Here you will find the Long Poem Artegal And Elidure of poet William Wordsworth
WHERE be the temples which, in Britain's Isle, For his paternal Gods, the Trojan raised? Gone like a morning dream, or like a pile Of clouds that in cerulean ether blazed! Ere Julius landed on her white-cliffed shore, They sank, delivered o'er To fatal dissolution; and, I ween, No vestige then was left that such had ever been. Nathless, a British record (long concealed In old Armorica, whose secret springs No Gothic conqueror ever drank) revealed The marvellous current of forgotten things; How Brutus came, by oracles impelled, And Albion's giants quelled, A brood whom no civility could melt, 'Who never tasted grace, and goodness ne'er had felt.' By brave Corineus aided, he subdued, And rooted out the intolerable kind; And this too-long-polluted land imbued With goodly arts and usages refined; Whence golden harvests, cities, warlike towers, And pleasure's sumptuous bowers; Whence all the fixed delights of house and home, Friendships that will not break, and love that cannot roam. O, happy Britain! region all too fair For self-delighting fancy to endure That silence only should inhabit there, Wild beasts, or uncouth savages impure! But, intermingled with the generous seed, Grew many a poisonous weed; Thus fares it still with all that takes its birth From human care, or grows upon the breast of earth. Hence, and how soon! that war of vengeance waged By Guendolen against her faithless lord; Till she, in jealous fury unassuaged Had slain his paramour with ruthless sword: Then, into Severn hideously defiled, She flung her blameless child, Sabrina,-vowing that the stream should bear That name through every age, her hatred to declare. So speaks the Chronicle, and tells of Lear By his ungrateful daughters turned adrift. Ye lightnings, hear his voice!-they cannot hear, Nor can the winds restore his simple gift. But One there is, a Child of nature meek, Who comes her Sire to seek; And he, recovering sense, upon her breast Leans smilingly, and sinks into a perfect rest. There too we read of Spenser's fairy themes, And those that Milton loved in youthful years; The sage enchanter Merlin's subtle schemes; The feats of Arthur and his knightly peers; Of Arthur,-who, to upper light restored, With that terrific sword Which yet he brandishes for future war, Shall lift his country's fame above the polar star! What wonder, then, if in such ample field Of old tradition, one particular flower Doth seemingly in vain its fragrance yield, And bloom unnoticed even to this late hour? Now, gentle Muses, your assistance grant, While I this flower transplant Into a garden stored with Poesy; Where flowers and herbs unite, and haply some weeds be, That, wanting not wild grace, are from all mischief free! A KING more worthy of respect and love Than wise Gorbonian ruled not in his day; And grateful Britain prospered far above All neighbouring countries through his righteous sway; He poured rewards and honours on the good; The oppressor he withstood; And while he served the Gods with reverence due Fields smiled, and temples rose, and towns and cities grew. He died, whom Artegal succeeds-his son; But how unworthy of that sire was he! A hopeful reign, auspiciously begun, Was darkened soon by foul iniquity. From crime to crime he mounted, till at length The nobles leagued their strength With a vexed people, and the tyrant chased; And, on the vacant throne, his worthier Brother placed. From realm to realm the humbled Exile went, Suppliant for aid his kingdom to regain; In many a court, and many a warrior's tent, He urged his persevering suit in vain. Him, in whose wretched heart ambition failed, Dire poverty assailed; And, tired with slights his pride no more could brook, He towards his native country cast a longing look. Fair blew the wished-for wind-the voyage sped; He landed; and, by many dangers scared, 'Poorly provided, poorly followed,' To Calaterium's forest he repaired. How changed from him who, born to highest place, Had swayed the royal mace, Flattered and feared, despised yet deified, In Troynovant, his seat by silver Thames's side! From that wild region where the crownless King Lay in concealment with his scanty train, Supporting life by water from the spring, And such chance food as outlaws can obtain, Unto the few whom he esteems his friends A messenger he sends; And from their secret loyalty requires Shelter and daily bread,-the sum of his desires. While he the issue waits, at early morn Wandering by stealth abroad, he chanced to hear A startling outcry made by hound and horn, From which the tusky wild boar flies in fear; And, scouring toward him o'