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From “Poly-Olbion”
AWHILE thus taking breath, our way yet fair in view, | |
| The Muse her former course doth seriously pursue. | |
| From Penmen’s craggy height to try her saily wings, | |
| Herself long having bathed in the delicious springs | |
| (That trembling from his top through long-worn crannies creep, | 5 |
| To spend their liquid store on the insatiate deep), | |
| She meets with Conway first, which lieth next at hand, | |
| Whose precious orient pearl that breedeth in her sand | |
| Above the other floods of Britain doth her grace: | |
| Into the Irish sea which making out her race, | 10 |
| Supplied by many a mere (through many several rills | |
| Into her bosom poured), her plenteously she fills. | |
| O goodly river! near unto thy sacred spring | |
| Prophetic Merlin sat, when to the British king | |
| The changes long to come auspiciously he told. | 15 |
| Most happy were thy nymphs, that wondering did behold | |
| His graver wrinkled brow, amazed, and did bear | |
| The dreadful words he spake, that so ambiguous were. | |
| Thrice happy brooks, I say, that (every way about) | |
| Thy tributaries be: as is that town, whereout | 20 |
| Into the sea thou fall’st, which Conway of thy name | |
| Perpetually is called, to register thy fame. | |
| For thou, clear Conway, heard’st wise Merlin first relate | |
| The Destinies’ decree, of Britain’s future fate; | |
| Which truly he foretold proud Vortiger should lose, | 25 |
| As when him from his seat the Saxons should depose; | |
| The forces that should here from Armoric arrive, | |
| Yet far too weak from hence the enemy to drive; | |
| And to that mighty king, which rashly undertook | |
| A strong-walled tower to rear, those earthly spirits that shook | 30 |
| The great foundation still, in dragons’ horrid shape, | |
| That dreaming wizard told; making the mountain gape | |
| With his most powerful charms, to view those caverns deep; | |
| And from the top of Brith, so high and wondrous steep, | |
| Where Dinas Emris stood, showed where the serpents fought, | 35 |
| The white that tore the red; from whence the prophet wrought | |
| The Britons’ sad decay then shortly to ensue. | |
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