X.— THE TRIUMPH OF OWEN:

Owen's praise demands my song,

Owen swift, and Owen strong,

Fairest flower of Roderick's stem,

Gwyneth'sshield and Britain's gem.

He nor heaps his brooded stores,

Nor on all profusely pours;

Lord of every regal art,

Liberal hand and open heart.

Big with hosts of mighty name,

Squadrons three against him came;

This the force of Eirin hiding;

Side by side as proudly riding

On her shadow long and gay

Lochlinploughs the watery way;

There the Norman sails afar

Catch the winds and join the war;

Black and huge, along they sweep,

Burthens of the angry deep.

Dauntless on his native sands

The Dragon sonof Mona stands;

In glittering arms and glory dress'd,

High he rears his ruby crest;

There the thundering strokes begin,

There the press and there the din:

Talymalfra's rocky shore

Echoing to the battle's roar!

Check'd by the torrent-tide of blood,

Backward Meniai rolls his flood;

While, heap'd his master's feet around,

Prostrate warriors gnaw the ground.

Where his glowing eye-balls turn,

Thousand banners round him burn;

Where he points his purple spear,

Hasty, hasty rout is there;

Marking, with indignant eye,

Fear to stop and Shame to fly:

There Confusion, Terror's child,

Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild,

Agony, that pants for breath,

Despair and honourable Death.