Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing,
They mock the air with idle state.
The Bard. I. 1, Line 1.
Loose his beard, and hoary hair
Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air.[383:1]
The Bard. I. 2, Line 5.
To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay.
The Bard. I. 2, Line 14.
Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes;
Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart.[383:2]