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Down to his harp descending flow?d;
“ 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 grey “ Shone to the morning's orient ray.
“ When Arthur bow'd his haughty crest, “ No princess, veil'd in azure vest, “ Snatcht him, by Merlin's potent spell,
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, “ 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 iles, in order dread
Of martial woe, the chief they led, “ And deep intomb'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, “ 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, “ When peace with palm has crown'd thy brows, “ Haste thee, to pay thy pilgrim vows. “ There, observant of my lore, “ The pavement's hallow'd depth explore ; “ And thrice a fathom underneath “ Dive into the vaults of death.
6. There shall thine eye, with wild amaze, « On his gigantic stature gaze ; " There shalt thou find the monarch. laid, " All in warrior-weeds array'd ; “ Wearing in death his helmet-crown, “ And weapons huge of old renown. “ Martial prince, 'tis thine to save « From dark oblivion Arthur's grave! “ So may thy ships securely stem “ The western frith: thy diadem “ Shine victorious in the van, “ Nor heed the slings of Ulster's clan : “ Thy Norman pike-men win their way
Up the dun rocks of Harold's bay : “ And from the steeps of rough Kildare “ Thy prancing hoofs the falcon scare: “ So may thy brow's unerring yew " Its shafts in Roderick's heart imbrew."
Amid the peeling symphony The spiced goblets mantled high; With passions new the song impressid The listening king's impatient breast : Flash the keen lightnings from his eyes; He scorns awhile his bold emprise ; Ev'n now he seems, with eager pace, The consecrated floor to trace ; And ope,
from its tremendous gloom, The treasure of the wondrous tomb : Ev'n now, he burns in thought to rear, From its dark bed, the ponderous spear,
Rough with the gore of Pictish kings :
By the Same.
Bound for holy Palestine,
“ Syrian virgins, wail and weep, “ English Richard ploughs the deep! “ Tremble, watchmen, as ye spy, " From distant towers, with anxious eye, “ The radiant range of shield and lance “ Down Damascus' hills advance : « From Sion's turrets as afar “ Ye ken the march of Europe's war! “ Saladin, thou paynim king “ From Albion's isle revenge we bring!