Flung back its gates ; around the banquet board Iler grace of motion and of look, the sinooth
Ranged Prince and Chieftain, where luxurious art And swimming majesty of step and tread,

[ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors]

The symmetry of form and feature, set

King Vortigern, and from his brow transferr'd
The soul afloat, even like delicious airs

A coronet of radiant Eastern gems
Of fute or harp: as though she trod from earth, To the white hair of Hengist, and drank off
And round her wore an emanating cloud

A brimming cup, and cried, “To Kent's high King, Of harmony, the Lady moved. Too proud

A health, a health to Vortigern's fair bride, For less than absolute command, 100 soft

The golden-hair'd Rowena." - Seized at once For aught but gentle amorous thought: her hair Each Saxon the exulting strain, and struck Cluster'd, as from an orb of gold cast out

The wine-drain'd goblet down, “ Health, King of A dazzling and o'erpowering radiance, save

Kent!"
Here and there on her snowy neck reposed
In a soothed brilliance some thin wandering tress. As 'mid the fabled Libyan bridal stood
The azure flashing of her eye was fringed

Perseus, in stern tranquillity of wrath,
With virgin meekness, and her tread, that seem'd Half stood, half floated on his ancle plumes
Earth to disdain, as sofily fell on it

Out-swelling, while the bright face on his shield As the light dew-shower on a tuft of flowers. Look'd into stone the raging fray; so rose, The soul within seem'd leasting on high thoughts, But with no magic arms, wearing alone That to the outward form and feature gave

Th' appalling and control of his firm look, A loveliness of scorn, scorn that to feel

The solemn indignation of his brow, Was bliss, was sweet indulgence. Fast sank back

The Briton Samor; at his rising, awe Those he: fair harbingers, their modest eyes,

Went abroad, and the riotous hall was mute; Downcast, and drooping low their slender necks But like unruffled summer waters flow'd In graceful reverence; she, by wond'ring gaze His speech, and courtly reverence smoothed its tone. Unmoved, and stifled murmurs of applause, Nor yet unconscious, slowly won her way

“Sovereign of Britain's Sovereigns! of our crowns To where the King, amid the festal pomp,

The highest! in our realm of many thrones Sate loftiest ; as she raised a fair-chased cup,

Enthroned the loftiest! mighty as thou art, Something of sweet confusion overspread

Thou dost outstep thy amplitude of sway; Her features; something tremulous broke in Thine is our isle to govern, not to give; On her half-failing accents as she said,

A free and sacred property hast thou “ Health to the King !" — the sparkling wine laugh'd In our allegiance; for a master's right up,

Over our lives, our princedoms, and our souls, As eager 't were to touch so fair a lip.

King Vortigern, as well may’st thou presume

To a dominion o'er our winds, to set A moment, and the apparition bright

Thy stamp and impress on our light from heaven. Had parted; as before the sound of harps

This Britain cannot rest beneath the shade Was wantoning about the festive hall.

Of Saxon empire, this our Christian soil

The harvest of obedience will not bear
As one just waking from a blissful dream

To Heathen sway; and hear me, Vortigern,
Nor moves, nor breathes, lest breath or motion break The golden image that thou settest up,
The beauteous tissue of fine form woven o'er Like the pride-drunken Babylonian king,
His fancy, sate King Vortigern. Whence came,

Though dulcimer and psaltery soothe us down And whither went she? of what race and stem

To the soft humour of submission tame, Sprang this bright wonder of our earth, that leaves

We will not worship." -- From the hall he past, The rapture of her presence in our hall,

Thus saying. Him the Island's brave and proud Though parted thence too swiftly ?”—“ King (replied Follow'd, the high and fame-enamour'd souls, Erle Hengist) — in our ancient Saxon faith,

Never to Britain wanting, though in hours Ill bodes the joyless feast, where maiden's lips

Loosest of revels soft, and wanton ease. Pledge not the wassail goblet.” — “ By my soul,”

But Vortigern, more largely pouring in Cried Vortigern, “a gallant faith! and I

The vine's delicious poison, sate, and cried, Oren so eweet discredit not; the health

