ADVERTISEMENT.

The following Ode is founded on a Tradition current in Wales, that Edward the Firft, when he completed the conqueft of that country, ordered all the Bards that fell into his hands to be put to death.

THE BARD.

Iblished 125 August 1776.

Page Sculp

And with a Master's Hand, and Prophet's Fyre, Struck the deep Sorrows of his Lyre ! »

'R'

Confufion on thy banners wait;

Tho' fann'd by Conqueft's crimson wing,

They mock the air with idle ftate!

Helm, nor Hauberk's twifted mail,

Nor even thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail

To fave thy fecret foul from nightly fears, 'From Cambria's curfe, from Cambria's tears!" Such were the founds that o'er the crested pride Of the firft Edward fcatter'd wild difmay, As down the steep of Snowdon's fhaggy fide He wound with toilfome march his long array. Stout Glo'fter flood aghaft in fpeechless trance! To arms! cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quiv'ring lance.

I. 2.

On a rock, whofe haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood,

Robed in the fable garb of woe,

With haggard eyes the Poet ftood;

(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 forrows of his lyre.

‹ Hark,