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'Twas hush'd: One flash, of sombre glare, With yellow ting'd the forests brown; Up rose the Wildgrave's bristling hair,
And horror chill'd each nerve and bone,
Cold pour'd the sweat in freezing rill;
Brought storm and tempest on its wing. Earth heard the call;- Her entrails rend: From yawning rifts, with many a yell, Mix'd with sulphureous flames, ascend The misbegotten dogs of hell.
What ghastly Huntsman next arose,
With many a shriek of helpless woe;
And, "Hark away, and holla, ho!" With wild despair's reverted eye,
Close, close behind, he marks the throng, With bloody fangs, and eager cry;
In frantic fear he scours along.
Still, still shall last the dreadful chase,
That oft the lated peasant hears;
When the wild din invades his ears.
For human pride, for human woe,
ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS,
To horse! to horse! the standard flies,
From high Dunedin's tow'rs we come,
Our casques the leopard's spoils surround,
Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown,
Their ravish'd toys though Romans mourn,
O! had they mark'd th' avenging call
Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head,
Or brook a victor's scorn?
No! though destruction o'er the land
The Royal Coloura
For gold let Gallia's legions fight,
If ever breath of British gale
Then farewell home! and farewell friends!
Resolv'd, we mingle in the tide,
To horse! to horse! the sabres gleam;
THE NORMAN HORSE-SHOE
[The Welch, inhabiting a mountainous country, and possessing only an inferior breed of horses, were usually unable to encounter the shock of the Anglo-Norman cavalry. Occasionally, however, they were successful in rep-lling the invaders; and the following verses are supposed to celebrate a defeat of CLARR, Earl of Stri guil and Pembroke, and of NEVILLE, Baron of Chepstow, Lords Marchers of Monmouthshire Rymny is a stream which divides the counties of Moumonth and Glamorgan: Caerphili, the scene the supposed battle, is a vale upon its banks, dignided by the ruins of a very ancient castle.
AIR-The War-song of the Men of Glamorgan
RED glows the forge in Striguil's bounds,
Foul fall the hand which bends the steel
From Chepstow's tow'rs, ere dawn of morn,
And forth, in banded pomp and pride,
They swore, their banners broad should gleam,
And sooth they swore the sun arose,
A Norman horseman's curdling blood!
Old Chepstow's brides may curse the toil,
THE DYING BARD.
[The Welch tradition bears, that a Bard, on his death-bed, de manded his harp, and played the air to which these verses are adapted; requesting, that it might be performed at his funeral.]
DINAS EMLINN, lament; for the moment is nigh,
In spring and in autumn thy glories of shade, Unhonour'd shall flourish, unhonour'd shall fade; For soon shall be lifeless the eye and the tongue, That view'd them with rapture, with rapture that sung.
Thy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may march in their pride, And chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyn's side; But where is the harp shall give life to their name? And where is the bard shall give heroes their fame?
And Oh, Dinas Emlinn! thy daughters so fair,
Then adieu, silver Teivi! I quit thy lov'd scene, To join the dim choir of the bards who have been; With Lewarch, and Meilor, and Merlin the Old, And sage Taliessin, high harping to hold.
And adieu, Dinas Emlinn! still green be thy shades, Unconquer'd thy warriors, and matchless thy maids! And thou, whose faint warblings my weakness can tell, Farewell, my lov'd Harp! my last treasure, farewell!