Whom the fax binds not, must the iron gyve, Those smooth lips wish'd me, well those lips might Whom sceptres daunt not, must the sword control.”

give,
A fragrance and a sparkling have they left

Evening fell gonile, and the brilliant sun
Even on the wine they touch'il.” He said, and prest Was going down into the waveless Thames,
The goblet to his own.
« A father's ear,

As bearing light and warmth to her cold Nymplis King Vortigern, must love the flattering tongue Within their crystal chambers, when the King That descants lavish on his danrhter's prize." I eft the hall of banquet. Lotiy and alone, • Thy daughter? Saxon!" -- " Mine, though vaunt' Even as the Pillar great Alcides set, not I

The limit of the world and his renown, Ucr beuty, many a German Erle and King On Calpe, round whose shaft the daylight wreathed Hith vow'd at his lifes peril to proclaim

Its last empurpling, on the battlements Her far-srpnasing comeliness" — None heard Stood Samor in the amethystine light, The secret converse that ensued. Lo, rose

And “Go to darkness, thou majestic orb!

[ocr errors]

To-morrow shall the nations bask again

He the Deliverer, the Defender named, In thy full glory.”—Thus he said, and turn'd So Constantine had done, had the high Soul's bane To where the King went rapid past.-—“And thou, Ambition, never madden'd him to wear Thou to thy setting hastest, never more

The purple, madly worn, yet nobly lost Thou thy benighted splendour to renew;

On the sad plain by Arles."_“I knew, I knew Late at thy noon of pride, now sunk, declined "T would come to this, that Constantine would end For ever from thy fair meridian, go

The high-wrought orat’ry. This too I know,
Into thy cloudy rest !”—The solemn tone

And this I tell thee, Samor! nor yet add
Of his deep voice seized on the King, as frosts Rebel! thy secret commerce with his sons,
Arrest the rapid flowing stream—"What means To undermine my stately throne; the right,
The Sovereign of the Vales, even in my halls, So babble ye in your licentious phrase,
And on my castle battlements, to cast

Conferr'd by our assembled British Kings
Bold scorn on Britain's King? Ingrate and blind, On Constantine for ever and his heirs."-
When I the valiant Saxon have brought in

“Alas! how better were it to know nought, To check the Caledonian, through your isle

Than, like kings, darkly. Constantine's brave sons Marching by wild light of your burning towns ;

And Samor oft have met, have met to wail Ye, wedded to your sorrow and your shame,

The hazard of their native land, to swear Mock at the safety my free love provides.”

Before the altar of the eternal God, “Ah, provident! ah, sage! ah, generous King!

Never, amid these rude and perilous times, That sets the emaciate wolf to dog the flock; The hawk to guard the dovecote.”—“Wise-lipp'd chief, with their allegiance Britain's throne, though fillid

To blow the trump of civil strife, to prop I thank thee for thy phrase : doves are ye, doves

By one they deem usurping. Vortigern! That fly with piteous and most delicate speed

I am upon the string that jars thy soul, Before the Scottish kites, that swoop your nests

And it must vibrate to its highest pitch. And flesh their greedy talons in your young." “ Monarch! the eaglet, were it smoothly nurst

Oh what a royal madness, that might build In the dove's downy nest, at its first flight

Upon the strong rock of a people's love,

Yet chooseth the loose quicksand of distrust, Would shrink down dazzled from the morning sun; But with strong plumes refresh'd, anon 't would claim with a rude Saxon buttress, whose stern weight

And overlays the palace of his pride Its old aspiring birthright, and unblench'd

Must crush it. Thou dost fear thy subjects arm'd, Bathe in the bickering of the noontide car.

Fear, lest the old valiance in their hearts inure, Oh, we have slumber'd on soft luxury's lap

And therefore fight'st their wars with foreign steel; To her loose tabret; but, misjudging King !

And is this he, the noble and the wise, Britain is like her soil; above the turf

The Vortigern, that Britain on the plain Lies velvet smooth, hard iron lurks beneath.

Of Arles, that fatal plain, hail'd Captain, King ? I know the northern Pagans waste our land,

Arise, be King, be Captain, be thyself! And the tame mission to the Roman sent

And we will stand around thy throne, and mock I know: • The fierce Barbarian to the sea

The ruinous fashion of the times.”—“Away! Drives us, the sea to the Barbarian back

My royal word is to the Saxon given.” Merciless :' so ran the plaintive legend. True!

