To take her from me at that very hour, When best her love might soothe me; that black hour,

(May memory ever raze it from her records!) When all my squadrons fled, and left their king Old and defenceless: him, who nine whole years Had taught them how to conquer: Yes, my friends,

For nine whole years against the sons of rapine I led my veterans, oft to victory,

Never 'till then to shame. Bear with me, druid, I've done: begin the rites.

Cho. O would to heav'n

A frame of mind, more fitted to these rites,
Possessed thee, prince! that Resignation meek,
That dove-ey'd Peace, handmaid of Sanctity,
Approach'd this altar with thee: 'stead of these,
See I not gaunt Revenge, ensanguin'd Slaughter,
And mad Ambition, clinging to thy soul,
Eager to snatch thee back to their domain,
Back to a vain and miserable world;
Whose misery and vanity, though tried,
Thou still hold'st dearer than these solemn
shades,

Where quiet reigns with virtue? Try we yet
What holiness can do! for much it can:
Much is the potency of pious prayer:
And much the sacred influence convey'd
By sage mysterious office: when the soul,
Snatch'd by the power of music from her cell
Of fleshly thraldom, feels herself upborne
On plumes of extasy, and boldly springs,
'Mid swelling harmonics and pealing hymns,
Up to the porch of heav'n. Strike, then, ye bards!
Strike all your strings symphonious; wake a strain
May penetrate, may purge, may purify,
His yet unhallow'd bosom; call ye hither
The airy tribe, that on yon mountain dwell,
Ev'n on majestic Snowdon: they, who never
Deign visit mortal men, save on some cause
Of highest import, but, sublimely shrin'd

On its hoar top in domes of crystalline ice,
Hold converse with those spirits, that possess
The skies' pure sapphire, nearest heav'n itself.
ODE.

Mona on Snowdon calls:
Hear, thou king of mountains, hear;
Hark, she speaks from all her strings;
Hark, her loudest echo rings;
King of mountains, bend thine ear:

Send thy spirits, send them soon,
Now, when midnight and the moon
Meet upon thy front of snow:

See, their gold and ebon rod,
Where the sober sisters nod,
And greet in whispers sage and slow.
Snowdon, mark! 'tis magic's hour;
Now the mutter'd spell hath power;
Pow'r to rend thy ribs of rock,

And burst thy base with thunder's shock;
But to thee no ruder spell

Shall Mona use, than those that dwell
In music's secret cells, and lie

Steep'd in the stream of harmony.

Snowdon has heard the strain: Hark, amid the wond'ring grove, Other harpings answer clear, Other voices meet our ear, Pinions flutter, shadows move,

Busy murmurs hum around,

Rustling vestments brush the ground;
Round, and round, and round they go,
Through the twilight, through the shade,
Mount the oak's majestic head,

And gild the tufted misseltoe.
Cease, ye glittering race of light,
Close your wings, and check your flight:
Here, arrang'd in order due,
Spread your robes of saffron hue;
For lo, with more than mortal fire,
Mighty Mador smites the lyre:
Hark, he sweeps the master-strings;
Listen all-

Cho. Break off; a sullen smoke involves the altar;

The central oak doth shake; I hear the sound Of steps profane: Caractacus, retire;

Bear hence the victims; Mona is polluted.

Semicho. Father, as we did watch the eastern side,

We spied and instant seiz'd two stranger youths,
Who, in the bottom of a shadowy dell,
Held earnest converse: Britons do they seem,
And of Brigantian race.

Cho. Haste, drag them hither.

VELLINUS, Elidurus, Chorus.

Eli. O spare, ye sage and venerable druids! Your countrymen and sons.

Cho. And are ye Britons?
Unheard-of profanation! Rome herself,
Ev'n impious Rome, whom conquest makes more
impious,

Would not have dar'd so rashly. O! for words,
Big with the fiercest force of execration,
To blast the deed and doers,

Eli. Spare the curse,

Oh spare our youth!

