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I had a queen:

These hands around thy chosen limbs shall wrap
The vest of sanctity; while at the act,
Yon white-rob'd Bards, sweeping their solemn harps,
Shall lift their choral warblings to the skies,
And call the gods to witness. Mean while, prince,
Bethink thee well, if ought on this vain earth
Still holds too firm an union with thy soul,
Estranging it from peace.

Bear with my weakness, Druid! this tough breast
Must heave a sigh, for she is unreveng'd.
And can I taste true peace, she unreveng'd?
So chaste, so lov'd a queen? Ah, Evelina!
Hang not thus weeping on the feeble arm
That could not save thy mother.

To hang thus Softens the pang of grief; and the sweet thought, That a fond father still supports his child, Sheds, on my pensive mind, such soothing balm, As doth the blessing of these pious seers, When most they wish our welfare. Would to Heav'n A daughter's presence could as much avail, To ease her father's woes, as his doth mine!

Car. Ever most gentle! come unto my bosom:
Dear pattern of the precious prize I lost,
Lost, so inglorious lost:-my friends, these eyes
Did see her torn from


camp; Whilst I, hemm'd round by squadrons, could not

save her:

My boy, still nearer to the darling pledge,

Beheld her shrieking in the ruffian's arm;
Beheld, and fled.

Ah! sir, forbear to wound
My brother's fame; he fled, but to recal
His scatter'd forces to pursue and save her.
Car. Daughter, he fled. Now, by yon gracious

That rising saw the deed, and instant hid
Her blushing face in twilight's dusky veil,
The flight was parricide.

Indeed, indeed,
I know him valiant; and not doubt he fell
’Mid slaughter'd thousands of the haughty foe,
Victim to filial love. Arviragus!
Thou hadst no sister near the bloody field,
Whose sorrowing search, led by yon orb of night,
Might find thy body, wash with tears thy wounds,
And wipe them with her hair.

Peace, virgin, peace; Nor thou, sad prince, reply; whate'er he is, Be he a captive, fugitive, or corse, He is what Heav'n ordain'd: these holy groves Permit no exclamation 'gainst Heav'n's will To violate their echoes: Patience here, Her meek hands folded on her modest breast, In mute subinission lifts th' adoring eye, Ev'n to the storm that wrecks her. Evel.

Holy Druid, If ought my erring tongue has said pollutes This sacred place, I from my soul abjure it.

And will these lips bar with eternal silence,
Rather than speak a word, or act a deed
Unmeet for thy sage daughters ; blessing first
This hallow'd hour, that takes me from the world,
And joins me to their sober sisterhood.
Chor. 'Tis wisely said. See, prince, this prudent

Now, while the ruddy flame of sparkling youth
Glows on her beauteous cheek, can quit the world
Without a sigh, whilst thou-

Would save my queen
From a base ravisher; would wish to plunge
This falchion in his breast, and so avenge
Insulted royalty. Oh, holy men!
Ye are the sons of piety and peace;
Ye never felt the sharp vindictive spur,
That goads the injur'd warrior; the hot tide,
That Alushes crimson on the conscious cheek
Of him, who burns for glory; else indeed
Ye much would pity me: would curse the fate
That coops me here inactive in your groves,
Robs me of hope, tells me this trusty steel
Must never cleave one Roman helm again;
Never avenge my queen, nor free my country.

Chor. 'Tis Heav'n's high will

I know it, reverend fathers!
'Tis Heav'n's high will, that these poor aged eyes
Shall never more behold that virtuous woman,
To whom my

was constant; 'twas Heav'n's will To take her from me at that very hour,

When best her love might sooth me; that black hour,
(May memory ever rase it from her records)
When all my squadrons fled, and left their king
Old and defenceless: him, who nine whole years
Had taught them how to conquer : yes, my friends,
For nine whole years against the sons of rapine
I led my veterans, oft to victory,
Never till then to shame. Bear with me, Druid;
I've done: begin the rites.

Oh would to Heav'n
A frame of mind more fitted to these rites
Possest thee, prince! that Resignation meek,
That dove-ey'd Peace, handmaid of Sanctity,
Approach'd this altar with thee: 'stead of these,
See I not gaunt Revenge, ensanguin'd Slaughter,
And mad Ambition, clinging to thy soul,
Eager to snatch thee back to their domain,
Back to a vain and miserable world;
Whose misery, and vanity, though tried,
Thou still hold'st dearer than these solemn shades,
Where Quiet reigns with Virtue? try we yet
What holiness can do! for much it can;
Much is the potency of pious prayer:
And much the sacred influence convey'd
By sage mysterious office: when the soul,
Snatch'd by the power of music from her cell
Of fleshly thraldom, feels herself upborn
On plumes of ecstasy, and boldly springs,
'Mid swelling harmonies and pealing hymns,
Up to the porch of Heav'n. Strike, then, ye Bards !

Strike all your strings symphonious; wake a strain
May penetrate, may purge, may purify,
His yet unhallow'd bosom ; call ye hither
The airy tribe, that on yon mountain dwell,
Ev'n on majestic Snowdon: they, who never
Deign visit mortal men, save on some cause
Of highest import, but, sublimely shrin'd
On its họar top in domes of crystalline ice,
Hold converse with those spirits, that possess
The skies' pure sapphire, nearest Heav'n itself.

Mona on Snowdon calls :
Hear, thou king of mountains, hear;

Hark, she speaks from all her strings;

Hark, her loudest echo rings;
King of mountains, bend thine ear:

Send thy spirits, send them soon,

Now, when midnight and the moon
Meet upon thy front of snow:

See, their gold and ebon rod,

Where the sober sisters nod,
And greet in whispers sage and slow.
Snowdon, mark! 'tis magic's hour;
Now the mutter'd spell hath power;
Power to rend thy ribs of rock,
And burst thy base with thunder's shock ;
But to thee no ruder spell
Shall Mona use, than those that dwell
In music's secret cells, and lie
Steep'd in the stream of harmony.

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