Raging for his vassals dead.
Was the bittern's cry ton harsh
From her bed in Saltney-Marsh ?
Haughty monarch, did it tell
Their death who at Hawarden fell ?
Did it prophesy bis doom,
That thou seek'st him, man of gloom !
Him, who doth thy pride alarm,
Owen of the mighty arm ?

On they rush ; — in Counsyllt strait
Silent Cambria's warriors wait,
Fill its dark defile within ;
Then was heard the horrid din :
Wrathful shouts, and painful cries.
From their ambuscade arise,
As, like madid'ning wolves, they go
Headlong on the wond'ring foe ;
So come fortli the eagle's brood
From their barren solitude,
And with force and sudden shock;
Goad the hunter on the rock.
39

So the wild wolf in his lair
With his howl affrights the air,
Rushing forth, in hot career,
Heedless on the barbed spear.
Stones and arrows fly around.
Dying warriors bite the ground;
Wrested from their rugged bed,
Broken rocks around are spread;
All that hate can gi'asp in wrath.
Checks the Noraan in his path.
Nought avaird proud Henry then

His armed steed, and mail-clad men,

'Gainst the naked-bosom'd few,

To their king and country true, —

Men, for valour known afar.
Unsubdued, till now, in war ;

Pent within the narrow strait,

'Cumbered by their iron weight.
Hesitating how tQ meet

Their foes, — unknowing to retreat.
Or resist, they fall beneath

The thirsty steel that asks their death ;-

Vain is now the strength and speed

Of the Saracenic steed.
Reckless of the spar and rein,

He gnaws the bloody earth in pain.
Wav'ring the tide of combat flows,
With Cambria now, now with her foes.
