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He dies; but yet the mountains stand,

Yet sweeps the torrent's tide ;
And this is yet Aneurin’s* land-
Winds! bear the spoiler one more tone of pride!


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Sons of the Fair Isle! forget not the time,
Ere spoilers had breathed the free air of your clime:
All that its eagles behold in their flight
Was yours, from the deep to each storm-mantled height
Though from your race that proud birthright be torn,
Unquench'd is the spirit for monarchy born.

Darkly though clouds may hang o'er us awhile,
The crown shall not pass from the Beautiful Isle.
Ages inay roll ere your children regain
The land for which heroes have perish'd in vain ;
Yet, in the sound of your names shall be power,
Around her still gathering in glory's full hour.
Strong in the fame of the mighty that sleep,
Your Britain shall sit on the throne of the deep.

Then shall their spirits rejoice in her smile,
Who died for the crown of the Beautiful Isle.


(It is an old tradition of the Welsh bards, that on the summit of the

mountain Cader Idris, is an excavation resembling a couch ; and that whoever should pass a night in that hollow, would be found in the morning either dead, in a state of frenzy, or endowed with the highest poetical inspiration.]

I LAY on that rock where the storms have their dwelling,

The birthplace of phantoms, the home of the cloud;
Around it for ever deep music is swelling,

The voice of the mountain-wind, solemn and loud.
'Twas a midnight of shadows all fitfully streaming,

Of wild waves and breezes, that mingled their moan ; Of dim shrouded stars, as from gulfs faintly gleaming;

And I met the dread gloom of its grandeur alone. * Aneurin, one of the noblest of the Welsh bards.

† Ynys Prydain was the ancient Welsh name of Britain, and sig. nifies fair or beautiful isle.

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I lay there in silence—a spirit came o’er me;

Man's tongue hath no language to speak what I saw: Things glorious, unearthly, pass'd floating before me,

And my heart almost fainted with rapture and awe. 1 view'd the dread beings, around us that hover,

Though veil'd by the mists of mortality's breath; And I call’d upon darkness the vision to cover,

For a strife was within me of madness and death. I saw them-the powers of the wind and the ocean,

The rush of whose pinion bears onward the storms; Like the sweep of the white-rolling wave was their motion,

I felt their dim presence,-but knew not their forms! I saw them—the mighty of ages departed—

The dead were around me that night on the hill : From their eyes, as they pass’d, a cold radiance they darted,

There was light on my soul, but my heart's blood was chill. I saw what man looks on, and dies--but my spirit

Was strong, and triumphantly lived through that hour : And, as from the grave, I awoke to inherit

A flame all immortal, a voice, and a power!
Day burst on that rock with the purple cloud crested,

Ånd high Cader Idris rejoiced in the sun :-
But 0! what new glory all nature invested,

When the sense which gives soul to her beauty was won

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O! BLEST art thou whose steps may rove
Through the green paths of vale and grove,
Or, leaving all their charms below,
Climb the wild mountain's airy brow!
And gaze afar o'er cultur'd plains,
And cities with their stately fanes,
And forests, that beneath thee lie,
And ocean mingling with the sky.

man can show thee nought so fair,
As Nature's varied marvels there;
And if thy pure and artless breast,
Can feel their grandeur, thou art blest!
For thee the stream in beauty flows,
For thee the gale of summer blows;
And, in deep glen and wood walk free,
Voices of joy still breathe for thee.

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But happier far, if then thy soul
Can soar to Him who made the whole,
If to thine eye the simplest flower
Portray His bounty and His power:
If, in whate’er is bright or grand,
Thy mind can trace His viewless hand,
If Nature's music bid thee raise
Thy song of gratitude and praise ;
If heaven and earth, with beauty fraught,
Lead to His throne thy raptured thought;
If there thou lovest His love to read ;
Then, wand'rer, thou art blest indeed!


I do set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be for a token of a covepat be tween me and the earth."--Genesis, ix. 13.

Soft falls the mild reviving shower

From April's changelul skies,
And rain-drops bend each trembling flower

They tinge with richer dies.
Soon shall their genial influence call

A thousand buds to-day,
Which, waiting but that balmy fall,

In hidden beauty lay.
E'en now full many a blossom's bell

With fragrance fills the shade;
And verdure clothes each grassy dell,

In brighter tints array'd.
But mark! what arch of varied hue

From heaven to earth is bow'd ?
Haste ; ere it vanish, haste to view

The rainbow in the cloud !
How bright its glory! there behold

The emerald's verdant rays,
The topaz blends its hue of gold

With the deep ruby's blaze.
Yet not alone to charm thy sight

Was given the vision fair-
Gaze on that arch of color'd ligt.1,

And read God's mercy there.
It tells us that the mighty deep,

Fast by the Eternal chain'd,
No more o’er earth's domain shall sweep.

Awful and unrestrain'd.

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