Brave hearts, to Britain's weal Once so true! Though death has quenched your flame, Yet immortal be your name! For ye died the death of fame With Riou! Soft sigh the winds of heaven O'er your grave! While the billow mournful rolls, And the mermaid's song condoles, Singing--"Glory to the souls Of the brave!" FROM THE 'ODE TO WINTER' But howling winter fled afar, To hills that prop the polar star, And loves on deer-borne car to ride With barren Darkness by his side, Round the shore where loud Lofoden Whirls to death the roaring whale, Round the hall where Runic Odin Howls his war-song to the gale; Save when adown the ravaged globe He travels on his native storm, Deflowering Nature's grassy robe, And trampling on her faded form:-- Till light's returning lord assume The shaft that drives him to his polar field; Of power to pierce his raven plume And crystal-covered shield. O sire of storms! whose savage ear The Lapland drum delights to hear, When Frenzy with her bloodshot eye Implores thy dreadful deity. Archangel! power of desolation! Fast descending as thou art, Say, hath mortal invocation Spells to touch thy stony heart? Then, sullen Winter, hear my prayer, And gently rule the ruined year; Nor chill the wanderer's bosom bare, Nor freeze the wretch's falling tear;-- To shuddering Want's unmantled bed Thy horror-breathing agues cease to lead, And gently on the orphan head Of innocence descend,-- But chiefly spare, O king of clouds! The sailor on his airy shrouds; When wrecks and beacons strew the steep, And spectres walk along the deep. Milder yet thy snowy breezes Pour on yonder tented shores, Where the Rhine's broad billow freezes, Or the dark-brown Danube roars. CAMPION (-1619) BY ERNEST RHYS