An arrow from the flying foe Had laid the gentle damsel low ; And here upon the turf she lay, As ebh'd her lovely life away. The palmer reach'd this fading flower, Thus strangely bruised in Nature's bower ; And spoke some words of holy trust From Him whose ways are true and just, Whose path is on the earth and sea.
Whose grace for all is rich and free. And as he laved her forehead white, And laid aside her tresses bright ; He gazed upon her features fair. And knew t'was Luda dying there. When last we parted near mj home, Stoop down and kiss my icy brow : Our tree of hope is blighted now. Death comes to smooth my latest bed : Hark, hark, I hear his welcome tread. With thee, my love, the flowers, and sky, And twittering birds, 't is bliss to die. And now a faintness on me falls ; Upon the cloud a spirit calls.
How sweet the music floats along. The very heavens are fiU'd with song. Tour words are lodged my heart within : There is a G-od who pardons sin. I trust in Him ; there's safety there, And not in any Druid's prayer. Another and another kiss, And then for aye the heaven of bliss. And Bhook the ferns as it stole by.
Across the hill, the gorse among, An aged woman walks along : Her piercing scream is on the air. Her head and streaming locks are bare : And as she hastens through the wild, She sadly sobs, " My child! She heedeth not the rabbit's spring, She heedeth not the earth or sky, Or shining flowers that blossom by. Or singing bird, or mossy stone ; But evermore she makes her moan.
Whose echoes reach the mountain's brow. Call on our gods, and they shall come. And take thee to their glorious home. Great genius of the rocks and glens, Thou silent watcher of the fens. The palmer kiss'd her marhle hrow ; His huming tears fell freely now, And utter'd he such sighs of woe As sever'd love alone can know.
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But though a shadow veil'd the sun, His heart replied, " Thy will be done I " Then in the stricken matron's care He left that lifeless form so fair. And cHmb'd the cam with trembling feet Towards the warrior's rough retreat ; And as each footfall bore him higher. How soon the green has left the tree I How soon life's choicest flower is flown, And I am on my path alone. With no star beaming over head. And hope's inviting landscape fled. Henceforth my life shall only be A willing sacrifice for Thee, To spread the knowledge of His name Who for the vilest rebel came.
I hear the holy tidings now Boll grandly o'er the mountain's brow, That war and wickedness shall die, And perish underneath the sky ; Nor round the world shall battle moan ; For Christ shall reign, and Christ alone. Whose great life ebb'd at every throe. And one short prayer of import high, When thus Rouanes made reply : " I thank thee for thy words of love : Another light breaks from above, Another glory meets my view. My warriors all! The air is full of swords and spears, And battle-trumpets shake mine ears.
My horsemen, on! And when the moon at twilight hour Was rising over brake and bower, Within the dim religious gloom They laid the war-chief in his tomb, Within a stone-chest by the flags, Just underneath the old hill's cragfs.
In his kist'Vaen they placed his spear, 7 His battle-bow, and war-trump dear, His helmet, hunting-cloak, and shield, And brass sword which he oft woijld wield, When War walk'd wildly on his way. The rocks around Shall watch for aye the hero's mound. The plover ofb shall wing the hill. And drop for thee his whistle shrill. The crossing lightnings here shall flash, And thunders o'er thy crag-house crash, And wailing winds and tempests strong For evermore thy fame prolong. The seasons here Shall watch our mighty leader's bier ; And mom and eve and listening night Repeat the mystery of thy might.
Until the earth grown old and grey In flaming fire shall pass away. Beside a war-path on the brea An uru with Luda's ashes lay. And drops fell down his thoughtfol face, And wet the mosses of the place. One eve, what time the moon was new. And all the sky was clear and hlue. He bade farewell to scenes so dear. And parted from them with a tear, To preach in homes the hills between The doctrines of the Nazarene.
Nor pausdU he till our western land Had heard the Saviour's just command, And where the thorn choked up the wild The Rose of Sharon sweetly smiled.
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And when the Koman rose to reign, Then fell the Druid and the Dane. With Arthur's name we close our tale, Who fought in Fellan Druchar vale. When not a Sea King lived to tell How swift their latest remnant fell, In Genvor Cove the daring Dane Had landed from Lis ships again ; And here and there along the land They pillage arm'd with spear and brand.
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Nine fuU-arm'd kings with Arthur go, And in two days they reach'd the foe. And fought with such a desperate will That blood was shed which work'd the mill. Like seers from the recording seat The cycles of the ages meet. No savage frowns their features mar. No thirst for blood, no battle-scar : The sword of strife is spent with rust, The spear is splinter'd in the dust. The bow lies broken on the plain, And friendship's arms embrace the Dane.
She comes, she comes, the Princess fair. Note 1, Page Note 2, Page The town about half a mile across the brook which runs at the bottom of this hill was anciently called Red-drew j that is, the Druid's Ford, or Crossing of the Brook. The Druids frequently attended military expeditions, praying with great fervency to their gods with hands uplifted to hea- ven.
Their presence was extremely useful in the field ; for in the day of battle their office was to animate their troops by inculcating the immortality of the soul, and assuring them either of victory or a passage into a state of happiness. For description of British war-chariot see Dr. That blood was shed which work'd the mill. Arthur gave the Danes battle near Vellan Druehar, So terrible was the slaughter that the mill was worked with blood that day.
Not a single Dane escaped. Scene — Wild Moor. Time — Spring Morning, Tra- teller alone on the heath.
Traveller, The larks sing April welcomes. Here they soar And carol in their gladness ; there they float In streams of song along the firmament ; Now babbling like a fountain, tender now, In quivering drops out-gushing from the clouds, Filling the muser's listening ear with love. The moors are full of music : everywhere These blessed warblers kindle up delight, Suddenly dropping with their viols full Of holy sound o'erflowing all the air, As if heaven's gate half-open'd, and let forth Bright jets of fervour.
Glory to God! The earth has still some lays of Paradise. But what poor wretch is this? I'll cross the heath and see. How pale she is! Poor Woman, Alack, alack! Sir, my heart is breaking.
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See my boy, The first dear flower that graced our marriage home. Came other flowers, and flowers they paes'd away : I'm thankful to my God that it is so.
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Or my dark sea of woe would wider be. And the waves thicker, blacker, and the storm Beat with a fiercer fury on my head. But they are with the worms, thank God for that. Where I too wish to be. Traveller, I grieve to mark A form like thine so sadly sorrow-stripp'd. L Though life is in its summer. Ship wreck' d bark, Fierce-flash'd with storms and on the breakers bulged, With shrivell'd shroud and mast rent like a reed, Looks not more desolate.
What is thy wrong.
And what its source P Poor Woman, lilLj wrong were great to tell, High as a hill, and wider than the waste. And bigger than a mountain. How it swells Even as I turn to face it!
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