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Robert Southey (1774-1843)
Madoc...
London: Longman Rees and Orme, 1805
(1812 third edition text used here)

  • Title   Preface

  • Contents I
  • Contents II
  • Madoc in Wales   notes
  • Madoc in Aztlan   notes

  • Transcriber's Comments

    •

    Thanatopsis, etc.   |   Mormons & Mound-Builders   |   The Conneaut Giants

          (this web-page is under construction)




    M A D O C,


    by


    Robert  Southey



    OMNE  SOLUM  FORTI  PATRIA.


    THIRD EDITION.


    VOL. I.




    L O N D O N:

    PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN,
    PATERNOSTER ROW.
    _____
    1812.


     

    [ vii ]





    P R E F A C E.
    _______


    THE historical facts on which this Poem is founded may be related in a few words. On the death of Owen Gwyneth, King of North Wales, A.D. 1169, his children disputed the succession. Yorwerth, the elder, was set aside without a struggle, as being incapacitated by a blemish in his face. Hoel, though illegitimate and born of an Irish mother, obtained possession of the throne for a while, till he was defeated and slain by David, the eldest son of the late king by a second wife. The conqueror, who then succeeded without opposition, slew Yorwerth, imprisoned Rodri, and hunted others of his brethren into exile. But





    viii


    Madoc, meantime, abandoned his barbarous country, and sailed away to the West in search of some better resting-place. The land which he discovered pleased him: he left there part of his people, and went back to Wales for a fresh supply of adventurers, with whom he again set sail, and was heard of no more. Strong evidence has been adduced that he reached America, and that his posterity exist there to this day, on the southern branches of the Missouri, retaining their complexion, their language, and, in some degree, their arts.

    About the same timer the Aztecas, an American tribe, in consequence of certain calamities and of a particular omen, forsook Aztlan, their own country, under the guidance of Yuhidthiton. They became a mighty people, and founded the Mexican empire, talking the





    ix


    name of Mexicans, in honor of Mexitli, their tutelary god. Their emigration is here connected with the adventures of Madoc; and their superstition is represented as the same which their descendants practised, when discovered by the Spaniards. The manners of the Poem, in both its parts, will be found historically true. It assumes not the degraded title of Epic; and the question, therefore, is not whether the story is formed upon the rules of Aristotle, but whether it be adapted to the purposes of poetry.

    1805.      








    [ x ]




    Three things must be avoided in Poetry; the frivolous, the obscure, and the superfluous.

    The three excellences of Poetry; simplicity of language, simplicity of subject, and simplicity of invention.

    The three indispensable purities of Poetry; pure truth, pure language, and pure manners.'

    Three things should all Poetry be; thoroughly erudite, thoroughly animated, and thoroughly natural.

    Triads.    








    [ xi ]




    COME, LISTEN TO A TALE OF TIMES OF OLD!
    COME, FOR YE KNOW ME. I AM HE WHO SANG
    THE MAID OF ARC, AND I AM HE WHO FRAMED
    OF THALABA THE WILD AND WONDROUS SONG.
    COME, LISTEN TO MY LAY; AND YE SHALL HEAR
    HOW MADOC FROM THE SHORES OF BRITAIN SPREAD
    THE ADVENTUROUS SAIL, EXPLORED THE OCEAN-PATHS,
    AND QUELLED BARBARIAN POWER, AND OVERTHREW
    THE BLOODY ALTARS OF IDOLATRY,
    AND PLANTED IN ITS FANES TRIUMPHANTLY
    THE CROSS OF CHRIST. COME, LISTEN TO MY LAY!





    [ xiv ]





    CONTENTS  OF  VOL. I.
    ________

    P A R T  I.

    MADOC  IN  WALES.


    002   1. Madoc's Return to Wales

    012   2.  The Marriage Feast

    020   3.  Cadwallon

    034   4. The Voyage

    044   5.  Lincoya

    054   6.  Erillyah

    066   7.  The Battle

    075   8.  The Peace

    088   9.  Emma

    093  10.  Mathraval

    102  11.  The Gorsedd

    110  12.  Dinevawr

    119  13.  Llewelyn

    131  14.  Liaian

    142  15.  The Excommunication

    154  16.  David

    159  17.  The Departure

    169  18.  Rodri

    P A R T  II.

    MADOC  IN  AZTLAN.


    177   1. The Return

    183   2.  The Tidings

    194   3.  Neolin

    202   4. Amalahta

     

    [ 1 ]







    Madoc  in  Wales,











    [ 2 ]


    [ blank ]











    [ 3 ]





    M A D O C.

    _________

    THE  FIRST  PART.
    _________

    I.

    FAIR blows the wind... the vessel drives along,
    Her streamers fluttering at their length, her sails
    All full; she drives along, and round her prow
    Scatters the ocean-spray. What feelings then
    Filled every bosom, when the mariners,
    After the peril of that weary way,
    Beheld their own dear country! Here stands one
    Stretching his sight toward the distant shore;
    And, as to well-known forms his busy joy
    Shapes the dim outline, eagerly he points
    The fancied headland, and the cape and bay,



    I. - 4


    Till his eyes ache o'erstraining. This man shakes
    His comrade's hand, and bids him welcome home,
    And blesses God, and then he weeps aloud:
    Here stands another, who, in secret prayer,
    Calls on the Virgin, and his patron Saint,
    Renewing his old vows of gifts and alms
    And pilgrimage, so he may find all well.
    Silent and thoughtful, and apart from all,
    Stood Madoc; now his noble enterprize
    Proudly remembering, now in dreams of hope,
    Anon of bodings full, and doubt and fear.
    Fair smiled the evening, and the favoring gale
    Sung in the shrouds, and swift the steady bark
    Rushed roaring through the waves.

               The sun goes down:
    Far off his light is on the naked crags
    Of Penmanmawr, and Arvon's ancient hills;
    And the last glory lingers yet awhile,
    Crowning old Snowdon's venerable head,
    That rose amid his mountains. Now the ship
    Drew nigh where Mona, the dark island, stretch'd
    Her shore along the ocean's lighter line.
    There, through the mist and twilight, many a fire,
    Upflaming, streamed upon the level sea
    Red lines of lengthening light, which far away



    I. - 5


    Rising and falling, flashed athwart the waves.
    Thereat, full many a thought of ill disturbed
    Prince Madoc's mind: did some new conqueror seize
    The throne of David? had the tyrant's guilt
    Awakened vengeance to the deed of death?
    Or blazed they for a brother's obsequies,
    The sport and mirth of murder? Like the lights
    Which there upon Aberfraw's royal walls
    Are waving with the wind, the painful doubt
    Fluctuates within him. -- Onward drives the gale;
    On flies the bark; and she hath reached at length
    Her haven, safe from her unequalled way!
    And now, in louder and yet louder joy
    Clamorous, the happy mariners all-hail
    Their native shore, and now they leap to land.

