My inspiration’s {74} flame
From Cridwen’s cauldron came;
Nine months was I in gloom
In Sorceress Cridwen’s womb;
Though late a child—­I’m now
The Bard of splendid brow {75};
When roar’d the deluge dark,
I with Noah trod the Ark.

By the sleeping man I stood
When the rib grew flesh and blood. 
To Moses strength I gave
Through Jordan’s holy wave;
The thrilling tongue was I
To Enoch and Elie;
I hung the cross upon,
Where died the .....................

A chair of little rest
’Bove the Zodiac I prest,
Which doth ever, in a sphere,
Through three elements career;
I’ve sojourn’d in Gwynfryn,
In the halls of Cynfelyn;
To the King the harp I play’d,
Who Lochlyn’s sceptre sway’d.

With the Israelites of yore
I endur’d a hunger sore;
In Africa I stray’d
Ere was Rome’s foundation laid;
Now hither I have hied
With the race of Troy to bide;
In the firmament I’ve been
With Mary Magdalen.

I work’d as mason-lord
When Nimrod’s pile up-soar’d;
I mark’d the dread rebound
When its ruins struck the ground;
When strode to victory on
The men of Macedon,
The bloody flag before
The heroic King I bore.

I saw the end with horror
Of Sodom and Gomorrah! 
And with this very eye
Have seen the . . . ;
I till the judgment day
Upon the earth shall stray: 
None knows for certainty
Whether fish or flesh I be.

EPIGRAM.

On a Miser who had built a stately Mansion. 
From the Cambrian British.

Of every pleasure is thy mansion void;
To ruin-heaps may soon its walls decline. 
O heavens, that one poor fire’s but employ’d,
One poor fire only for thy chimneys nine!

Towering white chimneys—­kitchen cold and drear—­
Chimneys of vanity and empty show—­
Chimneys unwarm’d, unsoil’d throughout the year—­
Fain would I heatless chimneys overthrow.

Plague on huge chimneys, say I, huge and neat,
Which ne’er one spark of genial warmth announce;
Ignite some straw, thou dealer in deceit—­
Straw of starv’d growth—­and make a fire for once!

The wretch a palace built, whereon to gaze,
And sighing, shivering there around to stray;
To give a penny would the niggard craze,
And worse than bane he hates the minstrel’s lay.

THE INVITATION.

By Goronwy Owen. 
From the Cambrian British.

(Sent from Northolt, in the year 1745, to William Parry, Deputy
Comptroller of the Mint.)

Parry, of all my friends the best,
Thou who thy maker cherishest,
Thou who regard’st me so sincere,
And who to me art no less dear;
Kind friend, in London since thou art,
To love thee’s not my wisest part;
This separation’s hard to bear: 
To love thee not far better were.