II. 3.

"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,2

Lance to lance, and horse to horse?

Long years of havoc urge their destined course,
And through the kindred squadrons mow their way.

Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame,

With many a foul and midnight murder fed,3

1 Richard the Second, as we are told by Archbishop Scroop and the confederate Lords in their manifesto, by Thomas of Walsingham, and all the older writers, was starved to death. The story of his assassination, by Sir Piers of Exon, is of much later date.

2 Ruinous wars of York and Lancaster.

3 Henry the Sixth, George Duke of Clarence, Edward the Fifth, Richard Duke of York, &c., believed to be murdered secretly in the Tower of London. The oldest part of that structure is vulgarly attributed to Julius Cæsar.

Revere his consort's faith,' his father's fame,"

And spare the meek usurper's holy head."

Above, below, the rose of snow,*

Twined with her blushing foe, we spread:

The bristled boar in infant-gore3

Wallows beneath the thorny shade.

Now, brothers, bending o'er the' accursed loom,

Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.

III. 1.

Edward, lo! to sudden fate

(Weave we the woof. The thread is spun)

Half of thy heart we consecrate."

(The web is wove. The work is done.)

1 Margaret of Anjou, a woman of heroic spirit, who struggled hard to save her husband and her crown.

2 Henry the Fifth.

3 Henry the Sixth, very near being canonized. The line of Lancaster had no right of inheritance to the crown.

4 The white and red roses, devices of York and Lancaster.

5 The silver boar was the badge of Richard the Third; whence he was usually known in his own time by the name of the Bar.

6 Eleanor of Castile died a few years after the conquest of Wales. The

Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn

Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn:

In yon bright track, that fires the western skies,
They melt, they vanish from my eyes.

But oh what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height
Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll?
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!

Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!

No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail.1

All hail, ye genuine kings, Britannia's issue, hail!2

III. 2.

"Girt with many a baron bold

Sublime their starry fronts they rear:

heroic proof she gave of her affection for her lord is well known. The monuments of his regret and sorrow for the loss of her, are still to be seen at Northampton, Gaddington, Waltham, and other places.

1 It was the common belief of the Welsh nation, that King Arthur was still alive in Fairyland, and would return again to reign over Britain.

2 Both Merlin and Taliessin had prophesied, that the Welsh should regain their sovereignty c-er this island; which seemed to be accomplished in the house of Tudor.

And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old

In bearded majesty, appear.

In the midst a form divine!

Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line;
Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face,'
Attemper'd sweet to virgin-grace.

What strings symphonious tremble in the air,

What strains of vocal transport round her play!

Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear;2
They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.

Bright Rapture calls, and, soaring as she sings,
Waves in the eye of heaven her many-color'd wings.

III. 3.

"The verse adorn again

Fierce war, and faithful love,

1 Speed, relating an audience given by Queen Elizabeth to Paul Dzialinski, ambassador of Poland, says, "And thus she, lion-like rising, daunted the malapert orator no less with her stately port and majestical deporture, than with the tartnesse of her prince lie checkes."

2 Taliessin, chief of the bards, flourished in the sixth century. His works are still preserved, and his memory held in high veneration among his countrymen.

And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.

In buskin'd measures move1

Pale grief, and pleasing pain,

With horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.

A voice, as of the cherub-choir,2

Gales from blooming Eden bear;

And distant warblings lessen on my ear,"

That lost in long futurity expire.

Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud, Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day? To-morrow he repairs the golden flood,

And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me! with joy I see

The different doom our fates assign.

Be thine despair, and sceptred care,

To triumph, and to die, are mine."

He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height.

Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night.

1 SHAKSPEARE.

3 The succession of poets after Milton's time.

2 MILTON.