Page:1808 Poems by Felicia Dorothea Browne.pdf/82



And here, while heavenly visions fill'd his eye, He rais'd the strain of plaintive melody; This fond idea consecrates the hour, And more endears the calm secluded bower.

Sweet was the Cambrian harp in ancient time, When tuneful bards awak'd the song sublime; And minstrels caroll'd in the banner'd hall, Where warlike trophies grac'd the lofty wall; They sang the legends and traditions old, The deeds of chivalry, and heroes bold. Oh! Cambria, tho' thy sweetest bards are dead, And fairies from thy lovely vales are fled; Still in thy sons the musing mind may trace The vestige of thy former simple race: Some pious customs yet preserv'd with care, Their humble village piety declare; Ah! still they strew the fairest flowers and weep, Where buried friends of sacred memory sleep. The wandering harper, too, in plaintive lays, Declares the glory of departed days; And, Cambria, still upon thy fertile plains, The power of hospitality remains.

Yet shall my muse the pleasing task resign, Till riper judgement all her songs refine;