Cho. Is it not now the hour,

The holy hour, when to the cloudless height
Of yon starr'd concave climbs the full-orb'd moon,
And to this nether world in solemn stillness
Gives sign, that to the list ning ear of heav'n
Religion's voice should plead? The very babe
Knows this, and, chance awak'd, his little hands
Lifts to the gods, and on his innocent couch
Calls down a blessing. Shall your manly years
Plead ignorance, and impiously presume
To tread, with vile unconsecrated feet,
On Mona's hallow'd plain? know, wretches, know,
At any hour such boldness is a crime,
At this 'tis sacrilege.

Vel. Were Mona's plain

More hallow'd still, hallow'd as is heav'n's self, The cause might plead our pardon.

Eli. Mighty druid!

True, we have rashly dar'd, yet forced by duty, Our sov'reign's mandate-

Vel. Elder by any birth,

T'atone for such a crime. Vel. If then to give

Youth! they must be

New nerves to vanquish'd valour; if to do,
What, with the blessing of the gods, may save
A bleeding country from oppression's sword,
Be weighty business, know, on our commission,
And on its hop'd success, that weight depends.
Cho. Declare it then at once, briefly and boldly.
Vel. Caractacus is here.

Cho. Say'st thou, proud boy?

'Tis boldly said, and, grant 'twere truly said, Think'st thou he were not here from fraud or force

As safe, as in a camp of conquerors?

Here, youth, he would be guarded by the gods;
Their own high hostage; and each sacred hair
Of his selected head, would in these caverns
Sleep with the unsunn'd silver of the mine,
As precious and as safe; record the time,
When Mona e'er betrayed the hapless wretch,
That made her groves his refuge.

Vel. Holy druid!

Think not so harshly of our enterprise.

Can force, alas! dwell in our unarm'd hands?
Can fraud in our young bosoms? No, dread seer;
Our business told, I trust thou'lt soon disclaim
The vain suspicion; and thy holy ear
(Be brave Caractacus or here or absent)
Shall instant learn it. From the north we come;
The sons of her, whose heav'n-entrusted sway
Blesses the bold Brigantes; men who firmly
Have three long moons withstood those Roman
powers,

Which, led by fell Ostorius, still assail

Our frontiers: yet so oft have our stout swords
Repell'd their hot assault, that now, like falcons,
They hang suspended, loth to quit their prey,
Nor daring yet to seize it. Such the state
Of us and Rome; in which our prudent mother,
Revolving what might best secure her country
From this impending ruin, gave us charge
To seek the great Caractacus, and call
His valour to her aid, to lead her bands,
To fight the cause of liberty and Britain,
And quell these ravagers.

[CAR. starts from behind the altar. CARACTACUS, VELLINUS, ELIDURUS, CHORUS. Cur. And have found me; ye

Friends, ye have found me: lead me to your queen,

And the last purple drop in these old veins
Shall fall for her and Britain.

Cho. Rash, rash prince!

Vel. Ye blest immortal powers! is this the man, The more than man, who for nine bloody years Withstood all Rome? He is, that warlike front, Seam'd o'er with honest scars, proclaims he is; Kneel, brother, kneel, while in his royal hand

Cho. Rash Caractacus!

What hast thou done? What dost thou mean to do?

Car. To save my country.
Cho. To betray thyself.

That thou hast done; the rest thou canst not do,
If Heaven forbids; and of its awful will
Thy fury recks not: Has the bleeding victim
Pour'd a propitious stream? The milk-white
steeds

Unrein'd and neighing pranc'd with fav'ring steps?
Say, when these youths approach'd, did not a gust
Of livid smoke involve the bickering flame?
Did not the forest tremble? every omen
Led thee to doubt their honesty of purpose;
And yet, before their tongues could tell that pur-
pose,

Ere I had tender'd, as our laws ordain,
Their test of faith, thy rudeness rush'd before me,
Infringing my just rights.