    There stood-an old man on the beach to wait
    The comers from the ocean; and he ask'd,
    "Is it the Prince?" And Madoc knew his voice,
    And turned to him, and fell upon his neck;
    For it was Urien, who had fostered him,
    Had loved him like a child; and Madoc lov'd,
    Even as a father loved he that old man.

    My sister? quoth the Prince. .. Oh, she and I



    I. - 6


    Have wept together, Madoc, for thy loss,
    That long and cruel absence! .. She and I,
    Hour after hour and day by day, have look'd
    Toward the waters, and, with aching eyes
    And aching heart, sate watching every sail.

    And David, and our brethren? cried the prince,
    As they moved on. .. But then old Urien's lips
    Were slow at answer; and he spake, and paus'd
    In the first breath of utterance, as to choose
    Fit words for uttering some unhappy tale.
    More blood, quoth Madoc, yet? Hath David's fear
    Forced him to still more cruelty? Alas...
    Woe for the house of Owen!"

               Evil stars,
    Replied the old man, ruled o'er thy brethren's birth.
    From Dolwyddelan driven, his peaceful home,
    Poor Yorwerth sought the church's sanctuary;
    The murderer followed. .. Madoc, need I say
    Who sent the sword? ... Llewelyn, his brave boy,
    Where wanders he? in this his rightful realm,
    Houseless and hunted! Richly would the king
    Gift the red hand that rid him of that fear!
    Ririd, an outlawed fugitive, as yet
    Eludes his deadly purpose; Rodri lives,



    I. - 7


    A prisoner he, .. I know not in what fit
    Of natural mercy from the slaughter spar'd.
    Oh, if my dear old master saw the wreck
    And scattering of his house! ... that princely race!
    The beautiful band of brethren that they were!

    Madoc made no reply; .. he clos'd his lids,
    Groaning. But Urien, for his soul was full,
    Loving to linger on the woe, pursued:
    I did not think to live to such an hour
    Of joy as this; and often, when my eyes
    Turned dizzy from the ocean, overcome
    With heavy anguish, Madoc, I have pray'd
    That God would please to take me to his rest.

    So, as he ceas'd his speech, a sudden shout
    Of popular joy awaken'd Madoc's ear;
    And, calling then to mind the festal fires,
    He ask'd their import. The old man replied,
    It is the giddy people merry-making
    To welcome their new queen; unheeding they
    The shame and the reproach to the long line
    Of our old royalty! .. Thy brother weds
    The Saxon's sister.

               What! .. in loud reply



    I. - 8


    Madoc exclaim'd, hath he forgotten all!
    David! King Owen's son, .. my father's son, ...
    He wed the Saxon, ... the Plantagenet!

    Quoth Urien, He so dotes, as she had dropt
    Some philter in his cup, to lethargize
    The British blood that came from Owen's veins.
    Three days his halls have echoed to the song
    Of joyance.

          Shame! foul shame! that they should hear
    Songs of such joyance! cried the indignant prince.
    Oh that my Father's hall, where I have heard
    The songs of Corwen and of Keiriog's day,
    Should echo this pollution! Will the chiefs
    Brook this alliance, this unnatural tie?

    There is no face but wears a courtly smile
    Urien replied: Aberfraw's ancient towers
    Beheld no pride of festival like this,
    No like solemnities, when Owen came
    In conquest, and Gwalchmai struck the harp.
    Only Goervyl, careless of the pomp,
    Sits in her solitude, lamenting thee.

    Saw ye not, then, my banner? quoth the Lord



    I. - 9


    Of Ocean; on the topmast-head it stood
    To tell the tale of triumph; ... or did night
    Hide the glad signal, and the joy hath yet
    To reach her?

          Now had they almost attain'd
    The palace portal. Urien stopt, and said,
    The child should know your coming: it is long
    Since she hath heard a voice that to her heart
    Spake gladness, .. none but I must tell her this!
    So Urien sought Goervyl, whom he found
    Alone, and gazing on the moonlight sea.

    Oh, you are welcome, Urien!" cried the maid.
    There was a ship came sailing hitherward...
    I could not see his banner, for the night
    Clos'd in so fast around her; but my heart
    Indulged a foolish hope!

          The old man replied,
    With difficult effort keeping down his heart,
    God, in his goodness, may reserve for us
    That blessing yet! I have yet life enow
    To trust that I shall live to see the day,
    Albeit the number of my years well nigh
    Be full.

          Ill-judging kindness! said the maid.



    I. - 10


    Have I not nursed, for two long, wretched years,
    That miserable hope, which every day
    Grew weaker, like a baby sick to death,
    Yet dearer for its weakness day by day!
    No, never shall we see his daring bark!
    I knew and felt it in the evil hour
    When forth she far'd! I felt it ... his last kiss
    Was our death parting!

          And she paus'd to curb
    The agony: anon, .. But thou hast been
    To learn their tidings, Urien? He replied,
    In half-articulate voice, .. they said, my child,
    That Madoc lived ... that soon he would be here.

    She had receiv'd the shock of happiness:
    Urien! she cried, thou art not mocking me!
    Nothing the old man spake, but spread his arms,
    Sobbing aloud. Goervyl from their hold
    Started, and sunk upon her brother's breast.

    Recovering first, the aged Urien said,
    Enough of this: ... there will be time for this,
    My children! better it behooves ye now
    To seek the King. And, Madoc, I beseech thee,
    Bear with thy brother! gently bear with him,



    I. - 11


    My gentle prince! he is the headstrong slave
    Of passions unsubdu'd; he feels no tie
    Of kindly love or blood. .. provoke him not,
    Madoc! ... It is his nature's malady.

    Thou good old man! replied the prince, be sure
    I shall remember what to him is due,
    What to myself; for I was in my youth
    Wisely and well trained up, nor yet hath time
    Effaced the lore my foster-father taught.