“O, Vortigern! this knee hath never bow'd, But soldiers would it cast us back; despair

Save to the King of kings, thus low on earth Hath its own valour; war makes warriors. King!

I sue thee, cast the Saxon off."- At once Calamities are on us, evil days

The swift contagious grandeur set on fire O'er our isle darken, but the noble wear

The Monarch _“I am thine, am Britain's all : Disaster, as an Angel wears his wings.

Now by my throne, thus, thus I have not fels, To elevate and glorify. Nor us

Since first this circling gold eat in my brow, Shroudeth alone the enveloping gloom, the frame

So free, so upright, and so kingly, chains
And fabric of our world is breaking up.

Fall from me, mists are curling off my soul.”
Rome's dome of empire, that o'ervaulted earth
With its capacious shadow, rent and split,

Like two bold venturers, silently they stand,
Disorders the smooth course of human things,

Launching amid the sun-light their rich bark
Leaving confusion lord of this wide ball,

O'er glassy waters to the summer airs :
While to and fro the Nations sway perplex'd, Their solemn pondering hath the lofty look
Like a tempestuous sea. Oh, 'mid such wreck, Of vaunting, over each high brow flames out
Our Britain in lone safety to uphold,

A noble rivalry of hope and pride.
On every side 'gainst gathering foes present

The sound of wheels, lo, sliding came and smoota A rampire of hard steel, or firmer far,

A car, wherein, like some fair idol led The bulwark of a haughty spirit pour'd

Through the mute tumult of adoring streets,
From the throned Sovereign through her sons, were Bright-hair'd Rowena pass'd the portal arch.

pride,
Were honour, might arrest Heaven's plumed hosts, Have ye a sense, ye gales, a conscious joy
And in their sphere-born music win renown. In beauty, that with such an artful touch
So He whose sceptre glitters in thy grasp,

And light ye float about her garment folds,

[ocr errors]

Displaying what is exquisite display'd,
And thinly scattering the light veil where'er
Its shadowing may enhance the grace, and swell
With sweet officiousness the clustering hair
Where fairest tufts its richness, and let fall
Where drooping most becomes ; that thus ye love
To lose yourselves about her, and expire
Upon her shape, or snow-white robes ? She stood,
Her ivory arm in a soft curve stretch'd out,
As only in the obedience of her steeds
Rejoicing; they their necks arch'd proud and high,
And by her delicate and flower-soft hands
Sway'd, as enamour'd of her mastery moved,
Lovingly on their bright-chafed bits reposed,
Or in gay sport upon each other fawn'd.
But as the Monarch she beheld, she caught
The slack rein up, and with unconscious check
Delay'd the willing coursers, and her head,
l'pon her snowy shoulder half declined
In languor of enjoyment, rising wore
Rosy confusion, and disorder fair
Transiently on her pride of motion broke.
Or chance, or meaning wander'd to his face
Her eye, with half command, entreating half;
Haughty to all the world, but mild to him,
Th' all admired admiring, and th' all awing awed –
She lookid on him, and trembled as she look d.

Alone she came, alone she went not on.

