![]() ![]() Stream’d like a meteor to the troubled air,) And with a master’s hand and prophet’s fire Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre: With haggard eyes the poet stood (Loose his beard and hoary hair, Helm nor hauberk’s twisted mail, Nor even thy virtues, Tyrant! shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears From Cambria’s curse, from Cambria’s tears!’ Such were the sounds that o’er the crested pride Of the first Edward scatter’d wild dismay, As down the steep of Snowdon’s shaggy side He wound with toilsome march his long array: Stout Glo’ster stood aghast in speechless trance: To arms! cried Mortimer, and couch’d his quivering lance.įrowns o’er old Conway’s foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, Though fann’d by Conquest’s crimson wing, They mock the air with idle state. ADVERTISEMENT.–The following ode is founded on a tradition current in Wales, that Edward I., when he completed the conquest of that country, ordered all the bards that fell into his hands to be put to death.
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