Remember our inhuman foes,
When the first Edward furious rose,
And, like a whirlwind’s rapid sway,
Swept armies, cities, Bards away.
“High on a rock o’er Conway’s flood”
The last surviving poet stood,
And curs’d the tyrant, as he pass’d
With cruel pomp and murderous haste.
What now avail our tuneful strains,
Midst savage taunts and galling chains?
Say, will the lark imprison’d sing
So sweet, as when, on towering wing,
He wakes the songsters of the sky,
And tunes his notes to liberty?
Ah no, the Cambrian lyre no more
Shall sweetly sound on Arvon’s shore,
No more the silver harp be won,
Ye Muses, by your favourite son;
Or I, even I, by glory fir’d,
Had to the honour’d prize aspir’d.
No more shall Mona’s oaks be spar’d
Or Druid circle be rever’d.
On Conway’s banks, and Menai’s streams
The solitary bittern screams;
And, where was erst Llewelyn’s court,
Ill-omened birds and wolves resort.
There oft at midnight’s silent hour,
Near yon ivy-mantled tower,
By the glow-worm’s twinkling fire,
Tuning his romantic lyre,
Gray’s pale spectre seems to sing,
“Ruin seize thee, ruthless King.”
THE PENITENT SHEPHERD.
A pensive Shepherd, on a summer’s day,
Unto a neighb’ring mountain bent his way,
And solitary mus’d, with thoughts profound,
Whilst ev’ry thing was silent all around;
The firmament was clear, the sky serene,
And not a cloud eclips’d the rural scene.
Not so the Shepherd, all was storm within,
He mourn’d his frailty, and bewail’d his sin;
His soul alone engross’d his utmost care,
Decoy’d by cursed Satan to his snare;
(Alas! with what success he tempts mankind,
And leads them to their ruin with the blind!)
Awhile he stood, as one in woeful pain;
At last, he broke in melancholy strain,
And cried,—
“O great Creator, ever good and wise,
I dare not lift to thee mine eyes—
Thy violated laws for vengeance call,
And on offenders heavy judgment fall;
Which hurl them flaming to eternal pains,
To suffer ever on infernal plains.
The terrors of thy justice make me fear,
For who can everlasting torment bear?
My soul with grief is rent, Oh! stop thy hand,
Shivering before thy Majesty I stand;
Long have I trod the ’luring path of vice,
And tire thy patience, and thy grace despise.
Before thy throne I bow with suppliant knee,
Grant gracious God, thy pardon unto me:
In solitude my follies I repent,
The life so long, so viciously, I spent,
O God! I wish undone my wicked deeds,
My contrite heart with inward sorrows bleeds.
Thou, O my God! art witness of my grief,
And thou alone canst grant me a relief.
I promise faithfully to sin no more,
(I sue for mercy, and thy grace implore,)
And spend my life, for ever, in thy fear,
Thy laws to keep, thy holy name revere.”
Thus plain’d the pensive Shepherd, and his moan,
Christ, his Mediator, brought before the throne!
Him graciously answer’d God to Sire,
His face resplendent with a globe of fire:—
“My Son hath paid thy ransom, go in peace,
Eternal justice bids thee be at ease!”
He said, and all the choir of angels sung,
Harmonious melody, their harps they strung,
And heaven’s Empyreum to their music rung,
Such is the joy when a poor sinner turns,
That with uncommon glow each seraph burns.
Thus I may compare small things with great,
The Prodigal his tender father met;
Such as the Gospel paints in tatter’d weed,
Willing with husks to satisfy his need:
And none would give them, though the hungry roam,
Till he returned unto his Father’s home;
Who kill’d the fatted calf, and spread the feast,
Where wine and minstrelsy his joy exprest.
The Shepherd thus refresh’d with heavenly grace,
Return’d with joy eternal in his face;
The Saviour’s wond’rous love to man he prais’d,
And thus his voice with gratitude he rais’d:—
“All glory to the gracious Son of God,
Who hast alone the grevious wine-press trod,
To satisfy his justice, and for me
Hast wrought endless salvation on the tree;
Who hast redeem’d us, and destroyed our foes,
That neither death nor grave can work our woes:
Hast overthrown the dragon, and no more
Hell, nor its gates have terrors left in store!”
Thus did the Shepherd testify his joy,
A theme that might an angel’s tongue employ;
He praised Christ, who for mankind did die;
His praise let all resound, to all eternity.