Emrys and Uther, come not here to charge
Inconstant counsel on your wisdom, nought
Arraigning, that the sceptre to our line
Solemnly given, in those disastrous days,
When for the Empire of the Occident,
For Gaul o'er-master'd, and submitted Spain,
Warr'd Constantine, and warring nobly fell,
Ye placed in elder hand, our right foregone
For the more precious public weal: oh, Chiefs,
'T was well and wisely done ; a stripling's arm
May rear the kingly standard in its pomp
To play with Zephyrs under cloudless skies,
But when the rude storm shakes its ponderous folds
'T were hard for less than the consummate man
Aloft to bear it, yet unstooping. Well
Stemm'd your new standard-bearer Vortigern
The o'ershadowing tempest, nor abased his front
Your crown's old glories; till, alas ! dire change!
Dread fall! the sceptre that ye fondly hoped,
Would blossom, like the Hebrew Hierarch's rod,
With the almond bloom of mercy and of love,
Liker the Egyptian magic-worker's wand
Became a serpent, withering all your peace
With its infection: then your virtues wrought
Your sorrows, from your valour grew your shame.
Your borders were o'erleap'd, your towns on fire,
And the land groan'd beneath fierce Rapine's wheels
Ye cried unto your King for arms, he sage
In cold and jealous wisdom sear'd to arm,
Whose arms might brave himself, and cast control
On the fierce wanderings of his royal will.
Saxons must fight our wars, our hard-wrung gold
Buy us ignoble safety, till the slaves
Swell’d into Lords, and realms must pamper
Our hirelings into Princes : Kent, fair Kent,
The frontlet of our isle, where yet are seen
The graves great Cæsar peopled with his dead,
When on his rear the Briton conqueror hung,
Where first the banner of the Cross was waved,
Sinks to a Heathen province. Warriors! Kings !
This must not be among baptized men,
This cannot be 'mong Britons. Therefore here,
Here in your presence dare we call again,
Your throne our throne, and challenge in your love
A Sovereign's title : by our youth we fell
From that great height, but Vortigern hath fallin
By his own guilt; we therefore rise again
In majesty renew'd; he falls, no more
To soar into the sacred royal seat."
Thereat with concord loud, and stern acclaim,
Gave answer that proud Senate, and denounced
Judgment irrevocable. But with mien
Somewhat appallid, as one in high debate,
And solemn council unassay'd, arose
Prince Uther: ere he spake his clanging mail
Smote with fierce stroke, as audience to enchain,
Himself the battle sound enkindling, high
His haughty brow and crested helm upflung,
Thus rude his fiery eloquence pour'd forth.

BOOK II.

Noon is ablaze in Heaven, but gloom, the gloom
Of the brown forest's massy vault of shade,
Is o'er the Kings of Britain ; the broad oaks,
As in protection of that conclave proud,
Like some old temple's dome, with mingling shade
Meet overhead, around their rugged trunks
Show like fantastic pillars closely set
By Druids in mysterious circle, wont
Here, when the earth abroad was bright and clear
With moonshine, to install their midnight rites
By blue nor earthly kindled fires, while Bards
Pour'd more than music from their charmed harps.
Each on his mossy seat, in arms that cast
A glimmer which is hardly light, they sit
Colossal, stern, and still; on every brow
Indignant sorrow and sad vengeance lowers.
Them had the Pagan peasant deem'd his gods,
In cloudy wrath down stooping from the heavens
To blast the mighty of mankind, and wreak
On some old empire ruin and revenge.

And first majestical, yet mild, arose A lofty shape, nor less than monarch seem'd, Whose royal look from souls bold, brave, and free, Not stooping slavery claim'd, but upright awe And noble homage; yet uncrown'd he wore Dominion, him with stately reverence heard That armed Senate. “Princes of the land, Lords of the old hereditary thrones Of Britain, we, the sons of Constantine,

“ Warriors of Britain! me nor pomp of words Beseems, nor strife of smooth and liquid phrase In the debate of swords, the fray of steeds

No combatant unskill'd. I will not boast

Vortigern is our foe, no more our King, That I have brook'd with Emrys' patient pride Yet king he hath been, king he had been still, A sceptre's loss : a boy, I wept to hear

Had never his high vaulting pride disdain'd My father's crown was on a stranger's brow. The smooth dominion of old use, nor striven But when my arm 'gan grasp a sword, those tears, To fix on our impatient necks the yoke Those soft unseemly waters, turn'd to hues

Of foreign usurpation ; our free land Of burning indignation; every crown

Will not endure the heathen Saxon's rule, Show'd, every kingly title to my ear

Nor him that rules by heathen Saxon power.
Sounded a scorn and shame. Even at his height So march we forth in th' armour of our right,
And plenitude of power I yearn’d to rise

From our once King not falling off in hate
Against th' enthroned Usurper - now, O Kings! Or fickleness, but by severe constraint
Thus charter'd, thus commission'd, thus array'd, of duty to ourselves and to our God.
With what a noble frenzy will we rush,

So march we forth, and in such state may make
Trampling the wreck of Saxon and of King ; Our mother land to vaunt of us: raise up,
Our path shall be as rapid and as bright

Side by side, the fair airs 10 captivate As summer meteor, more pernicious, that

To an approval of our upright deed, Waning into the dull unkindling air,

Our royal banner and the Cross of Christ; We burning, desolating as we pass.

