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THE ELEGY, &c.
Oh magnificent repose:
Youth—hope—valour, what have they
Like to death’s sublime array?
SNOWDON.
Hill of my country! how sublime
E’en in these latter days art thou,
When stream and light’ning, war and time
Have wrested from thy triple brow
Its crown of forests—that of yore
Like some aërial palace rose,
And oft when every sea and shore
Were peopled with thy children’s foes,
Within its mighty foliage gave
A living shelter to the brave![1]
Well might our simple fathers say
That he who dares one night to dwell—
One night to dream away
On thy sublimest pinnacle—
Must wake a holier man
Than when the night began!
- ↑ Snowdon, which was always the refuge of the Welsh princes in time of danger, was in ancient times a vast forest.