    Haste, haste! exclaimed Goervyl; ... and her heart
    Smote her, in sudden terror. at the thought
    Of Yorwerth, and of Owen's broken house; ..
    I dread his dark suspicions!

          Not for me
    Suffer that fear, my sister! quoth the prince.
    Safe is the straight and open way I tread!
    Nor hath God made the human heart so bad,
    That thou or I should have a danger there.
    So saying, they toward the palace-gate
    Went on, ere yet Aberfraw had received
    The tidings of her wanderer's glad return.


     



    [ 12 ]





    II.


    The guests were seated at the festal board;
    Green rushes strewed the floor; high in the hall
    Was David; Emma, in her bridal robe,
    In youth, in beauty, by her husband's side
    Sate at the marriage feast. The monarch rais'd
    His eyes; he saw the mariner approach;
    Madoc! he cried; strong nature's impulses
    Prevail'd, and with a holy joy he met
    His brother's warm embrace.

          With that, what peals
    Of exultation shook Aberfraw's tower!
    How then re-echoing rang the home of kings,
    When from subdued Ocean, from the World
    That he had first foreseen, he first had found,
    Came her triumphant child! The mariners,
    A happy band, enter the clamorous hall;
    Friend greets with friend, and all are friends; one joy



    II. - 13


    Fills with one common feeling every heart,
    And strangers give and take the welcoming
    Of hand and voice and eye. That boisterous joy
    At length allayed, the board was spread anew,
    Anew the horn was brimm'd, the central hearth
    Built up anew for later revelries.
    Now to the ready feast! the seneschal
    Duly below the pillars ranged the crew;
    Toward the guest's most honorable seat
    The king himself led his brave brother: then,
    Eying the lovely Saxon as he spake,
    Here, Madoc, see thy sister! thou hast been
    Long absent, and our house hath felt the while
    Sad diminution: but my arm at last
    Hath rooted out rebellion from the land;
    And I have stablished now our ancient house,
    Grafting a scion from the royal tree
    Of England on the sceptre: so shall peace
    Bless our dear country.

          Long and happy years
    Await my sovereigns! thus the chief replied,
    And long may our dear country rest in peace!
    Enough of sorrow hath our royal house
    Known in the field of battles, .. yet we reap'd
    The harvest of renown.



    II. - 14


          Ay, many a day,
    David replied, together have we led
    The onset! .. Dost thou not remember, brother,
    How, in that hot and unexpected charge
    On Keiriog's bank, we gave the enemy
    Their welcoming?

          And Berwyn's after-strife!
    Quoth Madoc, as the. memory kindled him:
    The fool that day, who in his masque attire
    Sported before King Henry, wished in vain
    Fitlier habiliments of javelin-proof!
    And yet not more precipitate that fool
    Dropped his mock weapons, than the archers cast,
    Desperate their bows and quivers full away,
    When we leapt on, and in the mire and blood
    Trampled their banner!

          That," exclaim'd the king,
    That was a day indeed, that I may still
    Proudly remember, prov'd as I have been
    In conflicts of such perilous assay,
    That Saxon combat seemed like woman's war.
    When with the traitor Hoel I did wage
    The deadly battle, then was I in truth
    Put to the proof; no vantage-ground was there,
    Nor famine, nor disease, nor storms to aid,



    II. - 15


    But equal, hard, close battle, man to man,
    Briton to Briton. By my soul! pursued
    The' tyrant, heedless how from Madoc's eye
    Flashed the quick wrath like lightning, .. though I knew
    The rebel's worth, his prowess then excited
    Unwelcome wonder! even at the last,
    When stiff with toil and faint with wounds, he rais'd
    Feebly his broken sword....

          Then Madoc's grief
    Found utterance; Wherefore, David, dost thou rouse
    The memory now of that unhappy day,
    That thou shouldst wish to hide from earth and heaven?
    Not in Aberfraw, .. not to me this tale!
    Tell it the Saxon! .. he will join thy triumph, ..
    He hates the race of Owen! .. But I lov'd
    My brother Hoel, .. lov'd him, .. that ye knew!
    I was to him the dearest of his kin,
    And he my own heart's brother.

          David's cheek
    Grew pale and dark; he bent his broad, black brow
    Full upon Madoc's glowing countenance;
    Art thou returned to brave me? to my teeth
    To praise the rebel bastard? to insult
    The royal Saxon, my affianced friend?



    II. - 16


    I hate the Saxon!" Madoc cried; not yet
    Have I forgotten how, from Keiriog's shame
    Flying, the coward wreaked his cruelty
    On our poor brethren! ... David, seest thou never
    Those eyeless spectres by thy bridal bed?
    Forget that horror? .. may the fire of God
    Blast my right hand, or ever it be link'd
    With that accurst Plantagenet!

          The while,
    Impatience struggled in the heaving breast
    Of David; every agitated limb
    Shook with ungovernable wrath; the page,
    Who chaf'd his feet, in fear suspends his task,
    In fear the guests gaze on him silently;
    His eyeballs flashed; strong anger chok'd his voice,
    He started up. .. Him Emma, by the hand
    Gently retaining, held, with gentle words
    Calming his rage; Goervyl, too, in tears
    Besought her generous brother: he had met
    Emma's reproaching glance, and self-reprov'd,
    While the warm blood flush'd deeper o'er his cheek,
    Thus he replied: I pray you pardon me,
    My sister queen! nay, you will learn to love
    This high affection for the race of Owen,
    Yourself the daughter of his royal house,
    By better ties than blood.



    II. - 17


          Grateful the queen
    Replied, by winning smile and eloquent eye
    Thanking the gentle prince: a moment's pause
    Ensued: Goervyl, then, with timely speech
    Thus to the wanderer of the waters spake:
    Madoc, thou hast not told us of the world
    Beyond the ocean and the paths of man;
    A lovely land it needs must be, my brother,
    Or sure you had not sojourned there so long,
    Of me forgetful, and my heavy hours
    Of grief and solitude and wretched hope.
    Where is Cadwallon? for one bark alone
    I saw come sailing here.

          The tale you ask
    Is long, Goervyl, said the mariner,
    And I in truth am weary. Many moons
    Have wax'd and wan'd, since from the distant world,
    The country of my dreams and hope and faith,
    We spread the homeward sail: a goodly world,
    My sister! thou wilt see its goodliness,
    And greet Cadwallon there; ... But this shall be
    To-morrow's tale: ... indulge we now the feast! ..
    You know not with what joy we mariners
    Behold a sight like this.

