Classic Poem

SECOND PART .

Thus Owen daily kept his flock,
On Marian's summits seated,
And distant saw the passing sails,
By every breeze inflated.

Now saw on Llangoed's fertile shores,
The placid waters waving,
And now beheld, on rocky steeps,
The billowy rollers raving.

A novel wish, in Owen's thoughts,
Intruded now, was growing;
The place they came from, where they went,
The curious itch of knowing.

He'd heard indeed, from Mona's sons,
From regions far returning,
That northern seas were lock'd in ice,
That Afric's sands were burning.

He'd also heard, though undeterr'd,
From parents still deploring,
Of lads that left them, for the deep,
No tidings yet restoring.

He'd heard of Mersey's crowded shores,
The Dee's triumphant neighbour;
Where Commerce, with a smile beheld,
Success reward her labour.

That there she saw, her useful stores,
From every climate swelling,
That all the Virtues, Arts were there,
And pleas'd, had found a dwelling.

And Charity, their heavenly chief,
Her every view revealing;
That every woe that Misery wears,
Her hallow'd hand was healing!

That there, to gladden sightless woe,
A novel path she'd chosen;
For those that go without an eye,
From her, get near a dozen.

That stretching far her friendly views,
To distant Scotia turns,
And beckons to her fostering arms,
The orphans left by Burns.

Sweet rural songster, born for Heaven,
Not earth's ungenial region;
A sparkler even in spangled skies —
A leader in a legion.

O! Currie, from the Cambrian bard,
This grateful strain be thine,
And Fame shall henceforth write thy name,
In characters benign.

And he — may Heaven his efforts bless,
Who guides an Empire's cares;
For his own heart, a moment steals —
A thought for Genius spares.

That even the Nine, by Virtue led,
(Whose voice they all revere)
Desert, at times, their sweetest shades —
Delight to loiter there.

Enticed by Roscoe's tuneful voice,
They leave their fav'rite fountains;
And cliffs that echo love the lay,
Now miss them in the mountains.

Delightful warbler, Mersey's own,
Thy lot be lengthened years;
To charm with Arno's classic themes,
Thy country's listening ears.

That Cambria, from adjacent cliffs,
With eye of glee looks down,
Exulting, sees a valued youth
Her hopes maternal crown.

Beholds him with a parent's care,
Her hapless orphans seek,
And lead for them, the feeling tear,
Down many a manly cheek.

Williams, while Britain's grateful voice,
Applauds thy efforts blest,
She gives her native Muse to waft
Her blessing to thy breast!

He now left Llangoed's pastoral banks,
And Dwynwen's region, Dona,
Exchanged for Mersey's busy shores,
His dear maternal Mona.

He soon beheld the turrets tall,
The crowded town denoting;
And saw, with wonder's widest eye,
A peopled forest floating.

There — though in a constant crowd,
He found his footsteps lonely;
For Owen's tongue, as yet, was tun'd
To ancient British only.

To any language, on its want,
At sea there's no demurring;
The men of trade meet every tongue,
Earth's every voice occurring.

Now Commerce in her active crew
Our youthful shepherd number'd;
While Owen, on the trackless waves,
Her novel features ponder'd.

Each clime that met th' exploring prow,
With thoughtful eye inspected;
So well had Nature stor'd his mind,
Though Art her aid neglected.

The winds, the waves, the current tides,
That ocean's surface varied,
The passing ships from ev'ry shore,
The colours that they carried:

O'er these young Owen saw with pride,
His country's crosses leading;
With pleasure pass'd his youthful day,
A modern Tyrian — trading.

Till Mars, who now, a little while,
Had brooded o'er his thunder,
Awak'd to waste the social world,
And tear its ties asunder.