The Strand of Rhuddlan.
Frowned the dark heavens on the cause of the righteous,
Bondage has swept our free warriors away,
Vain were our prayers as our dreams had been baseless,
Sword of the foeman has carried the day.
Hid be thy strand ’neath the snows everlasting,
Frozen the waters that over thee break!
Come to defend, O thou God of all mercies,
Cause of the righteous and home of the weak.
Slain is our leader, and he who has slain him,
Prince of the foemen, will reign in his stead.
Fallen our harp with the fall of Caradoc,
Ay! let it fall as he fell and lay dead!
Yet can I look on the field of the slaughter,
God was not mocked, nor was freedom denied.
Better than that ’twas to die—there on Rhuddlan
Better to sink in the free flowing tide.
The Steed of Dapple Grey.
Caradoc calls his warriors,
And loud the bugles blow;
On rushed the brave Silurians,
And fell beneath the foe.
Back shrank his men retreating,
But on her steed of dapple grey
There rides the stately queen that way
Her spouse, Caradoc, meeting.
There’s tumult in the dingle,
As sinks the sun o’erhead;
And many a stalwart hero
Lies for his country dead.
One host the waters cover,
But on her steed of dapple grey
There rides the stately queen that day
To seek her royal lover.
Then saw the Romans only
A steed of dapple grey;
But saw the Britons riding
Their stately queen that way.
The bugles sound the rally!
The Britons backward turn—to fight,
The Romans backward reel—in flight,
Before that last grim sally.
A Lullaby.
Sleep, sleep, sleep!
All nature now is steeping
Her sons in sleep,—their eyelids close,
All living things in sweet repose
Are sleeping, sleeping.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
Peace o’er thee watch be keeping,
If from my bosom thou art torn,
Low in the grave I’ll lie forlorn,
Sleeping, ah, sleeping.