Ere that soft rose-bloom of the soul be fled,
Which vice but breathes on and its hues are dead,
Shall at the call press forward, to be made
A glorious offering, meet for him who said,
'Mercy, not sacrifice!" and, when of old

Clouds of rich incense from his altars roll'd,

Dispersed the smoke of perfumes, and laid bare The heart's deep folds, to read its homage there!

When some crown'd conqueror, o'er a trampled world

His banner, shadowing nations, hath unfurl'd,
And, like those visitations which deform
Nature for centuries, hath made the storm
His pathway to dominion's lonely sphere,
Silence behind before him, flight and fear :
When kingdoms rock beneath his rushing wheels,
Till each fair isle the mighty impulse feels,
And earth is moulded but by one proud will,
And sceptred realms wear fetters, and are still;
Shall the free soul of song bow down to pay,
The earthquake homage on its baleful way ?
Shall the glad harp send up exulting strains
O'er burning cities and forsaken plains?
And shall no harmony of softer close
Attend the stream of mercy as it flows,
And, mingling with the murmur of its wave,
Bless the green shores its gentle currents lave?

Oh! there are loftier themes, for him whose eyes Have search'd the depths of life's realities,

Than the red battle, or the trophied car,

Wheeling the monarch-victor fast and far;

There are more noble strains than those which swell The triumphs ruin may suffice to tell!

Ye prophet-bards, who sat in elder days
Beneath the palms of Judah! ye whose lays
With torrent rapture, from their source on high,
Burst in the strength of immortality!

Oh! not alone, those haunted groves among,
Of conquering hosts, of empires crush'd, ye sung;
But of that spirit destined to explore,

With the bright day-spring, every distant shore,
To dry the tear, to bind the broken reed,

To make the home of peace in hearts that bleed ;
With beams of hope to pierce the dungeon's gloom,
And pour eternal star-light o'er the tomb.

And bless'd and hallow'd be its haunts! for there Hath man's high soul been rescued from despair! There hath the immortal spark for heaven been

There from the rock the springs of life have burst
Quenchless and pure! and holy thoughts, that rise
Warm from the source of human sympathies—
Where'er its path of radiance may be traced,
Shall find their temple in the silent waste.

NOTES.

Note 1, page 206, line 11.

Still rise the cairns, of yore all rudely piled.

In some parts of Dartmoor, the surface is thickly strewed with stones, which in many instances appear to have been collected into piles on the tops of prominent hillocks, as if in imitation of the natural Tors. The Stone-barrows of Dartmoor resemble the cairns of the Cheviot and Grampian hills, and those in Cornwall.-See COOKE's Topographical Survey of Devonshire.

Note 2, page 207, line 12.

And the rude arrow's barb remain to tell.

Flint arrow-heads have occasionally been found upon Dartmoor.

Note 3, page 207, line 15.

The chieftain's power-they had no bard, and died.

"Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona
Multi; sed omnes illachrymabiles

Urgentur, ignotique longâ

Nocte, carent quia vate sacro."-HORACE.

"They had no poet-and they died."-POPE'S Translation.

Note 4, page 207, line 18.

There stands an altar of unsculptured stone.

On the east of Dartmoor are some Druidical remains, one of which is a Cromlech, whose three rough pillars of granite support a ponderous table-stone, and form a kind of large irregular tripod.

Note 5, page 208, line 2.

Bade the red cairn-fires blaze from every height.

In some of the Druid festivals, fires were lighted on all the cairns and eminences around, by priests, carrying sacred torches. All the household fires were previously extinguished, and those who were thought worthy of such a privilege, were allowed to re-light them with a flaming brand, kindled at the consecrated cairn-fire.

Note 6, page 209, line 11.

'Twas then the captives of Britannia's war.

The French prisoners, taken in the wars with Napoleon, were confined in a depot on Dartmoor.

Note 7, page 214, line 19.

It lives in those soft accents, to the sky.

In allusion to a plan for the erection of a great national school-house on Dartmoor, where it was proposed to educate the children of convicts.

WELSH MELODIES.

THE HARP OF WALES.

INTRODUCTORY STANZAS, INSCRIBED TO THE RUTHIN WELSH LITERARY SOCIETY.

HARP of the mountain-land! sound forth again
As when the foaming Hirlas horn was crown'd,
And warrior hearts beat proudly to the strain,

And the bright mead at Owain's feast went round:
Wake with the spirit and the power of yore!
Harp of the ancient hills! be heard once more!

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!