Thy tones are not to cease! The Roman came
O’er the blue waters with his thousand oars:
Through Mona’s oaks he sent the wasting flame;
The Druid shrines lay prostrate on our shores:
All gave their ashes to the wind and sea—
Ring out; thou harp! he could not silence thee.
Thy tones are not to cease! The Saxon pass’d,
His banners floated on Eryri’s gales;
But thou wert heard above the trumpet’s blast,
E’en when his towers rose loftiest o’er the vales!
Thine was the voice that cheer’d the brave and free;
They had their hills, their chainless hearts, and thee.
Those were dark years!—They saw the valiant fall,
The rank weeds gathering round the chieftain’s board,
The hearth left lonely in the ruin’d hall—
Yet power was thine—a gift in every chord!
Call back that spirit to the days of peace,
Thou noble harp! thy tones are not to cease!
Felicia Hemans.
CXXII
PRINCE MADOG’S FAREWELL
Why lingers my gaze where the last hues of day
On the hills of my country in loveliness sleep?
Too fair is the sight for a wand’rer whose way
Lies far o’er the measureless paths of the deep.
Fall shadows of twilight, and veil the green shore,
That the heart of the mighty may waver no more!
Why rise in my thoughts, ye free songs of the land
Where the harp’s lofty soul on each wild wind is borne?
Be hush’d! be forgotten! for ne’er shall the land
Of the minstrel with melody greet my return.
No, no! let your echoes still float on the breeze,
And my heart shall be strong for the conquest of seas!
’Tis not for the land of my sires to give birth
Unto bosoms that shrink when their trial is nigh;
Away! we will bear over ocean and earth
A name and a spirit that never shall die.
My course to the winds, to the stars I resign;
But my soul’s quenchless fire, oh, my country, is thine!
Felicia Hemans.