d cheerfully my wants endure:
The wealth of worlds could not allure
Me from my Native Land.

ODE TO CAMBRIA.

BY THE REV. JOHN WALTERS.

Cambria, I love thy genius bold;
Thy dreadful rites, and Druids old;
Thy bards who struck the sounding strings,
And wak'd the warlike souls of kings;
Those kings who, prodigal of breath,
Rush'd furious to the fields of death;
Thy maids for peerless beauty crown'd,
In songs of ancient fame renown'd,
Pure as the gem of Arvon's caves,
Bright as the foam of Menai's waves,
With sunny locks and jetty eyes,
Of valour's deeds the glorious prize,
Who tam'd to love's refin'd delight
Those chiefs invincible in fight.
Thy sparkling horns I next recall
In many a hospitable hall
Circling with haste, whose boundless mirth
To many an amorous lay gave birth,
And many a present to the fair,
And many a deed of bold despair.
I love thy harps with well-rank'd strings,
Heard in the stately halls of kings,
Whose sounds had magic to bestow
Or sunny joy, or dusky woe.
I love thy fair Silurian vales
Fann'd by Sabrina's temperate gales,
That fir'd the Roman to engage
The scythed cars of Arvirage.
Oft to the visionary skies
I see thy ancient genius rise,
Who mounts the chariot of the wind,
And leaves our mortal steeds behind;
And while to rouse the drooping land
He strikes the harp with glowing hand,
Light spirits with aerial wings
Dance upon the trembling strings.
Oh, lead me thou in strains sublime
Thy sacred hill of oaks to climb,
To haunt thy old poetic streams,
And sport in fiction's fairy dreams,
There let the rover fancy free,
And breathe the soul of poesy!
To think upon thy ravish'd crown,
Thy warlike deeds of old renown;
Thy valiant sons at Maelor slain, {75a}
The stubborn fight of Bangor's plain, {75b}
A thousand banners waving high
Where bold Tal Moelvre meets the sky! {75c}

Nor seldom, Cambria, I explore
Thy treasures of poetic store,
And mingle with thy tuneful throng,
And range thy realms of ancient song,
That like thy mountains, huge and high,
Lifts its broad forehead to the sky;
Whence Druids fanes of fabling time,
And ruin'd castles frown sublime,
Down whose dark sides torn rocks resound,
Eternal tempests whirling round;
With many a pleasant vale between,
Where Nature smiles attir'd in green,
Where Innocence in cottage warm
Is shelter'd from the passing storm,
Stretch'd on the banks of lulling streams
Where fancy lies indulging dreams,
Where shephe