And move within their cirque of splendour, calm, On, Britons, on! a tyrant fills your throne,

And yet resistless as the bright-maned steeds Nor fitter monument may tyrant find

That bear the Morn to disenthrone old Night. Than his throne's ruins; let the flat earth close

“ And now our kingly sceptre, forced aside, O'er both at once; the stranger Saxon lords

By stress and pressure of disorder'd times, Within our isle, the seas that bore him here

Devious into an alien hand, reverts In his storm-braving navy, bear him back

To the old line; the heir of Constantine, Weltering and tossing in their drowning surge."

Constans, the elder than this noble pair, Low'ring he stood, still in fierce act of speech,

Stands foremost on succession's golden roll. Yet speechless. Sudden, then, in dread uproar

Nor know not I his gentle soul more apt, Rose shout of war, with thundering clash of arms

To listen the soft flowing vesper hymn, Mingled, then hurrying spears and nodding helms

Than danger's spirit-stirring trump, yet deem, With glittering tumult in the pale gloor flash'd;

Thus once forewarn'd 't is dangerous to divert War, war each voice, each stricken shield denounced. The stream of royal blood, that broken, pours

Waters of bitterness and civil strife Amid the multitudinous din arose

O'er th' harass'd land, and therefore thus hail I Solemnly the Bright City’s Lord; down sunk Constans the King of Britain. Speak I right? Instant all tumult, broke abruptly off

I pause, and wait, 0 Chiefs! your high award." Fierce voice and clash of arms; so mute and deep

He ceased, nor time for voice or swift acclaim, Settled the silence, the low sound was heard Of distant waterfall; the acorn drop

Scowling a sullen laugh of scorn, leap'd forth

The mountain King, the Sovereign of the lakes From the green arch above. Still and abash'd

And dales this side the Caledonian bound ; Sate the fierce conclave, while with mild reproof

He only, when the Kings sate awe-struck, stood Winning all hearts, the gracious Chieftain spake.

Elate with mocking pity in his frown; “Brave sight for earth, and heaven! it doth not fail. A mighty savage, he of God and man A nation's cry for freedom and for faith,

Alike contemptuous : nought of Christian lore Nor faint, nor deaden in the mist and gloom Knew he, yet scoff’d unknown, 't was peaceful, meek, of this low earth, it takes the morning's wings,

Thence worthless knowledge. Him delighted more Passeth the crystal skies, and beats heaven's gate ;

Helvellyn's cloud-wrapt brow to climb, and share There glideth through the gladdening Angel choirs, The eagle's stormy solitude ; 'mid wreck That fan it onward with their favouring plumes,

Of whirlwinds and dire lightnings huge he stood, To the eternal sapphire throne, and him

Where his own Gods he doem'd on volleying clouds That sits thereon, Ineffable. O Kings !

Abroad were riding and black hurricane. Our council thus appealing may not wear

Them in their misty pride assail'd he oft Seeming of earthly passion, lust of sway,

With impious threat, and laugh'd when th' echoing Or frenetic vengeance: we must rise in wrath,

glens But wear it as a mourner's robe of grief,

His wild defiance cast unanswer'd back. Not as a garb of joy: must boldly strike,

Now with curl'd lip of scorn, and brow uplift, But like the Roman, with reverted face,

Lordly command, not counsel fierce he spake. In sorrow to be so enforced. Brave Chiefs,

- Shame, coward shame! as though the fowls ou It would misseem a son of this proud isle,

heaven, To trample on the fallen, though a King;

When in dusk majesty and pride of wing It would misseem a Christian to rejoice

Sails forth the monarch eagle, down should stoop Where virtue hath play'd false, and fame's pure light In homage to the daw. O craven souls ! Hath sicken’d to dishonourable gloom.

When Snowdon or high Skiddaw's brow is bare,

[ocr errors]
« AnteriorContinuar »