ADVERTISEMENT.--Owen succeeded his father Griffin in the Principality of North Wales, A.D. 1120: this battle was near forty years afterwards. Owen's praise demands my song, Owen swift, and Owen strong, Fairest flower of Roderick's stem, Gwyneth's[1] shield and Britain's gem. He nor heaps his brooded stores, Nor on all profusely pours; Lord of every regal art, Liberal hand and open heart. Big with hosts of mighty name, Squadrons three against him came; 10 This the force of Eirin hiding; Side by side as proudly riding On her shadow long and gay Lochlin[2] ploughs the watery way; There the Norman sails afar Catch the winds and join the war; Black and huge, along they sweep, Burthens of the angry deep. Dauntless on his native sands The Dragon son[3] of Mona stands; 20 In glittering arms and glory dress'd, High he rears his ruby crest; There the thundering strokes begin, There the press and there the din: Talymalfra's rocky shore Echoing to the battle's roar! Check'd by the torrent-tide of blood, Backward Meniai rolls his flood; While, heap'd his master's feet around, Prostrate warriors gnaw the ground. 30 Where his glowing eye-balls turn, Thousand banners round him burn; Where he points his purple spear, Hasty, hasty rout is there; Marking, with indignant eye, Fear to stop and Shame to fly: There Confusion, Terror's child, Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild, Agony, that pants for breath, Despair and honourable Death. 40 [Footnote 1: 'Gwyneth:' North Wales.] [Footnote 2: 'Lochlin:' Denmark.] [Footnote 3: 'Dragon son:' the Red Dragon is the device of Cadwalladar, which all his descendants bore on their banners.] * * * * * XI.--FOR MUSIC.[1] I. 'Hence, avaunt! ('tis holy ground,) Comus and his midnight crew, And Ignorance, with looks profound, And dreaming Sloth, of pallid hue, Mad Sedition's cry profane, Servitude that hugs her chain, Nor in these consecrated bowers, Let painted Flattery hide her serpent-train in flowers; CHORUS. Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain, Dare the Muse's walk to stain, 10 While bright-eyed Science watches round: Hence, away! 'tis holy ground.' II.