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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.





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Stately the feast, and high the cheer:
Girt with many an armed peer,
And canopied with golden pall,
Amid CILGARRAN's castle hall,
Sublime in formidable state,
And warlike splendour, Henry sate ;
Prepar’d to stain the briny flood
Of Shannon's lakes with rebel blood.

Illumining the vaulted roof,
A thousand torches fam'd aloof :
From massy cups, with golden gleam
Sparkled the red metheglin's stream:
To grace the gorgeous festival,
Along the lofty-window'd hall,
The storied tapestry was hung:
With minstrelsy the rafters rung
Of harps, that with reflected light
From the proud gallery glitter'd bright :
While gifted bards, a rival throng,
(From distant Mona, nurse of song,


From Teivi, fring'd with umbrage brown,
From Elvy's vale, and Cader's crown,
From many a shaggy precipice
That shades Ierne's hoarse abyss,
And mary a sunless solitude
Of Radnor's inmost mountains rude,)
To crown the banquet's solemn close,
Themes of British glory chose;
And to the strings of various chime
Attemper'd thus the fabling rhyme.

“ O'er Cornwall's cliffs the tempest roar'd,
“ High the screaming sea-mew soar’d;
“ On Tintaggel's topmost tower
" Darksome fell the sleety shower ;
« Round the rough castle shrilly sung
“ The whirling blast, and wildly flung
“ On each tall rampart's thundering side
“ The surges of the tumbling tide :
When Arthur rang’d his red-cross ranks
« On Conscious Camlan's crimson'd banks :

By Mordred's faithless guile decreed
« Beneath a Saxon spear to bleed !
“ Yet in vain a paynim foe
“ Arm'd with fate the mighty blow ;
« For when he fell, an elfin queen,
“ All in secret, and unseen,
« O’er the fainting hero threw
“ Her mantle of ambrosial blue;
“ And bade her spirits bear him far,

“ In Merlin's agate-axled car, Vol. XIII.



“ To her green isle's enameld steep,
“ Far in the navel of the deep.
“ O'er his wounds she sprinkled dew
“ From flowers that in Arabia grew :
« On a rich enchanted bed,
“She pillow'd his majestic head;
“ O’er his brow, with whispers bland,
“ Thrice she wav'd an opiate wand;
“ And to soft music's airy sound,
“ Her magic curtains clos'd around.
“ There, renew'd the vital spring,
Again he reigns a mighty king ;
“ And many a fair and fragrant clime,
« Blooming in immortal prime,

By gales of Eden ever fann’d,
“ Owns the monarch's high command :
6 Thence to Britain shall return,

(if right prophetic rolls I learn)
" Borne on Victory's spreading plume,
“ His antieni scéptre to resume;
“ Once more in old heroic pride,
“ His barbed courser to bestride;
“ His knightly table to restore,
" And the brave tournaments of yore."

They ceas'd: when on the tuneful stage
Advanc'd a bard, of aspect sage ;
His silver tresses, thin besprent,
To age a graceful reverence lent;
His beard, all white as spangles frore
That clothe Plinlimmon's forests hoar,

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Down to his harp descending flowd;
With Time's faint rose his features glow'd;
His eyes

diffus'd a soften'd fire,
And thus he wak'd the warbling wire :

“ Listen, Henry, to my read! “ Not from fairy realms I lead Bright-rob’d Tradition, to relate “ In forged colours Arthur's fate; “ Though much of old romantic lore “ On the high theme I keep in store : “ But boastful Fiction should be dumb, “ Where Truth the strain might best become. “ If thine ear may still be won “ With songs of Uther's glorious son; “ Henry, I a tale unfold, " Never yet in rhyme enrollid, “ Nor sung nor harp'd in hall or bower; « Which in my youth's full early flower, “ A minstrel, sprung of Cornish line, “ Who spoke of kings from old Locrine, “ Taught me to chant, one vernal dawn, “ Deep in' a cliff-encircled lawn, “ What time the glistening vapours fled « From cloud-envelop'd Clyder's head; " And on its sides the torrents grey “ Shone to the morning's orient ray.

" When Arthur bow'd his haughty crest, “ No princess, veil'd in azure vest, “ Snatcht him, by Merlin's potent spell, “ In groves of golden bliss to dwell;

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