          Smiling he spake,



    II. - 18


    And, turning, from the sewer's hand he took
    The flowing mead. David, the while, reliev'd
    From rising jealousies, with better eye
    Regards his venturous brother. Let the bard,
    Exclaim'd the king, give his accustomed lay;
    For sweet, I know, to Madoc is the song
    He lov'd in earlier years.

          Then, strong of voice,
    The officer proclaimed the sovereign will,
    Bidding the hall be silent; loud he spake,
    And smote the sounding pillar with his wand,
    And hushed the banqueters. The chief of Bards
    Then raised the ancient lay.

          Thee, Lord! he sung,
    Father! he eternal One, whose wisdom, power,
    And love. .. all love, all power, all wisdom, Thou!
    Nor tongue cannot utter, nor can heart conceive.
    He in the lowest depth of Being fram'd
    The imperishable mind; in every change,
    Through the great circle of progressive life,
    He guides and guards, till evil shall be known,
    And, being known as evil, cease to be;
    And the pure soul, emancipate by Death
    The Enlarger, shall attain its end predoom'd,
    The eternal newness of eternal joy.



    II. - 19


    He left this lofty theme; he struck the harp
    To Owen's praise, swift in the course of wrath,
    Father of Heroes. That proud day he sung,
    When from green Erin came the insulting host,
    Lochlin's long burdens of the flood, and they
    Who left their distant homes in evil hour,
    The death doom'd Normen. There was heaviest toil,
    There deeper tumult, where the dragon-race
    Of Mona trampled down the humbled head
    Of haughty power; the sword of slaughter carv'd
    Food for the yellow-footed fowl of heaven,
    And Menai's waters, burst with plunge on plunge,
    Curling above their banks with tempest-swell,
    Their bloody billows heav'd.

          The long-past days
    Came on the mind of Madoc, as he heard
    That song of triumph; on his sun-burnt brow
    Sate exultation: .. Other thoughts arose,
    As on the fate of all his gallant house
    Mournful he mused; oppressive memory swell'd
    His bosom; over his fix'd eyeballs swam
    The tear's dim lustre, and the loud-ton'd harp
    Rung on his ear in vain; .. its silence first
    Roused him from dreams of days that were no more.

     



    [ 20 ]





    III.


    Then on the morrow, at the banquet board,
    The Lord of Ocean thus began his tale.

    My heart beat high, when, with the favoring wind,
    We sailed away, Aberfraw! when thy towers,
    And the huge headland of my mother isle,
    Shrunk and were gone.

          But, Madoc, I would learn,
    Quoth David, how this enterprise arose,
    And the wild hope of worlds beyond the sea;
    For, at thine outset, being in the war,
    I did not hear from vague and common fame
    The moving cause. Sprung it from bardic lore,
    The hidden wisdom of the years of old,
    Forgotten long? or did it visit thee
    In dreams that come from heaven?

    The prince replied,



    III. - 21


          Thou shalt hear all; .. but if, amid the tale,
    Strictly sincere, I haply should rehearse
    Aught to the king ungrateful, let my brother
    Be patient with the involuntary fault.

    I was the guest of Rhys at Dinevawr,
    And there the tidings found. me, that our sire
    Was gathered to his fathers: .. Not alone
    The sorrow came; the same ill messenger
    Told of the strife that shook our royal house,
    When Hoel, proud of prowess, seiz'd the throne
    Which you, for elder claim and lawful birth,
    Challenged in arms. With all a brother's love,
    I, on the instant hurried to prevent
    The impious battle: .. All the day I sped;
    Night did not stay me on my eager way ...
    Where'er I pass'd, new rumor raised new fear ...
    Midnight, and morn, and noon I hurried on;
    And the late eve was darkening when I reach'd
    Arvon, the fatal field. .. The sight, the sounds,
    Live in my memory now; .. for all was done!
    For horse and horseman, side by side in death,
    Lay on the bloody plain; .. a host of men,
    And not one living soul, .. and not one sound,
    One human sound, .. only the raven's wing,



    III. - 22


    Which rose before my coming, and the neigh
    Of wounded horses, wandering o'er the plain.

    Night now was coming in; a man approach'd,
    And bade me to his dwelling nigh at hand.
    Thither I turned, too weak to travel on;
    For I was overspent with weariness,
    And, having now no hope to bear me up,
    Trouble and bodily labor master'd me.
    I asked him of the battle: .. who had fall'n
    He knew not, nor to whom the lot of war
    Had given my father's sceptre. Here, said he,
    I came to seek if haply I might find
    Some wounded wretch, abandon'd else to death.
    My search was vain: the sword of civil war
    Had bit too deeply.

          Soon we reach'd his home,
    A lone and lowly dwelling in the hills,
    By a gray mountain stream. Beside the hearth
    There sate an old blind man; his head was rais'd
    As he were listening to the coming sounds,
    And in the fire-light shone his silver locks.
    Father, said he who guided me, I bring
    A guest to our poor hospitality;
    And then he brought me water from the brook,



    III. - 23


    And homely fare, and I was satisfied:
    That done, he pil'd the hearth, and spread around
    The rushes of repose. I laid me down;
    But, worn with toil and full of many fears,
    Sleep did not visit me: the quiet sounds
    Of nature troubled my distempered sense;
    My ear was busy with the stirring gale,
    The moving leaves, the brook's perpetual flow.

    So on the morrow languidly I rose,
    And faint with fever; but a restless wish
    Was working in me, and I said, My host,
    Wilt thou go with me to the battle-field,
    That I may search the slain? for in the fray
    My brethren fought; vainly, with all my speed
    I strove to reach them ere the strife began,
    Alas, I sped too slow!

          Griev'st thou for that?
    He answer'd, grievest thou that thou art spar'd
    The shame and guilt of that unhappy strife,
    Briton with Briton in unnatural war?

    Nay, I replied, mistake me not! I came
    To reconcile the chiefs: they might have heard
    Their brother's voice.



    III. - 24


          Their brother's voice? said he,
    Was it not so? ... And thou, too, art the son
    Of Owen! ... yesternight I did not know
    The cause there is to pity thee. Alas,
    Two brethren thou wilt lose when one shall fall!
    Lament not him whom death may save from guilt;
    For in the conqueror thou art doom'd to find
    A foe, whom his own fears make perilous!

