“The minstrel was infirm and old;” but his inspiration had not yet forsaken him; and the following lines (written in 1811) will give an idea of the magic power he still knew how to exercise over the feelings of his auditors.] Minstrel! whose gifted hand can bring Life, rapture, soul, from every string; And wake, like bards of former time, The spirit of the harp sublime;-- Oh! still prolong the varying strain! Oh! touch th’ enchanted chords again! Thine is the charm, suspending care, The heavenly swell, the dying close, The cadence melting into air, That lulls each passion to repose; While transport, lost in silence near, Breathes all her language in a tear. Exult, O Cambria!--now no more With sighs thy slaughter’d bards deplore: What though Plinlimmon’s misty brow And Mona’s woods be silent now, Yet can thy Conway boast a strain Unrivall’d in thy proudest reign. For Genius, with divine control, Wakes the bold chord neglected long, And pours Expression’s glowing soul O’er the wild Harp, renown’d in song; And Inspiration, hovering round, Swells the full energies of sound. Now Grandeur, pealing in the tone, Could rouse the warrior’s kindling fire, And now, ’tis like the breeze’s moan, That murmurs o’er th’ Eolian lyre: As if some sylph, with viewless wing, Were sighing o’er the magic string. Long, long, fair Conway! boast the skill That soothes, inspires, commands, at will! And oh! while rapture hails the lay, Far distant be the closing day, When Genius, Taste, again shall weep, And Cambria’s Harp lie hush’d in sleep! [3] Mr Edwards, the Harper of Conway, as he was generally called, had been blind from his birth, and was endowed with that extraordinary musical genius by which persons suffering under such a visitation are not unfrequently indemnified. From the respectability of his circumstances, he was not called upon to exercise his talents with any view to remuneration. He played to delight himself and others; and the innocent complacency with which he enjoyed the ecstasies called forth by his skill, and the degree of appreciation with which he regarded himself, as in a manner consecrated, by being made the depositary of a direct gift from Heaven, were as far as possible removed from any of the common modifications of vanity or self-conceit. EPITAPH ON MR W----, A CELEBRATED MINERALOGIST.[4] Stop, passenger! a wondrous tale to list-- Here lies a famous Mineralogist. Famous indeed! such traces of his power, He’s left from Penmaenbach to Penmaenmawr, Such caves, and chasms, and fissures in the rocks, His works resemble those of earthquake shocks; And future ages very much may wonder What mighty giant rent the hills asunder, Or whether Lucifer himself had ne’er Gone with his crew to play at foot-ball there.