TO SIR R. W. VAUGHAN,
Of Nannau, Bart.
I N Arthur's days, of ancient date,
When Cambria's chiefs elected
Her Maelgwyn to the regal seat,
Were Harlech's towers erected.
And soon some chief of Meirion's sons,
When warfare claim'd his duty,
Bade Harlech's turrets, Woodstock like,
Conceal his Bronwen's beauty.
And well he might, for such a name
Had set the world a gazing;
And sparks illum'd in such a breast,
Set other Troys a blazing.
But who this Helen of the hills,
Obscure is even conjecture;
We only find her luckless name
Coeval with the structure.
Now no Duenna guards the door,
Where Beauty, Love, reposes;
No Argus, with unnumber'd eyes,
The jealous portal closes.
No knight in famed La Mancha born,
With addled pate and gory,
Now takes a windmill's wings by storm,
For one Gazette of Glory!
No caves are haunted, woods explor'd,
For damsels undefended;
And say our teachers what they will,
The social world is mended.
Yet, some there are, whose twisted pates
For feudal days have fretted;
And they alone, of all mankind,
Have happier times regretted.
With Meirion's daughters matchless maids,
No country, yet, contended;
Not all Circassia's countless charms,
To beauty's palm pretended.
Nor less her sons in virtue's race,
The palm of praise inherit;
The Muse, delighted, pours the strain,
The meed to living merit.
Myvyr, Meirion, lasting names,
Which nothing hence can sever;
Even now their country weaves the wreath,
That lives and blooms for ever.
The Muses, Meirion, love thy voice,
Thy form , thy flocks, and fountains,
And pleased will name, in other times,
Thy Miltons of the mountains.
'Twas here Ardudwy's princely chief,
In later times retir'd,
To find the calm, which active youth,
In life's decline, requir'd.
And here, when Justice yet unarm'd,
Saw Law, unleagu'd with Power;
Beheld the hardy Fair confine
Her kin in Collwyn's tower.
The massy gates were since unclosed,
Its walls, awhile, befriended;
And Safety saw her friendly shield
O'er Henry's Queen extended.
Intrepid Anjou! faithful Fair,
By ceaseless faction haunted;
In Conquest's day compos'd and calm,
In dire defeat — undaunted.
Even here to Harlech's crested cliffs,
Came civil broils, dissension;
The garden's ruddy, silver boast,
Were symbols of contention.
SECOND PART .
When Britain saw her maniac sons
Devote her fields to ravage,
And Discord led her hosts to deeds
That lessen e'en a savage.
Even Conway check'd his sea-ward course,
Look'd on with consternation;
And groans, e'en now, when Memory paints
The fiends of desolation.
Sir Richard came, his legion led,
To bid the chief surrender;
For well he knew, that Einion's son
Was Harlech's brave defender.
With brazen voice, was Einion call'd,
To quit the post of Glory;
With brazen voice the chief replied,
That Fame could tell his story.
But he who led the phalanx was,
As Einion, such another;
If War, whose language breathes but woe.
Had such a word — a brother.
Each breast was Honor's brightest dome,
A model each exterior;They priz'd their Fame beyond their life,
In this they'd no superior.
The conflict fierce and fiercer grew,
Each day improv'd resistance;
Each day, ere night her curtain spread,
Plac'd conquest at a distance.
And well they might — the leaders brave,
As yet no harm had feared;
The sudden sally — firm assault,
The generous chiefs endear'd.
At length came Famine, fellest foe,
That ever fac'd a hero;
She came to Herbert, as a friend,
On Einion, frown'd a Nero.
This fiend within, the foe without,
The arm, unwearied, wielded;
Even Fortitude gave up the place —
Unvanquish'd, Einion yielded.
Yet Einion, though the fortress fell,
Was still of soul undaunted,
And held it, till his generous foe,
Life, Fame, and Fortune, granted.
But Edward's baser — meaner soul,
Tore Honor's ties asunder;
To sully Richard's spotless shield,
His brave opponent — murder.
The faithful Herbert heard, appall'd,
A soldier's honor slighted;
Foresaw, by this disgraceful act,
His well-earned laurels blighted.
With manly mind, and virtuous voice,
The base resolve resisted;
And back in Harlech's stately towers,
To place his foe persisted.
He sav'd his Glory, Einion sav'd,
Though this his race retarded;
Yet Fame — his own approving breast,
The heroic act rewarded.
How little is the Chief, though crown'd,
Unread — in Honor's beauty,
Compar'd to him, of upright heart,
The Man who does his duty.
Had wealth, or favor, warp'd his soul,
These transient things had perish'd;
Even now his chaplet blooms anew,
By dews celestial cherish'd.
Fair Virtue, from her blest abode,
Beheld this trying hour;
And saw him, with intrepid front,
Resist degraded power.
Beheld him, even life itself,
On her blest altars placing;
And saw her own eternal tints,
The wreath of warfare gracing.
Offspring of Meirion's pastoral hills,
Ye breasts, whom Worth inspires;
Look back to Einion's patriot band,
And pleas'd — behold your Sires.