    I felt as though he wronged my father's sons,
    And rais'd an angry eye, and answer'd him, ...
    My brethren love me.

          Then the old man cried,
    Oh what is princes love? what are the ties
    Of blood, the affections growing as we grow,
    If but ambition come? Thou deemest sure
    Thy brethren love thee; .. ye have play'd together
    In childhood, shared your riper hopes and fears,
    Fought side by side in battle: ... they may be
    Brave, generous, all that once their father was,
    Whom ye, I ween, call virtuous.

          At the name,
    With pious warmth I cried, Yes, he was good,
    And great and glorious! Gwyneth's ancient annals
    Boast not a name more noble: in the war



    III. - 25


    Fearless he was, .. the Saxon prov'd him so;
    Wise was his counsel; and no supplicant
    For justice ever from his palace-gate
    Unrighted turned away. King Owen's name
    Shall live to after-times without a blot!

    There were two brethren once of kingly line,
    The old man replied: they lov'd each other well,
    And, when the one was at his dying hour,
    It then was comfort to him that he left
    So dear a brother, who would duly pay
    A father's duties to his orphan boy.
    And sure he loved the orphan, and the boy
    With all a child's sincerity lov'd him,
    And learnt to call him father: so the years
    Went on, till, when the orphan gain'd the age
    Of manhood, to the throne his uncle came.
    The young man claimed a fair inheritance,
    His father's lands; and ... mark what follows, prince!
    At midnight he was seiz'd, and to his eyes
    The brazen plate was held. ... He look'd around
    His prison room for help; he only saw
    The ruffian forms, who to the red-hot brass
    Forced his poor eyes, and held the open lids,
    Till the long agony consum'd the sense;



    III. - 26


    And, when their hold relax'd, it had been worth
    The wealth of worlds if he could then have seen
    Their ruffian faces! .. I am blind, young prince,
    And I can tell how sweet a thing it is
    To see the blessed light!

          Must more be told?
    What further agonies he yet endur'd?
    Or hast thou known the consummated crime,
    And heard Cynetha's fate?

          A painful glow
    Inflam'd my cheek, and for my father's crime,
    I felt the shame of guilt. The dark-brow'd man
    Beheld the burning flush, the uneasy eye,
    That knew not where to rest. Come! we will search
    The slain! arising from his seat, he said.
    I follow'd; to the field of fight we went,
    And over steeds, and arms, and men, we held
    Our way in silence. Here it was, quoth he,
    The fiercest war was waged; lo! in what heaps
    Man upon man fell slaughter'd! Then my heart
    Smote me, and my knees shook; for I beheld
    Where, on his conquer'd foemen, Hoel lay.

    He paus'd; his heart was full, and on his tongue
    The imperfect utterance died; a general gloom



    III. - 27


    Sadden'd the hall, and David's cheek grew pale.
    Commanding first his nature, Madoc broke
    The oppressive silence.

          Then Cadwallon took
    My hand, and, pointing to his dwelling, cried,
    Prince, go and rest thee there, for thou hast need
    Of rest: .. the care of sepulture be mine.
    Nor did I then comply, refusing rest,
    Till I had seen in holy ground inearth'd
    My poor, lost brother. Wherefore, he exclaim'd,
    (And I was aw'd by his severer eye,)
    Wouldst thou be pampering thy distempered mind?
    Affliction is not sent in vain, young man,
    From that good God, who chastens whom he loves!
    Oh! there is healing in the bitter cup!
    Go yonder, and before the unerring will
    Bow, and have comfort! To the hut I went,
    And there, beside the lonely mountain stream,
    I veiled my head, and brooded on the past.

    He tarried long; I felt the hours pass by,
    As in a dream of morning, when the mind,
    Half to reality awaken'd, blends
    With airy visions and vague phantasies
    Her dim perception; till at length his step



    III. - 28


    Aroused me, and he came. I question'd him,
    Where is the body? hast thou bade the priests
    Perform due masses for his soul's repose?

    He answer'd me, The rain and dew of heaven
    Will fall upon the turf that covers him,
    And greener grass shall flourish on his grave.
    But rouse thee, prince! there will be hours enough
    For mournful memory; .. It befits thee now
    Take counsel for thyself: .. the son of Owen
    Lives not in safety here.

          I bowed my head,
    Oppressed by heavy thoughts: all wretchedness
    The present; darkness on the future lay;
    Fearful and gloomy both. I answer'd not.

    Hath power seduced thy wishes? he pursu'd,
    And wouldst thou seize upon thy father's throne?

    Now God forbid! quoth I. Now God forbid!
    Quoth he; ... but thou art dangerous, prince! and what
    Shall shield thee from the jealous arm of power?
    Think of Cynetha! .. the unsleeping eye
    Of justice hath not clos'd upon his wrongs; ...
    At length the avenging arm is gone abroad, ...



    III. - 29


    One woe is past, .. woe after woe comes on, ..
    There is no safety here, .. here thou must be
    The victim or the murderer! Does thy heart
    Shrink from the alternative? .. Look round! .. behold
    What shelter, .. whither wouldst thou fly for peace?
    What if the asylum of the church were safe, ..
    Were there no better purposes ordain'd
    For that young arm, that heart of noble hopes?
    Son of our kings, .. of old Cassibelan,
    Great Caratach, immortal Arthur's line ...
    Oh! shall the blood of that heroic race
    Stagnate in cloister-sloth? .. Or wouldst thou leave
    Thy native isle, and beg, in awkward phrase,
    Some foreign sovereign's charitable grace, ..
    The Saxon or the Frank, .. and earn his gold, ..
    The hireling in a war whose cause thou know'st not,
    Whose end concerns not thee?

