Warriors from the breach of danger THE VIOLET. Published in the Edinburgh Annual Register for 1808. THE violet in her green-wood bower, Where birchen boughs with hazels mingle, May boast itself the fairest flower In glen, or copse, or forest dingle. Though fair her gems of azure hue, Beneath the dew-drop's weight reclining; I've seen an eye of lovelier blue, More sweet through watery lustre shining. The summer sun that dew shall dry, Remained the tear of parting sorrow. HUNTING SONG. Published in the Edinburgh Annual Register for 1808. WAKEN lords and ladies gay, On the mountain dawns the day, All the jolly chase is here, With hawk, and horse, and hunting-spear; Hounds are in their couples yelling, Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, Merrily, merrily, mingle they, "Waken lords and ladies gay." Waken lords and ladies gay, The mist has left the mountain gray, Waken lords and ladies gay, When 'gainst the oak his antlers frayed : You shall see him brought to bay, "Waken lords and ladies gay." Tonder, louder chant the lay, a' en lords and ladies gay! Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee, Time, stern huntsman! who can balk, THE RESOLVE. IN IMITATION OF AN OLD ENGLISH POEM. Published in the Edinburgh Annual Register for 1808. I loved, and was beloved again, No more I'll bask in flame so hot, Not maid more bright than maid was e'er My fancy shall beguile, By flattering word, or feigned tear, By gesture, look, or smile: No more I'll call the shaft fair shot, Till it has fairly flown, Nor scorch me at a flame so hot;- Each ambushed Cupid I'll defy, In cheek, or chin, or brow, I'll lightly hold the lady's heart, I'll steel my breast to beauty's art, The flaunting torch soon blazes out, The flame its glory hurls about, The gem its lustre hides; Such gem I fondly deemed was mine, And glowed a diamond stone, But, since each eye may see it shine, I'll darkling dwell alone. No waking dream shall tinge my thought With dyes so bright and vain, No silken net, so slightly wrought, Shall tangle me again: No more I'll pay so dear for wit, I'll live upon mine own, Nor shall wild passion trouble it,- And thus I'll hush my heart to rest,- Thou shalt no more be wildly blessed, They seek no loves-no more will I- THE DYING BARD. THE Welsh tradition bears, that a Bard, on his death-bed, demanded his harp, and played the air to which these verses are adapted; requesting that it might be performed at his funeral. AIR-DAFFYDZ GANGWEN. 1. DINAS EMLINN, lament; for the moment is nigh, Unhonoured shall flourish, unhonoured shall fade; Who heave the white bosom, and wave the dark hair ; 6. And adieu, Dinas Emlinn! still green be thy shades, THE NORMAN HORSE-SHOE. THE Welsh, inhabiting a mountainous country, and possessing only an inferior breed of horses, were usually unable to encounter the shock of the Anglo-Norman cavalry. Occasionally, however, they were successful in repelling the invaders; and the following verses celebrate a supposed defeat of Clare, Earl of Striguil and Pembroke, and of Neville, Baron of Chepstow, Lords-Marchers of Monmouthshire. Rymny is a stream which divides the counties of Monmouth and Glamorgan: Caerphili, the scene of the supposed battle, is a vale upon its banks, dignified by the ruins of a very ancient castle. AIR-THE WAR-SONG OF THE MEN OF GLAMORGAN. 1. RED glows the forge in Striguil's bounds, And armourers, with iron toil, 2. From Chepstow's towers, ere dawn of morn, And forth, in banded pomp and pride, They swore, their banners broad should gleam, A Norman horseman's curdling blood! 4. Old Chepstow's brides may curse the toil, THE POACHER. This and the following piece were published under the title of "Fragments,” in the Edinburgh Annual Register of 1809. WELCOME, grave stranger, to our green retreats, And thy vindictive arm would fain have broke To give the denizens of wood and wild, Hence hast thou marked, with grief, fair London's race A squadron's charge cach leveret's heart dismayed La Douce Humanité approved the sport, And Seine re-echoed Vive la Liberté! But mad Citoyen, meek Monsieur again, With some few added links resumes his chain; Then, since such scenes to France no more are known, Come, view with me a hero of thine own! One, whose free actions vindicate the cause Of sylvan liberty o'er feudal laws. Seek we yon glades, where the proud oak o'ertops Where stunted heath is patched with ruddy sand; In earthly mire philosophy may slip. Step slow and wary o'er that swampy stream, Of hovel formed for poorest of the poor; No hearth the fire, no vent the smoke receives, The walls are wattles, and the covering leaves; For, if such hut, our forest statutes say, Rise in the progress of one night and day; Though placed where still the Conqueror's hests o'erawe, And his son's stirrup shines the badge of law; The builder claims the unenviable boon, To tenant dwelling, framed as slight and soon As wigwam wild, that shrouds the native frore On the bleak coast of frost-barred Labrador. Approach, and through the unlatticed window peep- Sunk 'mid yon sordid blankets, till the sun Stoop to the west, the plunderer's toils are done. Loaded and primed, and prompt for desperate hand, |