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EDINBURGH Printed by James Ballantyne & Co.

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This is the day, when, in a foreign grave,
King Owen's relics shall be laid to rest.
No bright emblazonries bedecked his bier,
No tapers blazed, no prelate sung the mass,
No choristers the funeral dirge intoned,
No mitred abbots, and no tonsured train,
Lengthened the pomp of ceremonious woe.
His decent bier was with white linen spread
And canopied; two elks and bisons yoked,
Drew on the car; foremost Cadwallon bore
The Crucifix, with single voice, distinct,
The good priest Llorien chaunted loud and deep
WOL. II. A

The solemn service; Madoc next the bier
Followed his father's corpse; bareheaded then
Came all the people, silently and slow.

The burial place was in a grassy plat,
A little level field of sunny green,
Between the river and a rocky bank,
Which, like a buttress, from the precipice
Of naked rock sloped out. On either side
'Twas skirted by the woodlands. A stone cross
Stood on Cynetha's grave, sole monument,
Beneath a single cocoa, whose straight trunk
Rose like an obelisk, and waved on high
Its palmy plumage, green and never sere.
Here by Cynetha's side, with Christian prayers,
All wrongs forgotten now, was Owen laid.
Rest, King of Gwyneth, in a foreign grave :
From foul indignity of Romish pride
And bigot priesthood, from a falling land
Thus timelysnatched, and from theimpendingyoke,..
Rest in the kingdom of thy noble son :

Ambassadors from Aztlan in the vale
Awaited their return; ... Yuhidthiton,

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