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* Mocking the air with colours idly spread.

Shakespear's King John.

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• Helm, nor *Hauberk's twisted 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 crefted

Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay,

[pride

As down the fteep of Snowdon's fhaggy fide He wound with toilfome march his long array.

Stout

* The Hauberk was a texture of fteel ringlets, or rings: interwoven, forming a coat of mail, that fate close to the body, and adapted itself to every motion.

+ -The crefted adder's pride.

Dryden's Indian Queen.

Snowdon was a name given by the Saxons to that mountainous tract, which the Welch themfelves call Craigian-eryri :

it

Stout* Glo'fter stood aghaft in speechless trance:

To arms! cried Mortimer, and couch'd his [quiv'ring lance.

it included all the highlands of Caernarvonshire and Merionethshire, as far east as the river Conway. R. Hygden speaking of the caftle of Conway built by King Edward the first, fays, "Ad ortum amnis Conway ad clivum montis Erery;" and Matthew of Westminster, (ad ann. 1283,)" Apud Aber

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Gilbert de Clare, furnamed the Red, Earl of Gloucester

and Hertford, fon-in-law to King Edward.

+ Edmond de Mortimer, Lord of Wigmore.

They both were Lords-Marchers, whofe lands lay on the

borders of Wales, and probably accompanied the King in this expedition.

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;

(*Loofe his beard, and hoary hair

†Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air) And with a Mafter's hand, and Prophet's fire, Struck the deep forrows of his lyre.

The image was taken from a well-known picture of Raphaël, reprefenting the Supreme Being in the vifion of Ezekiel there are two of these paintings (both believed original), one at Florence, the other at Paris.

Shone, like a meteor, ftreaming to the wind.

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Hark, how each giant-oak, and defert cave,

Sighs to the torrent's aweful voice beneath!

• O'er thee, oh King! their hundred arms they [wave,

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Revenge on thee in hoarfer murmurs breath;'

• Vocal no more, fince Cambria's fatal day,

To high-born Hoel's harp, or foft Llewellyn's

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