ANNUAL REGISTER, 1790.’ 
Not againft you the vengeful blade we raife, 
Who bid the hero live to future days— 
Approach in fafety, and difmifs your fear : t 
To his fad fire the breathlefs warrior bear; bin 
And, (may it footh his troubled breaft!) relate 
He fell by Arthur, who bewail’d his fate.’”. 
Hacon, retir’d beyond the martial lines, ‘ 
With toil fore-pent, to younger knights refigns . 
The field.of glory ; and beholds from far, 
In wonder loft, the furging tide of war 
Roll backward : but amazement foon fuppreft, 
To grief confign’d the empire of his breatt 
His haplefs fon before his view is laid : 
In fpeechlefs agony he marks the dead. 
Loit is the warrior’s firmnefs, that defied 
‘The power of fortune—loft the regal pride, 
‘That mock’d at woe: the heart-wrung tear defcends, 
The hoary honours of his head he rends : : 
And, while his bofom throbs with frequent fighs, 
Claiping the clay-cold corfe on earth he lies. 
His bards indignant mark his frantic grief ; 
When Ofwald thus: «Is this the haughty chief, — 
Who wades to fame thro’ war’s empurpled tide, = 
Terror his lov’d satin Death his guide? 
Can he lament the warrior’s envied ftate, 
By valour plac’d beyond the reach of fate? 
His ceftin’d courfe thy fon with honour ran, 
And {fell a hero ere he liv’d a man. 
That be his praife, to glory in it thine ; 
?Tis Hacon’s right to triumph, not repine !”’ 
« Ceafe, ceaie,” he cried: “ can words relief impart, 
And pluck the fhaft of anguith from my heart? 
Behold yon blaited oak ! canft thou array 
its wither’d branches in the pomp of May? 
Bid it again exalt its towering head, 
And to the winds its leafy honours fpread? 
Spring will return—but ne’er returning fpring - 
Around its trunk the verdant wreath fhall fling : 
Nor time revolving to my view reftore’ 
My kero’s buddjhg honours—He no more 
Shall fhelter yield in danger’s ftormy day— 
And thal/ I lonely moulder to decay, 
A burthen to the earth ?”’—W/ith vengeful mind 
He mounts his fteed ; when Eric thus rejoin’d: 
«« Canft thou withftand, enfeebled by thy wounds, 
And length of years, yon warrior, who confounds ~ 
Embattled armies ? Hence, the thought refign ! 
On other realms the beams of glory thine, 
Again 
