o speaks the Chronicle, and tells of Lear
y his ungrateful daughters turned adrift.
e lightnings, hear his voice!-they cannot hear,
lor can the winds restore his simple gift.
But One there is, a child of nature meek,
Who comes her sire to seek;
And he, recovering sense, upon her breast
eans smilingly, and sinks into a perfect rest.
There too we read of Spenser's fairy themes,
And those that Milton loved in youthful years;
sage enchanter Merlin's subtle schemes;
The feats of Arthur and his knightly peers;
Of Arthur,—who, to upper light restored
With that terrific sword
Which yet he wields in subterranean war,
Shall lift his country's fame above the polar star!
What wonder, then, if in such ample field
Of old tradition, one particular flower
Doth seemingly in vain its fragrance yield,
And bloom unnoticed even to this late hour?
Now, gentle Muses, your assistance grant,
While I this flower transplant
Into a garden stored with Poesy;
Where flowers and herbs unite, and haply some weeds be, That, wanting not wild grace, are from all mischief free!
A KING more worthy of respect and love Than wise Gorbonian, ruled not in his day; And grateful Britain prospered far above
All neighbouring countries through his righteous sway; He poured rewards and honours on the good;
The Oppressor he withstood;
And while he served the gods with reverence due, Fields smiled, and temples rose, and towns and cities grew
He died, whom Artegal succeeds—his son;
But how unworthy of such sire was he!
A hopeful reign, auspiciously begun,
Was darkened soon by foul iniquity.
From crime to crime he mounted, till at length
The nobles leagued their strength
With a vexed people, and the tyrant chased;
And, on the vacant throne, his worthier Brother placed.
om realm to realm the humbled Exile went,
appliant for aid his kingdom to regain ;
many a court, and many a warrior's tent,
e urged his persevering suit in vain.
im, in whose wretched heart ambition failed,
nd, tired with slights which he no more could brook, owards his native soil he cast a longing look.
air blew the wished-for wind-the voyage sped;
He landed; and, by many dangers scared,
Poorly provided, poorly followed,"
o Calaterium's forest he repaired.
How changed from him who, born to highest place,
Had swayed the royal mace,
Flatter'd and feared, despised yet deified,
Troynovant, his seat by silver Thames's side!
From that wild region where the crownless king
Lay in concealment with his scanty train,
Supporting life by water from the spring,
And such chance food as outlaws can obtain,
Unto the few whom he esteems his friends
A messenger he sends;
And from their secret loyalty requires
Shelter and daily bread,—the amount of his desires.
While he the issue waits, at early morn
Wandering by stealth abroad, he chanced to hear
A startling outcry made by hound and horn,
From which the tusky boar hath fled in fear
And, scouring tow'rds him o'er the grassy plain,
Behold the hunter train!
He bids his little company advance
With seeming unconcern and steady countenance.
The royal Elidure, who leads the chase,
Hath check'd his foaming courser Can it be !
Methinks that I should recognise that face,
Though much disguised by long adversity!
He gazed, rejoicing, and again he gazed,
Confounded and amazed-
"It is the king, my brother!" and, by sound
Of his own voice confirm'd, he leaps upon the ground.
Long, strict, and tender was the embrace he gave,
Feebly return'd by daunted Artegal;
Whose natural affection doubts enslave,
And apprehensions dark and criminal.
Loth to restrain the moving interview,
The attendant lords withdrew;
And, while they stood upon the plain apart,
Thus Elidure, by words, relieved his struggling heart.
By heavenly Powers conducted, we have met;
-O Brother! to my knowledge lost so long,
But neither lost to love, nor to regret,
Nor to my wishes lost;-forgive the wrong,
Such it may seem) if I thy crown have borne,
Thy royal mantle worn:
I was their natural guardian; and 'tis just
That now I should restore what hath been held in trust."
Awhile the astonished Artegal stood mute,
Then thus exclaimed-" To me, of titles shorn,
And stripped of power!-me, feeble, destitute,
To me a kingdom!-spare the bitter scorn!
If justice ruled the breast of foreign kings,
Then, on the wide-spread wings
Of war, had I returned to claim my right;
This will I here avow, not dreading thy despite."
"I do not blame thee," Elidure replied,
"But, if my looks did with my
words agree,
I should at once be trusted, not defied,
And thou from all disquietude be free.
May the unsullied Goddess of the chase,
Who to this blessed place
At this blest moment led me, if I speak
With insincere intent, on me her vengeance wreak!
|