“ No pitying heart, no eye, afford 65 born ? 70 II. 3. “ P Fill high the sparkling bowl, o The rich repast prepare : “ Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast : “ Close by the regal chair 80 # Edward the Black Prince, dead some time before bis father. • Magnificence of Richard the second's reign. See Froil fard, and other contemporary writers. p Richard the second (as we are told by archbishop Scroop and the confederate lords in their manifesto, by Thomas of Walsingham, and all the older writers) was starved to death The story of his assassination by for Piers of Exton, is of much later date, « Feli Thirst and Famine scowl 85 Above, below, the role of snow, « Twin'd with her blushing foe we spread : The bristled * Boar in infant-gore. ( Wallows beneath the thorny shade. 1 g Ruinous civil wars of York and Lancasier. Heory the sixth, George duke of Clarence, Edward the fifth, Richard duke of York, &c. believed to be mur. dered secretly in the Tower of London. The oldest part of that structure is vulgarly attributed to Julius Casar. • Margaret of A'njou, a woman of heroic spirit, who truggled hard to save hièr husband and her crown. Henry the fifth. u' Henry the sixth very near being canonized. The line of Lancaster' had no right of inheritance to the crown. W The white and red roses, devices of York and Lancaster. :* The filver Boar was the badge of Richard the third ; whence he was usually known in his own time by the name of ibi Boar. * Now, Brothers, bending o'er th'accursed loom, 95 Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his " doom. III. Y. “ Edward, lo! to sudden fate (Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) " y Half of thy heart we consecrate. (The web is wove. The work is done.)” 100 Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn • Leave me unbless’d, unpitied, here to mourn : • In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, They melt, they vanish from my eyes. • But oh! what folemn scenes on Snowdon's height Descending flow their glittering skirts unroll? · Visions of glory, spare my aching fight, • Ye unborn Ages, crowd not on my foul ! • No more our long-loft - Arthur we bewail, • All-hail, ye genuine a Kings; Britannia's Issue, hail ! y Eleanor of Castile died a few years after the conquest of Wales. The heroic proof the gave of her affection for her lord is well known. The monuments of his regret, and sorrow for the loss of her, are still to be seen at Northampton, Geddington, Waltham, and other places. z It was the common belief of the Welch nation, that king Arthur was still alive in Fairy-land, and should return again to reign over Britain. a Boch Merlin and Talicslin had prophesied, that the Welch should regain their sovereignty over this isand; which feemed to be accomplished in the house of Tudor. Vol. II. F III. 2. • Girt with many a Baron bold And gorgeous Dames, and Statesmen old 115 • Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line ; • Her lyon portb, her awe-commanding face, • Attemper'd sweet to virgin-grace. • What ftrings symphonious tremble in the air ! • What strains of vocal transport round her play! 120 • Hear from the grave, great Talieslin, hear ; • They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. Bright Rapture calls, and soaring, as she sings, • Waves in the eye of Heav'n her many colour'd wings. III. 3. • The verse adorn again 125 6 Speed, relating an audience given by queen Elizabeth to Paul Dzialinski, ambassador of Poland, says, ' And thus se, lion-like rising, daunted the malapert orator no less with her stately port and majestical deporture, than with the tartnesle of her princelie checkes'. c Taliellin, chicf of the Bards, flourished in the Vlth cen. tury. His works are still preserved, and his memory held in high veneration among his countrymen, . And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction dreft. • In d bulkin'd measures move • Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain, • With Horror, Tyrant of the throbbing breast. 130 A Voice, as of the Cherub-Choir, « Gales from blooming Eden bear; if And distant warblings lessen on my ear, · That loft in long futurity expire. [cloud, 135 · Fond impious Man, think'st thou, yon fanguine Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the Orb of day? · To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, • And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me: With joy I see • The different doom our Fates assign. • Be thine Despair, and scept'red Care, • To triumph, and to die, are mine.' He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endless night. 140 d Shakespeare. |