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'A FREE Tl\ANSTATION BY GERONVA CAMLAN," OF ARCHDEACON WILLIAMS'S ALCAIC ODE TO THOMAS PHILLIPS, ESQ., AND THE LLANDOVERY WELSH EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTION.; WHERE Towy quits his rocky bed And swift descending, loves to spread In torrents o'er the rule: Where Bran, hoarse child of moun- tains gray, la gentler iddies winds her way Along her sylvan dale. froiros a rude fortress—built of old Upon its scanty rock,—and bold Defies Bran's circling flood; Its tarrots show full many a sellr, And, scathed by tempest, time and Are redolent of blood. [war, Oh! warlike genius of our sires, Who cheered their hearts with patriot lived, Thine was no feeble breath; Inspired by thee the chieftain rose W lth sword dle spoiler of his foes, With clansmen true to death. Hence sprung, in danger nursed, a race, W in nothing dreaded but disgrace, Nor shrank from legal doom; Not theirs in death the hopeless sigh, faith beheld their God on high, Tneir home beyond the tomb. Religious fanes on plain, on hill, With labour raised and rustic skill, Our Father's iaith proclaim This massy fabric, hoar with Time, That oaken grove, this tower sublime, Bear sainted Dingad's name. The mounds, that swell on yonder brow Of early deeds the traces show, Wiien Claudius crossed the main; No fear the swart Silurian knew When Rome's proud eagles hithar flew, Vaunting their world-wide reign. Her warlike chiefs with skill profound Sunk the deep ditch and raised the mound, And fenced the rampart well; But vain their labours—short their day- The Romans fledj-of Roman sway Nought but dim legends tell. We bless you, Fathers, strong of hand, Your children still their mountain- This day hold fast as then: [land N let them hold it, God, for ever, Nor e'er give tyrants might to sever, Cambria from Cambrian men. Not vainly Taliesin spoke, The Briton free from foreign yoke, The Briton aye shall be:" Hencc passed the Saxoiis-hence the Danes,— [Thanes, Hence they who crushed the Saxon The Norman chivalry. Roll on ye unpolluted rivers, Yoar mountain cradles God delivers From slavery and its stain: Where spread these vales, where towers each steep, Whence your perennial waters leap No alien race shall reign. Ask Crook-back Richard, England's king, Who sought beneath Religion's wing, His treason foul to hide If either threats or gifts had power, To quench our love for Britain's flower, And quit young Richmond's side. What though his staleiy shrine arise The cynosure ofnelghlJouring eyes," His gold was thrown away; His gifts Demetia's warriors spurned, And every heart with ardour burned, To terminate his way. Then rose Sir Rhys, Staatowy's lord, Buckled his armour, passed the word, Our Prince must be our own To Boswoith rushed, assailed the Boar, Prom Felon grasp the sceptic tore, And reared the Tudor throne. 9 9 9 9 Sleep on, illustrious shades-sleep on, N or doubt that from th' Eternal throne Grace visits still our land: Your children of to-day can feel Tart in their country's woe and weal, Like you, Heroic Baud. Whosa name of all the patriot throng, Shall claim to-day the Muse's song I Thine, generous Phillips, thine:- Not on far India's sultry plain, Was once forgot the golden chain, That linked thee to thy line. No pomp of selfish wealth thy prayer, No Wish with vulgar souls to share ï he honours of a day: Thy wish thy countrymen to raise, And in their weal of future praise The broad foundation lay. Let others store tlleir destined gold, 'Till death's chill touch unloose their hold, Thou in thy ire hast given :— Here from thy liberal hands arise The towers, whence students watch- ful eyes May catch the light from Heaven. Here learning opes her holiest prtgc, Here seed is sown for future age, Hence blest by heavenly daw: A golden harvest—Autumn's pride- Children of promise, spreading wide, Burst on my kindling view. No longer they, like Helot born Children of ignorance and scorn But rich with wisdom's store Versed in all arts Athena taught, In Roman majesty of thought, And Israel's holier lore. Nor let them fail with loyal hoart To thee due honour to impart Oh! dearest mother-tongue; Ne'er can these sacred lyrics die, Which minstrel, saint, and warrior high In harmony have sung. Blush, cringing slave, and fear to own The words, the accent and the tone With which Caradoc spoke; The spirit high, the brilliant thought, The burning word, which cro sho fought, From Boadicea broke. But as the harp, if o'er its string Some master hand enchantment fling, Makes every fibre glow So in that tongue alone, our care, Our thoughts, our paasioa and our pray'r, With full expression flow. Then seize the key, unlock the door, Which bars from Cambria's child the lore Which children ought to know: Unroll before his eyes tile page,— Science and wisdom's heritage,— And Satan's deadliest foe. Then shall old Dyfed yearn no more For all her mighty soils of yore— Men of eternal name, Like Asser, who the Severn crost, To raise the light in England lost, And hallow Alfred's fame. Then shall Giralders live again, Whose spirit true in dauntless strain Braved Norman Henry's rage; The Champion of St. David's shrine And of our fame in lasting line, Herald from age to age. Nor e'p.r while lives the magic spell, Which binds, who hear the minstrel Of war on Ilions strand; [tell Fail we in thought with thee to sw, r, Grey Father of romantic lore, And Homer of our land. For then fair Chivalry awoke, When light on startled Europe broke From Geoffry's wond'rous page; When Woman, raised to equal place, Gave Knighthood courage, skill, and To rival Arthur's age. [grace, But, buried deepin murky night, Has vanish'd long that early light, And low the Briton lies: Aly country! by thy mighty sires, And by thy, virtues' slumb'ring fires, Awake once more and rise! Oh! that a Sulien from our blood, Might rise to stem the foreign flood, Which inundates the land -1 Who, versed in Cambria's language, laws, Might Dewi's Church and Cambria's cause Uphold with croziered hand. E'en now comes Hope our hills among; For though a stranger to our tongue Sit on St. David's throne, He, versed in lore of ancient days, Has wisely learned to pray and praise With Cambria's words and tone. Oh! Pastor, great and eloquent, By no unfriendly Angel sent, Play out thy glorious part; Let not Her languish in the dust, Who asks but gentle rule and just, To lavish all her heart. Say to the Genius, "Dare to strive," And keep the straggling flame alivo Which seeks its kindred sky So, when our days are things of story, We and our sons may share the glory Of those who never die.

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