Or pining Love, shall waste their youth, Or Jealousy, with rankling tooth,

That inly gnaws the secret heart, And Envy wan, and faded Care, Grim-visag'd comfortless Despair,

And Sorrow's piercing dart.

Ambition this shall tempt to rise,
Then whirl the wretch from high,
To bitter Scorn a sacrifice,

And grinning Infamy.

The stings of Falsehood those shall try, And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye,

That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow; And keen Remorse, with blood defil'd, And moody Madness laughing wild Amid severest woe.

Lo, in the vale of years beneath
A grisly troop are seen,

The painful family of Death,

More hideous than their queen : This racks the joints, this fires the veins, That every labouring sinew strains, Those in the deeper vitals rage: Lo, Poverty, to fill the band, That numbs the soul with icy hand, And slow-consuming Age.

To each his sufferings: all are men,
Condemn'd alike to groan;
The tender for another's pain,
The unfeeling for his own.

Yet ah! why should they know their fate?
Since sorrow never comes too late,

And happiness too swiftly flies.
Thought would destroy their Paradise.
No more; where ignorance is bliss,
'T is folly to be wise.

THE BARD.

A PINDARIC ODE.

I.

"RUIN seize thee, ruthless king!
Confusion on thy banners wait!
Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing,
They mock the air with idle state.
Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail,

Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears,
From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!"
Such were the sounds, that o'er the crested pride
Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay,
As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side
He wound with toilsome march his long array.

* The hauberk was a texture of steel ringlets, or rings interwoven, forming à coat of mail, that sat close to the body, and adapted itself to every

motion.

Stout Glo'ster * stood aghast in speechless trance: To arms! cried Mortimer †, and couch'd his quivering lance.

On a rock, whose haughty brow

Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood,
Rob'd in the sable garb of woe,

With haggard eyes the poet stood; (Loose his beard, and hoary hair

Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air,)
And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire,
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.
"Hark, how each giant-oak, and desert cave,
Sighs to the torrent's aweful voice beneath!
O'er thee, oh king! their hundred arms they wave,
Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe;
Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day,
To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay.

"Cold is Cadwallo's tongue,

That hush'd the stormy main;

Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed:
Mountains, ye mourn in vain

Modred, whose magic song

Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-top'd head.
On dreary Arvon's shore they lie,
Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale:

* Gilbert de Clare, surnamed the Red, Earl of Gloucester and Hertford, son-in-law to King Edward.

+ Edmond de Mortimer, Lord of Wigmore. The shores of Caernarvonshire opposite to the Isle of Anglesea.

Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail :
The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by.
Dear lost companions of my tuneful art,
Dear, as the light that visits these sad eyes,
Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart,
Ye died amidst your dying country's cries —

No more I weep. They do not sleep.
On yonder cliffs, a griesly band,

I see them sit, they linger yet,

Avengers of their native land:

With me in dreadful harmony they join,

And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.

II.

"Weave the warp, and weave the woof,
The winding-sheet of Edward's race:
Give ample room, and verge enough
The characters of Hell to trace.
Mark the year, and mark the night,
When Severn shall re-echo with affright
[ring *,
The shrieks of death, through Berkley's roofs that
Shrieks of an agonizing king;

She-wolf of France †, with unrelenting fangs,
That tears the bowels of thy mangled mate,
From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs
The scourge of Heaven. What terrours round

him wait!

Edward the Second, cruelly butchered in Berkley castle.

+ Isabel of France, Edward the Second's adulterous queen.

Triumphs of Edward the Third in France.

Amazement in his van, with Flight combin'd;
And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.

"Mighty Victor, mighty Lord,

Low on his funeral couch he lies! *

No pitying heart, no eye, afford

A tear to grace his obsequies.

Is the sable warrior + fled?

Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead.

The swarm, that in the noon-tide beam were born;
Gone to salute the rising Morn.

Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the Zephyr blows,
While proudly riding o'er the azure realm
In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes;

Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm;
Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway,
That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening-
prey.

"Fill high the sparkling bowl,

The rich repast prepare:

Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast:

Close by the regal chair

Fell Thirst and Famine scowl

A baleful smile upon their baffled guest.
Heard ye the din of battle bray ‡,

* Death of that king, abandoned by his children, and even robbed in his last moments by his courtiers and his mistress.

Edward the Black Prince, dead some time before his father.

•

Ruinous civil wars of York and Lancaster.