FROM THE W [This Ode is extracted from HAD I but the torrent's Too, too secure in youth By them, my friend, my L Great Cian's son: of Ma He ask'd no heaps of he Alone in Nature's wealt To Cattraeth's vale in Twice two hundred W FROM THE WELCH. [This Ode is extracted from the Gododin. See Mr. Evans's Specimens, p. 71 and 73.] D I but the torrent's might, headlong rage and wild affright Deïra's squadrons hurl'd sh, and sweep them from the world! too secure in youthful pride, em, my friend, my Hoel, died, t Cian's son: of Madoc old sk'd no heaps of hoarded gold; e in Nature's wealth array'd, sk'd and had the lovely Maid. Cattraeth's vale in glitt'ring row ce two hundred Warriors go: 's ecstatic juice. mirth and hope they burn: m Cattraeth's vale return, brave, and Conan strong, o' the bloody throng) meanest of them all, weep and sing their fall. A vain to me the smil And redd'ning Phœb The birds in vain their Or cheerful fields rest These ears, alas! for o A different object do My lonely anguish me And in my breast t Yet Morning smiles t And new-born ple The fields to all thei To warm their lit I fruitless mourn to And weep the m * Son of Lord in to me the smiling Mornings shine, redd'ning Phœbus lifts his golden fire: rds in vain their amorous descant join; cheerful fields resume their green attire: ears, alas! for other notes repine, Hifferent object do these eyes require: onely anguish melts no heart but mine; nd in my breast the imperfect joys expire. Morning smiles the busy race to cheer, nd new-born pleasure brings to happier men: fields to all their wonted tribute bear: To warm their little loves the birds complain: uitless mourn to him that cannot hear, And weep the more because I weep in vain. * Son of Lord Chancellor West, of Ireland. ON MRS. CLARKE. ife of Dr. Clarke, Physician at Epsom, died April 27, is buried in the Church of Beckenham, Kent.] e this silent marble weeps, Wife, a Mother sleeps: hin whose sacred cell - Virtues lov'd to dwell. rm, and Faith sincere, manity were there. death resign'd, Nound she left behind. nage here below, on a Father's woe: awaits, while yet he strays nely vale of days? |