Back to the perilous charge the ftrong-bows flew ; But Mortimer, with more than human pow'r, On brave Llewellyn fent a fatal show'r, And half his numbers on the field were laid. Yet ftill he ftrove, ftill dar'd the pow'rful foe; But ah! in vain was ev'ry effort try'd, Nor their just cause or valorous deeds avail'd; Slaughter's deftruction-dealing arm spread wide, And Cambria's enemies at length prevail'd. A fhaft, by Fate felected from the reft, Full-fledg'd, and pointed with well-temper'd steel, Bury'd it's pheon in Llewellyn's breast, * The deadliest blow that Cimru's fons could feel! When thus the Britons faw their leader fall, Flush'd with fuccefs, the English victors flew Llewellyn was flain, and two thoufand of his people put to the fword. Soon • Soon was the beldame's prophecy fulfill'd, The hag that ghaftly fmil'd while fhe mifled; She who in Deftiny's dark book was skill'd, The witch of Aberfraw, the country's dread: • For ftraight a knight, by such a deed disgrac❜d, A speedy horfeman took the gory prize, To Edward's capitol 'twas foon convey'd ; • Thro' Lud's high gate (a feast for cruel eyes!) 'Twas borne, in mock regality array'd. • With paper crown'd, that fear-infpiring brow, (Which erft the rabble trembled to behold) Alas! was held to meaneft infult now, Though Virtue wept when'er his tale was told. • Their prince thus flain, and mangled like a beast, • Wearied at length with aggravated woe, By friends deferted, and opprefs'd with age, Prince David yields him to his country's foe, •And falls the victim of infatiate rage. High on the town-gates were his quarters plac'd, • Where Severn laves along the fertile shore; • A deed which mark'd the victor with disgrace, And hall, till time and record be no more. Oh! that a fov'reign prince of fuch renown, A delegate of Him who wrought our grace, Should thus, in ftriving for his lineal crown, • Be butcher'd like a traitor vile and bafe! • Nor here did Edward's vengeful malice rest: • These were collected by a fair pretence, At Snowden's foot, in a fequefter'd dell; Where, most unjustly, and without offence, Unpity'd, and unwept, the victims fell! Save me, the youngest of the tuneful train, • More light of foot than any then alive: • I fnatch'd my harp, and fled across the plain, ⚫ Swift as the bee at morning leaves the hive. In vain purfuit, o'er many an oak-crown'd hill, • Till when my patron, noble Warwick, came, "Well I remember, how he firft beheld, And stood aftonish'd at th' unusual scene; * Well I remember he my fears expell'd, • When thus he spoke, complacent and serene : "Whoe'er "Whoe'er thou art, thy looks befpeak regard, " And Warwick freely offers thee his hand; « Virtue shall never languish for reward, "While I have pow'r, and fortune at command.” Straight, at thy bidding, from my cell I came, • Which at the Stethva* won the wreath of fame, • When o'er the chords, like fire, my fingers ran, < And dealt fuch heart-felt harmony around, • That pallid Envy to admire began, And flinty Av'rice melted at the found; When -but no more—it doth not well befeem, • To fing too highly of our own defertsI left my humble cottage by the ftream, And follow'd thee, the idol of our hearts. • Foster'd by thee, within this castle fair, • For many a year, in much efteem I've dwelt ; Save what for Cambria's former woes I felt. Fortune with ample gifts attends me still, This is the tale of Howel of the hill, The laft remains of brave Llewellyn's court." * Stethva, a place of meeting of the British poets and minstrels, for trial of their excellency in poetry and mufick, where the victor had his reward, (usually a filver harp) and was crowned with bays, as appears by M. Drayton and Mn Seldon, Now Now ftruck the curfew, when the mellow throng And slept till Chanticleer proclaim'd the day They mock the air with idle state. Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail, Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail, He wound with toilsome march his long array. • To arms!' cry'd Mortimer †, and couch'd his quiv'ring lance. I. 2. On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Rob'd in the fable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the poet ftood; Gilbert De Clare, furnamed the Red, Earl of Gloucester and Hertford, fon-in-law to King Edward. + Edmond De Mortimer, Lord of Wigmore." They were both lords-marchers, whofe lands lay on the borders of Wales, and probably accompanied the king in this expedition. (Loofe |