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Oxen succeeded his father Griffin in the Principality of North
Wales, A. D. 1120 : this battle was near forty years afterwards.
OWEN's praise demands my song,
Owen swift and Owen strong,
Fairest flow'r of Rodrick's stem,
Gwyneth's shield and Britain's gem.
He nor heaps his brooded stores,
Nor on all profusely pours,
Lord of every regal art,
Lib'ral hand and open heart.
Big with hosts of mighty name,
Squadrons three against him came;
This the force of Eirin hiding;
Side by side as proudly riding
On her shadow long and gay
Lochlint plows the wat'ry way;
There the Norman sails afar
Catch the winds and join the war;
Black and liuge along they sweep,
Burthens of the angry deep.
Dauntless on his native sands
The Dragon son f of Mona stands;
In glitt'ring arms and glory drest,
High he rears his ruby crest:
There the thund'ring strokes begin,
There the press, and there the din,
* North Wales,
+ Denmark # The red Dragon is the device of Cadwallader, which all his descendants bore on their banners,
Talymalfra's rocky shore
Echoing to the battle's roar.
Check'd by the torrent-tide of blood,
Backward Menai rolls his flood,
While, heap'd his master's feet around,
Prostrate warriors gnaw the ground.
Where his glowing eye-balls turn,
Thousand banners round him burn
Where he points his purple spear,
Hasty, hasty rout is there;
Marking, with indignant eye,
Fear to stop, and shame to fly:
There Confusion, Terror's child,
Conflict fierce and Ruin wild,
Agony, that pants for breath,
Despair, and honourable Death.
THE DEATH OF HOEL.
From the Welch of Aneurim, styled the Monarch
of the Bards.
He flourished about the Time of Talliessing
A. D. 570.
HTAD I but the torrent's might,
IL With headlong rage, and wild affright, . Upon Deira's squadrons hurl'd
To rush and sweep them from the world!
Too, too secure in youthful pride,
By them my friend, my Hoel, dy'd,
Great Cian's son; of Madoc old,
He ask'd no heaps of hoarded gold;
Alone in Nature's wealth array'd,
He ask'd, and had the lovely maid.
To Cattraeth's vale, in glitt'ring row, .
Twice two hundred warriors go:
Every warriors' manly neck
Chains of regal honour deck,
Wreath'd in many a golden link:
From the golden cup they drink
Nectar that the bees produce,
Or the grape's ecstatic juice.
Flush'd with mirth and hope they burn,
But none from Cattraeth's vale return,
Save Aeron brave, and Conan strong,
(Bursting thro' the bloody throng)
And I, the meanest of them all,
That live to weep, and sing their fall.
Performed in the Senate House, Cambridge, July 1,
1769, at the Installation of his Grace Augustus Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Grafton, Chancellor of the University.
“ HENCE, avaunt ('tis holy ground)
« Il Comus and his midnight crew,
" And Ignorance with looks profound,
"And dreaming Sloth of pallid hue,
" Mad Sedition's cry profane,
“ Servitude that hugs her chain,
« Nor in these consecrated bow'rs,
* Let painted Flatt'ry hide her serpent-train in flow'rs
« Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain,
« Dare the Muse's walk to stain,
While bright-ey'd Science watches round:
• Hence, away! 'tis holy ground."
From yonder realms of empyrean day Bursts on my ear th' indignant lay; There sit the sainted sage, the bard divine, The few whom Genius gave to shine Thro' ev'ry unborn age and undiscover'd clime, Rapt in celestial transport they, Yet hither oft a glance from high They send of tender sympathy, To bless the place where on their op'ning soul First the genuine ardor stole. 'Twas Multon struck the deep-ton'd shell, And, as the choral warblings round hiin swell, Meek Newton's self bends from his state sublime, And nods his hoary head, and listens to the rhyme.
" Ye brown o'er-arching groves!.
11 That Contemplation loves,
“ Where willowy Camus lingers with delight,
« Oft at the blush of dawn
“ I trod your level lawn,
“ Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia silver-bright
" In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folly,
" With Freedom by my side, and soft-ey'd Melan.
But hark! the portals sound, and pacing forth,
With solemn steps and slow,
High potentates, and dames of royal birth,
And mitred fathers, in long order go:
From haughty Gallia torn,
And sad Chatillont, on her bridal morn,
That wept her bleeding love, and princely Clare*,
And Anjou's Heroinet, and the paler Rose I,
The rival of her crown, and of her woes,
And either Henry 5 there.
The murder'd saint and the majestic lord,
That broke the bonds of Rome,
(Their tears, their little triumphs o'er,
Their human passions now no inore,
Save charity, that glows beyond the tonib)
All that on Granta's fruitful plain
Rich streams of regal bounty pour'd,
And bade those awful fanes and turrets rise
To hail their Fitzroy's festal morning corne;
And thus they speak in soft accord
The liquid language of the skies:
“ What is grandeur, what is power?
“ Heavier toil, superior pain.
“ What the bright reward we gain?
“ The grateful memory of the good.
tradition says, that her husband, Audemarde de ralentia, Earl of Pembroke was slain at a tournament on the day of his nuptials. She was the foundress of Peinbroke-college or Hall, under the name of Aula Maria de Valentia.
* Elizabeth de Burg, Countess of Clare, was wife of John de Burg, son and heir of the Earl of Ulster, and daughter of Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, by Joan of Acres, daughter of Edward I. Hence the poet gives her the epithet of princely. She founded Clare-ball,
+ Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry VI. foundress of Queen's-college. The poet has celebrated her conjugal fidelity in a former Ode.
Elizabeth Widville, wife of Edward IV. (hence called the paler Rose, as being of the house of York). She added to the foundation of Margaret of Anjou.
8 Henry VI. and VIII, the former the founder of King's, the latter the greatest benefactor to Trinity.college.