Car. Druid, methinks,

At such a time, in such a cause, reproof
Might bate its sternness. Now, by Heaven, I feel,
Beyond all omens, that within my breast,
Which marshals me to conquest; something here
That snatches me beyond all mortal fears,
Lifts me to where, upon her jasper throne,
Sits flame-rob'd Victory, who calls me son,
And crowns me with a palm, whose deathless
green

Shall bloom when Cæsar's fades.

Cho. Vain confidence!
Car. Yet I submit in all-

Cho. 'Tis meet thou should'st.
Thou art a king, a sovereign o'er frail man ;

Think not we lightly rate our country's weal,
Or thee, our country's champion. Well we know
The glorious meed of those exalted souls,

Who flame like thee for freedom: mark me, prince,

The time will come, when Destiny and Death,
Thron'd in a burning car, the thund'ring wheels
Arm'd with gigantic scythes of adamant,
Shall scour this field of life: and in the rear
The fiend Oblivion: kingdoms, empires, worlds
Melt in the general blaze: when, lo, from high
Andraste darting, catches from the wreck
The roll of fame, claps her ascending plumes,
And stamps on orient stars each patriot name,
Round her eternal dome.

But, if thou hast, the gods will soon declare it : Their sov'reign will thou know'st not; this to learn

Demands our search. Ye mortals, all retire!
Leave ye the grove to us and inspiration ;.
Nor let a step, or even one glance profane,
Steal from your caverns: stay, my holy brethren,
Ye time-ennobled seers, whose rev'rend brows
Full eighty winters whiten; you, ye bards,
Leoline, Cadwall, Hoel, Cantaber,

Attend upon our slumbers: wond'rous men,
Ye, whose skill'd fingers know how best to lead,
Through all the maze of sound, the wayward step
Of harmony, recalling oft, and oft
Permitting her unbridled course to rush
Through dissonance to concord, sweetest then
Even when expected harshest. Mador, thou
Alone shalt lift thy voice; no choral peal
Shall drown thy solemn warblings; thou best
know'st

Cho. Hail, thou harp of Phrygian flame!
In years of yore that Camber bore

From Troy's sepulchral flame:

With ancient Brute, to Britain's shore The mighty minstrel came:

Sublime upon thy burnish'd prow,'
He bad thy manly modes to flow;
Britain heard the descant bold,

She flung her white arms o'er the sea;
Proud in her leafy bosom to enfold
The freight of harmony.

Mute 'till then was every plain,

Save where the flood o'er mountains rude Tumbled his tide amain:

And echo from th' impending wood Resounded the hoarse strain;

While from the north the sullen gale With hollow whistlings shook the vale; Dismal notes, and answer'd soon

By savage howl the heaths among,

What time the wolf doth bay the trembling moon, And thin the bleating throng.

Thou spak'st, imperial lyre,

The rough roar ceas'd, and airs from high
Lapt the land in extacy:

Fancy, the fairy, with thee came;
And Inspiration, bright-ey'd dame,
Oft at thy call would leave her sapphire sky;
And, if not vain the verse presumes,
Even now some chaste divinity is near:

For lo! the sound of distant plumes Pants through the pathless desart of the air. 'Tis not the flight of her;

'Tis Sleep, her dewy harbinger. Change, my harp, O change thy measures; Cuil, from thy mellifluous treasures,

Notes that steal on even feet, Ever slow, yet never pausing,

Mixed with many a warble sweet, In a ling'ring cadence closing,

While the pleas'd power sinks gently down the skies,

And seals with hand of down the druid's slumbering eyes.

Thrice I pause, and thrice I sound

The central string, and now I ring

(By measur'd lore profound)

A sevenfold chime, and sweep, and swing
Above, below, around,

To mix thy music with the spheres,
That warble to immortal cars.

Inspiration hears the call;

She rises from her throne above,
And, sudden as the glancing meteors fall,
She comes, she fills the grove.

