Page:Poetical Remains.pdf/335

Rh

Let earth's pale tyrants read despair, And vengeance in its flame; Hail ye, my bards! the omen fair Of conquest and of fame, And swell the rushing mountain-air With songs to Glyndwr's name.

At the dead hour of night, Mark'd ye how each majestic height Burn'd in its awful beams? Red shone th' eternal snows, And all the land, as bright it rose, Was full of glorious dreams! Oh! eagles of the battle,* rise! The hope of Gwynedd wakes!†