They fabled not, thy sons, who told
Of the dread power, enshrined
Within thy cloudy mantle's fold,
And on thy rushing wind!

It shadow'd o'er thy silent height,
It fill'd thy chainless air,
Deep thoughts of majesty and might
For ever breathing there.

Nor hath it fled! the awful spell
Yet holds unbroken sway,
As when on that wild rock it fell,
Where Merddin Emrys lay!*

Though from their stormy haunts of yore,
Thine eagles long have flown,†
As proud a flight the soul shall soar,
Yet from thy mountain-throne!

* Dinas Emrys (the fortress of Ambrose), a celebrated rock amongst the mountains of Snowdon, is said to be so called from having been the residence of Merddin Emrys, called by the Latins Merlinus Ambrosius, the celebrated prophet and magician: and there, tradition says, he wrote his prophecies concerning the future state of the Britons.

There is another curious tradition respecting a large stone, on the ascent of Snowdon, called Maen du yr Arddu, the black stone of Arddu. It is said, that if two persons were to sleep a night on this stone, in the morning one would find himself endowed with the gift of poetry, and the other would become insane.-See WILLIAMS's Observations on the Snowdon Mountains.

It is believed amongst the inhabitants of these mountains, that eagles have heretofore bred in the lofty clefts of

Pierce then the heavens, thou hill of streams!
And make the snows thy crest!
The sunlight of immortal dreams
Around thee still shall rest.

Eryri! temple of the bard!

And fortress of the free!

'Midst rocks which heroes died to guard,

Their spirit dwells with thee!

CHANT OF THE BARDS BEFORE THEIR
MASSACRE BY EDWARD I.*

RAISE ye the sword! let the death-stroke be given:
O! swift may it fall as the lightning of heaven!
So shall our spirits be free as our strains:
The children of song may not languish in chains!

Have ye not trampled our country's bright crest?
Are heroes reposing in death on her breast?
Red with their blood do her mountain-streams flow,
And think
ye that still we would linger below?

their rocks. Some wandering ones are still seen at times, though very rarely, amongst the precipices.-See WILLIAMS's Observations on the Snowdon Mountains.

*This sanguinary deed is not attested by any historian of credit. And it deserves to be also noticed, that none of the bardic productions since the time of Edward make any allusion to such an event.-See the Cambro-Briton, vol. I., p. 195.

Rest, ye brave dead! 'midst the hills of your sires,
O! who would not slumber when freedom expires?
Lonely and voiceless your halls must remain-
The children of song may not breathe in the chain!

THE DYING BARD'S PROPHECY.*

"All is not lost-the unconquerable will
And courage never to submit or yield."

THE Hall of Harps is lone to-night,
And cold the chieftain's hearth:

MILTON.

It hath no mead, it hath no light;
No voice of melody, no sound of mirth.

The bow lies broken on the floor

Whence the free step is gone;

The pilgrim turns him from the door

Where minstrel-blood hath stain'd the threshold

stone.

And I, too, go: my wound is deep,

My brethren long have died;

Yet, ere my soul grow dark with sleep

Winds! bear the spoiler one more tone of pride!

Bear it where, on his battle plain,

Beneath the setting sun,

He counts my country's noble slain—

Say to him-Saxon, think not all is won.

* At the time of the supposed massacre of the Welsh bards by Edward the First.

Thou hast laid low the warrior's head,

The minstrel's chainless hand;

Dreamer! that numberest with the dead

The burning spirit of the mountain land!

Think'st thou, because the song hath ceased,
The soul of song is flown?

Think'st thou it woke to crown the feast,

It lived beside the ruddy hearth alone?

No! by our wrongs, and by our blood,
We leave it pure and free;
Though hush'd awhile, that sounding flood
Shall roll in joy through ages yet to be.

We leave it 'midst our country's woe-
The birthright of her breast;

We leave it as we leave the snow

Bright and eternal on Eryri's* crest.

We leave it with our fame to dwell
Upon our children's breath.

Our voice in their's through time shall swell—
The bard hath gifts of prophecy from death.

He dies; but yet the mountains stand,
Yet sweeps the torrent's tide;

And this is yet Aneurin's † land—

Winds! bear the spoiler one more tone of pride!

* Eryri, Welsh name for the Snowdon mountains. † Aneurin, one of the noblest of the Welsh bards.

THE FAIR ISLE.*

(FOR THE MELODY CALLED THE WELSH GROUND.
D.")

clime:

SONS of the Fair Isle ! forget not the time,
Ere spoilers had breathed the free air of your
All that its eagles behold in their flight
Was yours, from the deep to each storm-mantled
height.

Though from your race that proud birthright be torn,

Unquench'd is the spirit for monarchy born.

CHORUS.

Darkly though clouds may hang o'er us awhile, The crown shall not pass from the Beautiful Isle.

children regain

Ages may roll ere your
The land for which heroes have perish'd in vain
Yet, in the sound of your names shall be power,
Around her still gathering in glory's full hour.
Strong in the fame of the mighty that sleep,
Your Britain shall sit on the throne of the deep.

CHORUS.

Then shall their spirits rejoice in her smile,
Who died for the crown of the Beautiful Isle.

;

* Ynys Prydain was the ancient Welsh name of Britain, and signifies fair or beautiful isle.