Of Nannau, Bart.
I N Arthur's days, of ancient date,
When Cambria's chiefs elected
Her Maelgwyn to the regal seat,
Were Harlech's towers erected.
And soon some chief of Meirion's sons,
When warfare claim'd his duty,
Bade Harlech's turrets, Woodstock like,
Conceal his Bronwen's beauty.
And well he might, for such a name
Had set the world a gazing;
And sparks illum'd in such a breast,
Set other Troys a blazing.
But who this Helen of the hills,
Obscure is even conjecture;
We only find her luckless name
Coeval with the structure.
Now no Duenna guards the door,
Where Beauty, Love, reposes;
No Argus, with unnumber'd eyes,
The jealous portal closes.
No knight in famed La Mancha born,
With addled pate and gory,
Now takes a windmill's wings by storm,
For one Gazette of Glory!
No caves are haunted, woods explor'd,
For damsels undefended;
And say our teachers what they will,
The social world is mended.
Yet, some there are, whose twisted pates
For feudal days have fretted;
And they alone, of all mankind,
Have happier times regretted.
With Meirion's daughters matchless maids,
No country, yet, contended;
Not all Circassia's countless charms,
To beauty's palm pretended.
Nor less her sons in virtue's race,
The palm of praise inherit;
The Muse, delighted, pours the strain,
The meed to living merit.
Myvyr, Meirion, lasting names,
Which nothing hence can sever;
Even now their country weaves the wreath,
That lives and blooms for ever.
The Muses, Meirion, love thy voice,
Thy form , thy flocks, and fountains,
And pleased will name, in other times,
Thy Miltons of the mountains.
'Twas here Ardudwy's princely chief,
In later times retir'd,
To find the calm, which active youth,
In life's decline, requir'd.
And here, when Justice yet unarm'd,
Saw Law, unleagu'd with Power;
Beheld the hardy Fair confine
Her kin in Collwyn's tower.
The massy gates were since unclosed,
Its walls, awhile, befriended;
And Safety saw her friendly shield
O'er Henry's Queen extended.
Intrepid Anjou! faithful Fair,
By ceaseless faction haunted;
In Conquest's day compos'd and calm,
In dire defeat — undaunted.
Even here to Harlech's crested cliffs,
Came civil broils, dissension;
The garden's ruddy, silver boast,
Were symbols of contention.
SECOND PART .
When Britain saw her maniac sons
Devote her fields to ravage,
And Discord led her hosts to deeds
That lessen e'en a savage.
Even Conway check'd his sea-ward course,
Look'd on with consternation;
And groans, e'en now, when Memory paints
The fiends of desolation.
Sir Richard came, his legion led,
To bid the chief surrender;
For well he knew, that Einion's son
Was Harlech's brave defender.
With brazen voice, was Einion call'd,
To quit the post of Glory;
With brazen voice the chief replied,
That Fame could tell his story.
But he who led the phalanx was,
As Einion, such another;
If War, whose language breathes but woe.
Had such a word — a brother.
Each breast was Honor's brightest dome,
A model each exterior;They priz'd their Fame beyond their life,
In this they'd no superior.
The conflict fierce and fiercer grew,
Each day improv'd resistance;
Each day, ere night her curtain spread,
Plac'd conquest at a distance.
And well they might — the leaders brave,
As yet no harm had feared;
The sudden sally — firm assault,
The generous chiefs endear'd.
At length came Famine, fellest foe,
That ever fac'd a hero;
She came to Herbert, as a friend,
On Einion, frown'd a Nero.
This fiend within, the foe without,
The arm, unwearied, wielded;
Even Fortitude gave up the place —
Unvanquish'd, Einion yielded.
Yet Einion, though the fortress fell,
Was still of soul undaunted,
And held it, till his generous foe,
Life, Fame, and Fortune, granted.
But Edward's baser — meaner soul,
Tore Honor's ties asunder;
To sully Richard's spotless shield,
His brave opponent — murder.
The faithful Herbert heard, appall'd,
A soldier's honor slighted;
Foresaw, by this disgraceful act,
His well-earned laurels blighted.
With manly mind, and virtuous voice,
The base resolve resisted;
And back in Harlech's stately towers,
To place his foe persisted.
He sav'd his Glory, Einion sav'd,
Though this his race retarded;
Yet Fame — his own approving breast,
The heroic act rewarded.
How little is the Chief, though crown'd,
Unread — in Honor's beauty,
Compar'd to him, of upright heart,
The Man who does his duty.
Had wealth, or favor, warp'd his soul,
These transient things had perish'd;
Even now his chaplet blooms anew,
By dews celestial cherish'd.
Fair Virtue, from her blest abode,
Beheld this trying hour;
And saw him, with intrepid front,
Resist degraded power.
Beheld him, even life itself,
On her blest altars placing;
And saw her own eternal tints,
The wreath of warfare gracing.
Offspring of Meirion's pastoral hills,
Ye breasts, whom Worth inspires;
Look back to Einion's patriot band,
And pleas'd — behold your Sires.