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“ That drops from Macon's sooty tree,
“ Mid the dread grove of ebony.
“ Nor magic charms, nor fiends of hell,
“ The christian's holy courage quell.

“ Salem, in ancient majesty Arise, and lift thee to the sky! “ Soon on thy battlements divine “ Shall wave the badge of Constantine. “ Ye Barons, to the sun unfold “ Our Cross with crimson wove and gold !”

THE GRAVE OF KING ARTHUR,

AN ODE.

STATELY the feast, and high the cheer:
Girt with many an armed peer,
And canopied with golden pall,
Amid Cilgarran's castle hall,
Sublime in formidable state,
And warlike splendour, Henry sate;
Prepard to stain the briny flood
Of Shannon's lakes with rebel blood.

Illumining the vaulted roof,
A thousand torches flam'd aloof:
From massy cups, with golden gleam
Sparkled the red metheglin's stream:
To
grace

the

gorgeous festival, Along the lofty-window'd hall,

The storied tapestry was hung:
With minstrelsy the rafters rung
Of harps, that with reflected light
From the proud gallery glitter'd bright:
While gifted bards, a rival throng,
(From distant Mona, nurse of song,
From Teivi, fring'd with umbrage brown,
From Elvy's vale, and Cader's crown,
From many a shaggy precipice,
That shades Ierne's hoarse abyss,
And many a sunless solitude
Of Radnor's inmost mountains rude,)
To crown the banquet's solemn close,
Themes of British glory chose;
And to the strings of various chime
Attemper'd thus the fabling rhyme.

“ O’er Cornwall's cliffs the tempest roar'd, “ High the screaming sea-mew soar'd; “ On Tintaggel's topmost tower « Darksome fell the sleety shower; « Round the rough castle shrilly sung « The whirling blast, and wildly flung « On each tall rampart's thundering side “ The surges of the tumbling tide : " When Arthur rang'd his red-cross ranks " On conscious Camlan's crimson'd banks : “ By Mordred's faithless guile decreed “ Beneath a Saxon spear to bleed! “ Yet in vain a paynim foe « Arm'd with fate the mighty blow;

« For when he fell, an elfin queen,
“ All in secret, and unseen,
“ O'er the fainting hero threw
“ Her mantle of ambrosial blue;
“ And bade her spirits bear him far,
• In Merlin's agate-axled car,
“ To her green

isle’s enamell’d steep, • Far in the navel of the deep. “ O'er his wounds she sprinkled dew " From flowers that in Arabia grew : « On a rich inchanted bed “ She pillow'd his majestic head; “ O'er his brow, with whispers bland, " Thrice she wav'd an opiate wand; “ And to soft music's airy sound, “ Her magic curtains clos'd around. “ There, renew'd the vital spring, “ Again he reigns a mighty king; “ And many a fair and fragrant clime, “ Blooming in immortal prime, “ By gales of Eden ever fann'd, “ Owns the monarch's high command: " Thence to Britain shall return, “ (If right prophetic rolls I learn) “ Borne on victory's spreading plume, “ His ancient sceptre to resume ; “ Once more, in old heroic pride, “ His barbed courser to bestride ; “ His knightly table to restore, " And brave the tournaments of yore."

They ceas'd: when on the tuneful stage
Advanc'd a bard, of aspect sage;
His silver tresses, thin besprent,
To age a graceful reverence lent;
His beard, all white as spangles frore
That clothe Plinlimmon's forests hoar,
Down to his harp descending flow'd ;
With Time's faint rose his features glow'd;
His
eyes

diffus'd a soften'd fire,
And thus he wak'd the warbling wire.

Listen, Henry, to my read! “ Not from fairy realms I lead “ Bright-rob'd Tradition, to relate “In forged colours Arthur's fate;

Though much of old romantic lore « On the high theme I keep in store: “ But boastful Fiction should be dumb, " Where Truth the strain might best become. “ If thine ear may still be won “ With songs of Uther's glorious son,

Henry, I a tale unfold, “ Never yet in rhyme enrolld, “ Nor sung nor harp'd in hall or bower; “ Which in my youth's full early flower, A minstrel, sprung of Cornish line, “ Who spoke of kings from old Locrine, “ Taught me to chant, one vernal dawn, “ Deep in a cliff-encircled lawn, " What time the glistening vapours fled “ From cloud-envelop'd Clyder's head;

“ And on its sides the torrents gray
“ Shone to the morning's orient ray,

• When Arthur bow'd his haughty crest, “ No princess, veil'd in azure vest, “ Snatch'd him, by Merlin's potent spell, “ In groves of golden bliss to dwell; “ Where, crown'd with wreaths of misletoe, “ Slaughter'd kings in glory go: “ But when he fell, with winged speed, “ His champions, on a milk-white steed, “ From the battle's hurricane, “ Bore him to Joseph's towered fane, 66 In the fair vale of Avalon : “ There, with chanted orison, “ And the long blaze of tapers clear, “ The stoled fathers met the bier; “ Through the dim aisles, in order dread “Of martial woe, the chief they led, “ And deep entomb'd in holy ground, “ Before the altar's solemn bound. “ Around no dusky banners wave, “ No mouldering trophies mark the grave: “ Away the ruthless Dane has torn “ Each trace that Time's slow touch had worn; “ And long, o'er the neglected stone, 66 Oblivion's veil its shade has thrown: “ The faded tomb, with honour due, “ 'Tis thine, O Henry, to renew! “ Thither, when Conquest has restor'd “ Yon recreant isle, and sheath'd the sword,

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