The voice, the glance, the heart I sought-give answer, where are they? -If thou wouldst clear thy perjur'd soul, send life through this cold clay. "Into these glassy eyes put light-be still! keep down thine ire Bid these white lips a blessing speak-this earth is not my sire Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was shed Thou canst not?—and a king!—his dust be mountains on thy head!" He loos'd the steed,-his slack hand fell-upon the silent face He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turn'd from that sad place His hope was crush'd, his after-fate untold in martial strain His banner led the spears no more amidst the hills of Spain. THE DYING BARD'S PROPHECY. AT THE TIME OF THE SUPPOSED MASSACRE BY EDWARD I. THE Hall of Harps is lone this night, And cold the chieftain's hearth; It hath no mead, it hath no light, And I depart-my wound is deep, My brethren long have died— Yet, ere my soul grow dark with sleep, Bear it, where on his battle-plain, Beneath the setting sun, He counts my country's noble slain— Say to him-Saxon! think not all is won. Thou hast laid low the warrior's head, The minstrel's chainless hand; Dreamer! that numberest with the dead The burning spirit of the mountain-land. Think'st thou, because the song hath ceas'd, The soul of song is flown? Think'st thou it woke to crown the feast, It liv'd beside the ruddy hearth alone? No! by our names and by our blood, Though hush'd awhile, that sounding flood Shall roll in joy through ages yet to be. We leave it, 'midst our country's woe, We leave it, as we leave the snow, We leave it, with our fame to dwell, Eryri, the Welsh name for Snowdon. 64 THE DYING BARD'S PROPHECY. Our voice in theirs through time shall swellThe bard hath gifts of prophecy from death. He dies but yet the mountains stand, And this is yet Aneurin's* land— Winds! bear the spoiler one more tone of pride. * Aneurin, a celebrated ancient British bard. THE WRECK. ALL night the booming minute-gun Look'd o'er the tide-worn steep. Before the raging blast, Had vail'd her topsails to the sand, The queenly ship!-brave hearts had striven, And true ones died with her We saw her mighty cable riven, Like floating gossamer. We saw her proud flag struck that morn, A star once o'er the seas Her anchor gone, her deck uptorn, And sadder things than these. |