          I sate and gaz'd,
    Following his eye with wonder, as he paced
    Before me to and fro, and listening still,
    Though now he paced in silence. But anon,
    The old man's voice and step awaken'd us,
    Each from his thought; I will come out, said he,
    That I may sit beside the brook, and feel
    The comfortable sun. As he came forth,



    III. - 30


    I could not choose but look upon his face:
    Gently on him had gentle nature laid
    The weight of years! all passions that disturb
    Were passed away; the stronger lines of grief
    Soften'd and settled, till they told of grief
    By patient hope and piety subdued.
    His eyes, which had their hue and brightness left,
    Fix'd lifelessly, or objectless they roll'd,
    Nor moved by sense, nor animate with thought.
    On a smooth stone, beside the stream, he took
    His wonted seat in the sunshine. Thou hast lost
    A brother, prince, he cried, .. or the dull ear
    Of age deceiv'd me. Peace be with his soul!
    And may the curse that lies upon the house
    Of Owen turn away! wilt thou come hither,
    And let me feel thy face? .. I wonder'd at him;
    Yet, while his hand perus'd my lineaments,
    Deep awe and reverence fill'd me. O my God.
    Bless this young man! he cried: a perilous state
    Is his; .. but let not thou his father's sins
    Be visited on him!

          I rais'd my eyes,
    Inquiring, to Cadwallon: Nay, young prince,
    Despise not thou the blind man's prayer! he cried;
    It might have given thy father's dying hour



    III. - 31


    A hope, that sure he needed! .. for, know thou,
    It is the victim of thy father's crime,
    Who asks a blessing on thee!

          At his feet
    I fell, and clasped his knees: he rais'd me up; ..
    Blind as I was, a mutilated wretch,
    A thing, that nature owns not, I surviv'd,
    Loathing existence, and, with impious voice,
    Accused the will of Heaven, and groan'd for death.
    Years passed away: this universal blank
    Became familiar, and my soul repos'd
    On God, and I had comfort in my prayers.
    But there were blessings for me yet in store:
    Thy father knew not, when his bloody fear
    All hope of an avenger had cut off,
    How there existed then an unborn babe,
    Child of my lawless love. Year after year
    I liv'd a lonely and forgotten wretch,
    Before Cadwallon knew his father's fate,
    Long years and years before I knew my son;
    For never, till his mother's dying hour,
    Learnt he his dangerous birth. He sought me then;
    He woke my soul once more to human ties: ...
    I hope he hath not wean'd my heart from heaven,
    Life is so precious now! ...



    III. - 32


          Dear, good old man!
    And lives he still? Goervyl asked, in tears.
    Madoc replied, I scarce can hope to find
    A father's welcome at my distant home.
    I left him full of days, and ripe for death;
    And the last prayer Cynetha breath'd upon me
    Went like a death-bed blessing to my heart!

    When evening came, toward the echoing shore
    I and Cadwallon walked together forth:
    Bright with dilated glory shone the west;
    But brighter lay the ocean-flood below,
    The burnish'd silver sea, that heav'd and flash'd
    Its restless rays, intolerably bright.
    Prince, quoth Cadwallon, thou hast rode the wave
    In triumph, when the invaders felt thine arm.
    Oh, what a nobler conquest might be won
    There, .. upon that wide field! .. What meanest thou?
    I cried. ... That yonder waters are not spread
    A boundless waste, a bourn impassable! ..
    That man should rule the Elements! .. that there
    Might manly courage, manly wisdom find
    Some happy isle, some undiscover'd shore,
    Some resting-place for peace. .. Oh that my soul
    Could seize the wings of Morning! soon would I



    III. - 33


    Behold that other world, where yonder sun:
    Speeds now, to dawn in glory!

          As he spake,
    Conviction came upon my startled mind,
    Like lightning on the midnight traveller.
    I caught his hand; .. Kinsman, and guide, and friend,
    Yea, let us go together! Down we sate,
    Full of the vision, on the echoing shore,
    One only object filled ear, eye, and thought:
    We gazed upon the awful world of waves,
    And talked and dreamt of years that were to come.


     



    [ 34 ]





    IV.


    Not with a heart unmov'd I left thy shores,
    Dear native isle! oh, not without a pang,
    As thy fair uplands lessened on the view,
    Cast back the long, involuntary look!
    The morning cheer'd our outset; gentle airs
    Curl'd the blue deep, and bright the summer sun
    Played o'er the summer ocean, when our barks
    Began their way.

          And they were gallant barks,
    As ever through the raging billows rode!
    And many a tempest's buffeting they bore.
    Their sails all swelling with the eastern breeze,
    Their tighten'd cordage clattering to the mast,
    Steady they rode the main; the gale aloft
    Sung in the shrouds, the sparkling waters hiss'd
    Before, and froth'd, and whiten'd far behind.
    Day after day, with one auspicious wind,



    IV. - 35


    Right to the setting sun we held our way.
    My hope had kindled every heart; they blest
    The unvarying breeze, whose unabating strength
    Still sped us onward; and they said that heaven
    Favour'd the bold emprize.

          How many a time,
    Mounting the mast-tower-top, with eager ken
    They gazed, and fancied in the distant sky,
    Their promis'd shore, beneath the evening cloud,
    Or seen, low lying, through the haze of morn.
    I, too, with eyes as anxious watch'd the waves,
    Though patient, and prepar'd for long delay;
    For not on wild adventure had I rush'd,
    With giddy speed, in some delirious fit
    Of fancy; but in many a tranquil hour
    Weighed well the attempt, till hope matur'd to faith.
    Day after day, day after day the same, ..
    A weary waste of waters! Still the breeze
    Hung heavy in our sails, and we held on
    One even course; a second week was gone,
    And now another past, and still the same,
    Waves beyond waves, the interminable sea!
    What marvel, if at length the mariners
    Grew sick with long expectance? I beheld
    Dark looks of growing restlessness, I heard



    IV. - 36


    Distrust's low murmurings; nor avail'd it long
    To see, and not perceive. Shame had awhile
    Repressed their fear, till, like a smother'd fire,
    It burst, and spread with quick contagion round,
    And strengthened as it spread. They spake in tones
    Which might not be mistaken .. they had done
    What men dar'd do, ventur'd where never keel
    Had cut the deep before; still all was sea,
    The same unbounded ocean! .. to proceed
    Were tempting heaven.

          I heard with feigned surprise,
    And, pointing then to where our fellow-bark,
    Gay with her fluttering streamers and full sails,
    Rode, as in triumph, o'er the element,
    I ask'd them what their comrades there would deem
    Of those so bold ashore, who, when a day,
    Perchance an hour, might crown their glorious toil,
    Shrunk then, and coward-like return'd to meet
    Mockery and shame? true, they had ventured on
    In seas unknown, beyond wherever man
    Had plough'd the billows yet: more reason so
    Why they should now, like him whose happy speed
    Well nigh hath run the race, with higher hope
    Press onward to the prize. But late they said,
    Marking the favour of the steady gale,



    IV. - 37


    That heaven was with us; heaven vouchsafed us still
    Fair seas and favouring skies; nor need we pray
    For other aid; the rest was in ourselves;
    Nature had given it, when she gave to man
    Courage and constancy.

