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]