Felicia Hemans in The Literary Gazette 1821/The Wakening of Cambria
The Literary Gazette, 22nd December 1821
THE WAKENING OF CAMBRIA.
Addressed to The Cymmrodorion Society, or Royal Cambrian Institution for the Encouragement of Welsh Literature.—By Mrs. HEMANS.
It is a glorious hour to him
Who stands on Snowdon's crested brow,
When Twilight's lingering Star grows dim,
And mists with Morn's resplendence glow;
And, rolling swift before the breeze,
Unveil to his enraptur'd eye,
Girt with green isles and sparkling seas,
All Cambria's mountain-majesty!
But there hath been a brighter hour!
'Twas when her voice from silence broke,
And, as an Eagle in its power,
The Spirit of the Land awoke!
From the far depths of ages gone,
From the low chambers of the dead,
It woke! and brightly moving on,
A sun-beam o'er the Mountains spread.
And there were sounds, where'er it pass'd,
O'er Druid-rock and fairy-dell,
Of Song upon the rushing blast,
Of Minstrelsy’s triumphant swell;
While, as *[1]Eryri's torrent waves
With joyous music hail'd its way,
Ten thousand echoes from their caves
Burst to prolong th' exulting lay.
And thou, O Harp! to whose deep tone
Was given a power, in elder time,
A might, a magic all thine own,
The burning soul of Cambria's clime;
Thou, hallow'd thus by Freedom's breath,
To guard her fortresses on high,
With sounds awakening scorn of death,
Instinct with Immortality;
Thou to the winds, at that proud call,
Didst pour thine old, majestic strains,
As when they fir'd, in bower and hall,
The Hearts that were not born for chains!
And deeply yet that music thrills!
Yet lives there, in each pealing close,
Some memory of th' eternal hills,
With their wild streams and glittering snows!
The hills, where Freedom's shrine of old,
High midst the storm's dominion stood;
The streams, which proudly, as they roll'd,
Bore to the Deep heroic blood;
The snows, in their unstained array,
Bright o'er each Eagle-summit spread—
Oh! who shall view their haunts, and say
That Inspiration thence hath fled?
It is not thus!—each mountain's brow
Bears record of undying names!
How should your Sons forget to glow,
Ye Mighty! with your quenchless flames?
It is not thus! in ever glen
The soil with noble dust is blent;
Of fearless and of gifted Men
The Land is one high monument!
And think ye not, her hills among,
That still their Spirit brightly dwells?
Be thou immortal, Soul of Song!
By Deva's waves, in Snowdon's dells!
Yes! midst those wilds, in days gone by,
The deep wind swell'd with prophet-lore;
Scenes, mantled with sublimity!
Still are ye sacred, as of yore.
- ↑ * Eryri, the Welsh name for Snowdon.