          They answered not,
    Awhile obedient; but I saw with dread
    The silent sullenness of cold assent.
    Then with what fearful eagerness I gazed,
    At earliest daybreak, o'er the distant deep!
    How sick at heart with hope, when evening closed,
    Gaz'd through the gathering shadows! ... but I saw
    The sun still sink below the endless waves,
    And still at morn, beneath the farthest sky,
    Unbounded ocean heav'd. Day after day,
    Before the steady gale we drove along, ...
    Day after day! The fourth week now had passed;
    Still all around was sea, .. the eternal sea!
    So long that we had voyaged on so fast,
    And still at morning where we were at night,
    And where we were at morn, at nightfall still,
    The centre of that drear circumference,
    Progressive, yet no change! .. almost it seem'd
    That we had passed the mortal bounds of space,
    And speed was toiling in infinity.



    IV. - 38


    My days were days of fear; my hours of rest
    Were like a tyrant's slumber. Sullen looks,
    Eyes turned on me, and whispers meant to meet
    My ear, and loud despondency, and talk
    Of home, now never to be seen again, ..
    I suffered these, dissembling as I could,
    Till that availed no longer. Resolute
    The men came round me: .. They had shown enough
    Of courage now, enough of constancy;
    Still to pursue the desperate enterprize
    Were impious madness! they had deem'd, indeed,
    That heaven in favour gave the unchanging gale; ..
    More reason now to think offended God,
    When man's presumptuous folly strove to pass
    The fated limits of the world, had sent
    His winds to waft us to the death we sought.
    Their lives were dear, they bade me know, and they
    Many, and I, the obstinate, but one.
    With that, attending no reply; they hail'd
    Our fellow-bark, and told their fix'd resolve.
    A shout of joy approved. Thus, desperate now,
    I sought my solitary cabin; there,
    Confus'd with vague, tumultuous feelings, lay,
    And, to remembrance and reflection lost,
    Knew only I was wretched.



    IV. - 39


          Thus entranced,
    Cadwallon found me; shame and grief and pride,
    And baffled hope, and fruitless anger, swell'd
    Within me. All is over! I exclaim'd;
    Yet not in me, my friend, hath time produced
    These tardy doubts and shameful fickleness.
    I have not fail'd, Cadwallon! Nay, he said,
    The coward-fears which persecuted me
    Have shown what thou hast suffer'd. We have yet
    One hope: .. I pray'd them to proceed a day, ..
    But one day more; .. this little have I gain'd,
    And here will wait the issue; in yon bark
    I am not needed; .. they are masters there.

    One only day! .. The gale blew strong, the bark
    Sped through the waters: but the silent hours,
    Which make no pause, went by; and, centr'd still,
    We saw the dreary vacancy of heaven
    Close round our narrow view, when that brief term,
    The last poor respite of our hopes, expir'd.
    They shorten'd sail, and call'd with coward prayer,
    For homeward winds. Why, what poor slaves are we
    In bitterness I cried; the sport of chance;
    Left to the mercy of the elements,
    Or the more wayward will of such as these,
    Blind tools and victims of their destiny!



    IV. - 40


    Yea, Madoc! he replied, the elements
    Master indeed the feeble powers of man!
    Not to the shores of Cambria will thy ships
    Win, back their shameful way! .. or He, whose will
    Unchains the winds, hath bade them minister
    To aid us, when all human hope was gone,
    Or we shall soon eternally repose
    From life's long voyage.

          As he spake, I saw
    The clouds hang thick and heavy o'er the deep;
    And heavily, upon the long, slow swell,
    The vessel labour'd on the labouring sea.
    The reef-points rattled on the shivering sail;
    At fits the sudden gust howl'd ominous,
    Anon with unremitting fury raged;
    High roll'd the mighty billows, and the blast
    Swept from their sheeted sides the showery foam.
    Vain, now, were all the seamen's homeward hopes,
    Vain all their skill! .. we drove before the storm.

    'Tis pleasant, by the cheerful hearth, to hear
    Of tempests and the dangers of the deep,
    And pause at times, and feel that we are safe;
    Then listen to the perilous tale again,
    And, with an eager and suspended soul,
    Woo terror to delight us; .. but to hear



    IV. - 41


    The roaring of the raging elements, ..
    To know all human skill, all human strength,
    Avail not, .. to look round, and only see
    The mountain wave incumbent with its weight
    Of bursting waters o'er the reeling bark, ...
    O God, this is indeed a dreadful thing!
    And he who hath endur'd the horror, once,
    Of such an hour, doth never hear the storm
    Howl round his home, but he remembers it,
    And thinks upon the suffering mariner!

    Onward we drove: with unabating force
    The tempest raged; night added to the storm
    New horrors; and the morn arose o'erspread
    With heavier clouds. The weary mariners
    Call'd on St. Cyric's aid; and I, too, placed
    My hope on heaven, relaxing not the while
    Our human efforts. Ye who dwell at home,
    Ye do not know the terrors of the main!
    When the winds blow, ye walk along the shore,
    And, as the curling billows leap and toss,
    Fable that Ocean's mermaid Shepherdess
    Drives her white flocks afield, and warns in time
    The wary fisherman. Gwenhidwy warn'd us
    When we had no retreat! my secret heart



    IV. - 42


    Almost had failed me. .. Were the Elements
    Confounded in perpetual conflict here,
    Sea, Air, and Heaven? Or were we perishing
    Where at their source the Floods, for ever thus,
    Beneath the nearer influence of the Moon,
    Labour'd in these mad workings? Did the Waters
    Here on their outmost circle meet the Void,
    The verge and brink of Chaos? Or this Earth, ..
    Was it indeed a living thing, .. its breath
    The ebb and flow of Ocean? and had we
    Reached the storm rampart of its Sanctuary,
    The insuperable boundary, rais'd to guard
    Its mysteries from the eye of man profane?

