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"When the sword feasts, yet craves for more; "And every gauntlet drips with gore.”—
The charm prevail'd, up rush'd the madden'd throng,
Fierce ODIN's self led forth the frantic band,
BATTLE OF ARGOED LLWYFAIN.
BY WILLIAM WHITEHEAD, ESQ.
MORNING rose; the issuing sun
Fflamdwyn pour'd his rapid bands,
"Strive not to oppose the stream,
Owen of the mighty stroke;
Kindling, as the hero spoke,
Caught the flame and grasp'd the spear;
"Day advanc'd and ere the sun Reach'd the radiant point of noon, Urien came with fresh supplies: Rise, ye sons of Cambria, rise, Spread your banners to the foe, Spread them on the mountain's brow; Lift your lances high in air, Friends and brothers of the war; Rush like torrents down the steep, Thro' the vales in myriads sweep; Fflamdwyn never can sustain The force of our united train.”
Havoc, havoc rag'd around,
Raven plumes were dyed in blood;
Frighted crowds from place to place, Eager, hurrying, breathless, pale, Spread the news of their disgrace, Trembling as they told the tale.
These are Taliessin's rhimes, These shall live to distant times, And the Bard's prophetic rage Animate a future age.
Child of sorrow, child of pain,
Never may I smile again,
If, 'till all-subduing death
Close these eyes, and stop this breath,
Ever I forget to raise
My grateful songs to Urien's praise.
GRAVE OF KING ARTHUR.
BY T. WARTON, B. D.
STATELY the feast, and high the cheer:
And warlike splendour, Henry sate;
A thousand torches flam'd aloof: