The moon looks through the drifting storm, There is a voice among the trees That mingles with the groaning oakThat mingles with the stormy breeze, And the lake-waves dashing against the rock;There is a voice within the wood, The voice of the Bard in fitful mood, His song was louder than the blast, As the Bard of Glenmore through the forest passed. "Wake ye from your sleep of death, Souls of the mighty! wake and say, To what high strain your harps were strung, And on your shores her Norsemen flung? Mute are ye all? No murmurs strange Mute are ye now?-Ye ne'er were mute, When Murder with his bloody foot, And Rapine with his iron hand, Were hovering near your mountain strand. O yet awake the strain to tell, By every chief who fought or fell, For Albion's weal in battle bold ;- By all their swords, by all their scars, For fiercer than fierce Hengist's strain, The wind is hushed, and still the lake- At the dread voice of other years- TO A LADY. WITH FLOWERS FROM A ROMAN WALL. Published in the Edinburgh Anuual Register for 1808 TAKE these flowers, which, purple waving, Warriors from the breach of danger THE VIOLET. Published in the Edinburgh Annual Register for 1808, THE violet in her green-wood bower, Where birchen boughs with hazels mingle, May boast itself the fairest flower In glen, or copse, or forest dingle. Though fair her gems of azure hue, Beneath the dew-drop's weight reclining; I've seen an eye of lovelier blue, More sweet through watery lustre shining. The summer sun that dew shall dry, Nor longer in my false love's eye Remained the tear of parting sorrow. HUNTING SONG. Published in the Edinburgh Annual Register for 1808. WAKEN lords and ladies gay, On the mountain dawns the day, All the jolly chase is here, With hawk, and horse, and hunting-spear; Waken lords and ladies gay, The mist has left the mountain grey, Waken lords and ladies gay, Louder, louder chant the lay, Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee, Time, stern huntsman! who can balk, Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk; THE RESOLVE. IN IMITATION OF AN OLD ENGLISH POEM. Published in the Edinburgh Annual Register for 1808 My wayward fate I needs must plain, I loved, and was beloved again, For, as her love was quickly got, No more I'll bask in flame so hot, Not maid more bright than maid was e'er My fancy shall beguile, By flattering word, or feigned tear, By gesture, look, or smile: No more I'll call the shaft fair shot, Nor scorch me at a flame so hot;- Each ambushed Cupid I'll defy, I'll steel my breast to beauty's art, The flaunting torch soon blazes out, Such gem I fondly deemed was mine, But, since each eye may see it shine, No waking dream shall tinge my thought No more I'll pay so dear for wit, I'll live upon mine own, Nor shall wild passion trouble it,— I'll rather dwell alone. And thus I'll hush my heart to rest,- Thou shalt no more be wildly blessed, The widowed turtles mateless die, They seek no loves-no more will I— THE LAST WORDS OF CADWALLON; OR, THE DYING BARD. THE Welsh tradition bears, that a bard, on his death-bed, demanded his harp, and played the air to which these verses are adapted, requesting that it might be performed at his funeral. Air-DAFFYDZ GANGWEN. I. DINAS EMLINN, lament; for the moment is nigh, II. In spring and in autumn, thy glories of shade III. Thy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may march in their pride, IV. And O, Dinas Emlinn! thy daughters so fair, V. Then adieu, silver Teivi! I quit thy loved scene, VI. And adieu, Dinas Emlinn! still green be thy shades, THE NORMAN HORSE-SHOE. THE Welsh, inhabiting a mountainous country, and possessing only an inferior breed of horses, were usually unable to encounter the shock of the Anglo-Norman cavalry. Occasionally, however, they were successful in repelling the invaders; and the following verses celebrate a supposed defeat of Clare, Earl of Striguil and Pembroke, and of Neville, Baron of Chepstow, Lords Marchers of Monmouthshire.. Rymny is a stream which |