The gust of war subsides-E'en now The grim chief curls his cheek, and smooths his rugged brow. “Shame to your placid front, ye men of death!” Cries HILDA, with disorder'd breath. Hell echoes back her scoff of shame To the inactive rev'ling Champion's name. "Call forth the song," she scream'd ;-the minstrels The theme was glorious war, the dear delight "Joy to the soul," the Harpers sung, "The steel-clad Knight, in vigour's bloom, "Foremost rides, the flower and boast "Of the bold determin'd host!" With greedy ears the guests each note devour'd, Each struck his beaver down, and grasp'd his faithful sword. The fury mark'd th' auspicious deed, And bad the Scalds proceed. "Joy to the soul! a joy divine! "When conflicting armies join; "When trumpets clang, and bugles sound; "When the sword feasts, yet craves for more; "And every gauntlet drips with gore." The charm prevail'd, up rush'd the madden'd throng, ODE VI. THE BATTLE OF ARGOED LLWYFAIN. BY WILLIAM WHITEHEAD, ESQ. MORNING rose; the issuing sun Fflamdwyn pour'd his rapid bands, Flush'd with conquest Fflamdwyn said, "Strive not to oppose the stream, Owen of the mighty stroke; Kindling, as the hero spoke, Caught the flame and grasp'd the spear; "Day advanc'd and ere the sun Havoc, havoc rag'd around, Many a carcase strew'd the ground: Ravens drank the purple flood, Raven plumes were dyed in blood; Frighted crowds from place to place, Eager, hurrying, breathless, pale, Spread the news of their disgrace, Trembling as they told the tale. These are Taliessin's rhimes, These shall live to distant times, And the Bard's prophetic rage Animate a future age. Child of sorrow, child of pain, Never may I smile again, If, 'till all-subduing death Close these eyes, and stop this breath, Ever I forget to raise My grateful songs to Urien's praise. |