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He dies; but yet the mountains stand,
Yet sweeps the torrent's tide ;
THE FAIR ISLE.
(FOR THE MELODY CALLED THE WELSH GROUND.")
THE ROCK OF CADER IDRIS.
(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;
The voice of the mountain-wind, solemn and loud.
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.
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!
Ånd high Cader Idris rejoiced in the sun :-
When the sense which gives soul to her beauty was won
HYMNS FOR CHILDHOOD.
O! BLEST art thou whose steps may rove
man can show thee nought so fair,
But happier far, if then thy soul
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,
They tinge with richer dies.
A thousand buds to-day,
In hidden beauty lay.
With fragrance fills the shade;
In brighter tints array'd.
From heaven to earth is bow'd ?
The rainbow in the cloud !
The emerald's verdant rays,
With the deep ruby's blaze.
Was given the vision fair-
And read God's mercy there.
Fast by the Eternal chain'd,
Awful and unrestrain'd.