All that by sage and sanctimonious rites'
Might of the gods be ask'd, we have essay'd,
And yet, nor to our wish, nor to their wont,
Gave they benign assent.

Car. Death to our hopes!

Cho. While yet we lay in sacred slumber tranc'd,

Sullen and sad to Fancy's frighted eye

Did shapes of dun and murky hue advance,
In train tumultuous, all of gesture strange,
And passing horrible; starting we wak'd,
Yet felt no waking calm; still all was dark,
Still rang our tinkling ears with screams of woe.
Suspicious tremors still-

Vel. Of what suspicious?
Druid, our queen-

Cho. Restrain thy wayward tongue, Insolent youth! in such licentious mood To interrupt our speech ill suits thy years, And worse our sanctity.

Car. 'Tis his distress

Makes him forget, what else his reverent zeal Would pay ye holily. Think what he feels, Poor youth! who fears yon moon, before she

wanes,

May see his country conquer'd; see his mother
The victor's slave, her royal blood debas'd,
Dragging her chains through the throng'd streets
of Rome,

To grace oppression's triumph. Horrid thought!
Say, can it be that he, whose strenuous youth
Adds vigour to his virtue, e'er can bear
This patiently? he comes to ask my aid,
And, that withheld, (as now he needs must fear)
What means, alas! are left? search Britain round,
What chief dares cope with Rome? what king

If tyranny must lord it o'er the earth, There's anarchy in Heav'n. Nay, frown not, druid,

I do not think 'tis thus.

Cho. We trust thou dost not.

Car. Masters of wisdom! No: my soul confides In that all-healing and all-forming power, Who, on the radiant day when time was born, Cast his broad eye upon the wild of ocean, And calm'd it with a glance: then plunging deep His mighty arm, pluck'd from its dark domain This throne of freedom, lifted it to light, Girt it with silver cliffs, and call'd it Britain: He did, and will preserve it.

Cho. Pious prince,

In that all-healing and all-forming power
Still let thy soul confide; but not in men,
No, not in these, ingenuous as they seem,
'Till they are tried by that high test of faith
Our ancient laws ordain.

Vel. Illustrious seer,

Methinks our sov'reign's signet well might plead Her envoy's faith. Thy pardon, mighty druid, Not for ourselves, but for our queen we plead; Mistrusting us, ye wound her honour.

Cho. Peace;

Our will admits no parley. Thither, youths,
Turn your astonish'd eyes; behold yon huge
And unhewn sphere of living adamant,
Which pois'd by magic, rests its central weight
On yonder pointed rock: firm as it seems,
Such is its strange and virtuous property,
It moves obsequious to the gentlest touch
Of him, whose breast is pure; but to a traitor,
Though ev'n a giant's prowess nerv'd his arm,
It stands as fix'd as Snowdon. No reply;
The gods command that one of you must now
Approach and try it: in your snowy vests,
Ye priests, involve the lots, and to the younger,
As is our wont, tender the choice of fate.

Eli. Heav'ns! is it fall'n on me?
Cho. Young prince, it is;
Prepare thee for thy trial.

Eli. Gracious gods!

Who may look up to your tremendous thrones,
And say his breast is pure? All-searching powers,
Ye know already how and what I am;
And what ye mean to publish me in Mona,
To that I yield and tremble.

Car. Rouse thee, youth!

And, with that courage honest truth supplies, (For sure ye both are true) haste to the trial; Behold I lead thee on.

Cho. Prince, we arrest

Thy hasty step; to witness this high test
Pertains to us alone. A while retire,
And in yon cave his brother be thy charge:
The trial past, again we will confer,
Touching that part which heav'n's deciding choice
Wills thee to act. [Exeunt CAR. and VEL.

CHORUS, ELIDURUS.

Cho. Now be the rites prepar'd:

And now, ye bards, chaunt ye that custom'd hymn,