    Three dreadful nights and days we drove along;
    The fourth, the welcome rain came rattling down;
    The wind had fallen, and through the broken cloud
    Appear'd the bright, dilating blue of heaven.
    Emboldened now, I called the mariners: ..
    Vain were it should we bend a homeward course,
    Driven by the storm so far; they saw our barks,
    For service of that long and perilous way,
    Disabled, and our food belike to fail.
    Silent they heard, reluctant in assent;
    Anon, they shouted joyfully, .. I look'd



    IV. - 43


    And saw a bird slow sailing overhead,
    His long white pinions by the sunbeam edged,
    As though with burnished silver, .. never yet
    Heard I so sweet a music as his cry!

    Yet three days more, and hope more eager now,
    Sure of the signs of land, .. weed-shoals, and birds
    Who flocked the main, and gentle airs that breath'd,
    Or seemed to breathe, fresh fragrance from the shore.
    On the last evening, a long, shadowy line
    Skirted the sea; .. how fast the night clos'd in!
    I stood upon the deck, and watch'd till dawn.
    But who can tell what feelings fill'd my heart,
    When, like a cloud, the distant land arose
    Gray from the ocean, .. when we left the ship,
    And cleft, with rapid oars, the shallow wave,
    And stood triumphant on another world!

     



    [ 44 ]





    V.


    Madoc had paused awhile; but every eye
    Still watch'd his lips, and every voice was hush'd.
    Soon as I leaped ashore, pursues the Lord
    Of Ocean, prostrate on my face I fell,
    Kiss'd the dear earth, and pray'd with thankful tears.
    Hard by, a brook was flowing; .. never yet,
    Even from the gold-tipped horn of victory,
    With harp and song, amid my father's hall,
    Pledged I so sweet a draught, as lying there,
    Beside that streamlet's brink! .. to feel the ground,
    To quaff the cool, clear water, to inhale
    The breeze of land, while fears and dangers past
    Recurred and heighten'd joy, as summer storms
    Make the fresh evening lovelier!

          To the shore
    The natives thronged; astonished, they beheld
    Our winged barks, and gazed with wonderment



    V. - 45


    On the strange garb, the bearded countenance,
    And the white skin, in all unlike themselves.
    I see with what enquiring eyes you ask,
    What men were they? Of dark-brown colour, tinged
    With sunny redness; wild of eye; their brows
    So smooth, as never yet anxiety,
    Nor busy thought had made a furrow there;
    Beardless, and each to each of lineaments
    So like, they seemed but one great family.
    Their loins were loosely cinctur'd, all beside
    Bare to the sun and wind; and thus their limbs,
    Unmanacled, display'd the truest forms
    Of strength and beauty: fearless, sure, they were,
    And, while they eyed us, grasp'd their spears, as if,
    Like Britain's injur'd but unconquer'd sons,
    They, too, had known how perilous it was
    To let an arm'd stranger set his foot
    In their free country.

          Soon the guise
    Of men, nor purporting nor fearing ill
    Gained confidence; their wild, distrustful looks
    Assumed a milder meaning; over one
    I cast my mantle, on another's head
    The velvet bonnet placed, and all was joy.
    We now besought for food; at once they read



    V. - 46


    Our gestures; but I cast a hopeless eye
    On hills and thickets, woods and marshy plains,
    A waste of rank luxuriance all around.
    Thus musing, to a lake I follow'd them,
    Left when the rivers to their summer course
    Withdrew; they scattered on its water drugs
    Of such strange potency, that soon the shoals,
    Coop'd there by Nature, prodigally kind,
    Floated inebriate. As I gaz'd, a deer
    Sprung from the bordering thicket: the true shaft
    Scarce with the distant victim's blood had stain'd
    Its point, when instantly he dropped and died,
    Such deadly juice imbued it; yet on this
    We made our meal unharm'd; and I perceiv'd
    The wisest leech, that ever in our world
    Culled herbs of hidden virtue, was to these
    Even as an infant

          Sorrowing we beheld
    The night come on; but soon did night display
    More wonders than it veil'd: innumerous tribes
    From the wood-cover swarm'd, and darkness made
    Their beauties visible; one while they stream'd
    A bright-blue radiance upon flowers that clos'd
    Their gorgeous colors from the eye of day;
    Now, motionless and dark, eluded search,



    V. - 47


    Self-shrouded; and anon, starring the sky,
    Rose like a shower of fire.

          Our friendly hosts
    Now led us to the hut, our that night's home,
    A rude and spacious dwelling: twisted boughs,
    And canes and withies form'd the walls and roof;
    And, from the unhewn trunks which pillar'd it,
    Low nets of interwoven reeds were hung.
    With shouts of honour, here they gather'd round me,
    Ungarmented my limbs, and in a net,
    With softest feathers lin'd, a pleasant couch,
    They laid and left me.

          To our ships return'd,
    After soft sojourn here, we coasted on,
    Insatiate of the wonders and the charms
    Of earth and air and sea. Thy summer woods
    Are lovely, O my mother isle! the birch
    Light bending on thy banks, thy elmy vales,
    Thy venerable oaks! .. but there, what forms
    Of beauty cloth'd the inlands and the shore!
    All these in stateliest growth, and, mixt with these,
    Dark-spreading cedar, and the cypress tall,
    Its pointed summit waving to the wind,
    Like a long beacon-flame; and, loveliest
    Amid a thousand strange and lovely shapes,



    V. - 48


    The lofty palm, that with its nuts supplied
    Beverage and food: they edged the shore, and crowned
    The far off mountain summits, their straight stems
    Bare, without leaf or bough, erect and smooth,
    Their tresses nodding like a crested helm,
    The plumage of the grove.

          Will ye believe
    The wonders of the ocean? how its shoals
    Sprang from the wave, like flashing light; .. took wing,
    And, twinkling with a silver glitterance,
    Flew through the air and sunshine? yet were they
    To sight less wondrous than the tribe who swam,
    Following like fowlers, with uplifted eye,
    Their falling quarry: .. language cannot paint
    Their splendid tints! though in blue ocean seen,
    Blue, darkly, deeply, beautifully blue,
    In all its rich variety of shades,
    Suffus'd with glowing gold.

          Heaven, too, had there
    Its wonders: ... from a deep, black, heavy cloud,
    What shall I say? .. a shoot, .. a trunk, .. an arm
    Came down; .. yea! like a demon's arm, it seized
    The waters: Ocean smok'd beneath its touch,
    And rose, like dust before the whirlwind's force.



    V. - 49


    But we sailed onward over tranquil seas,
    Wafted by airs so exquisitely mild,
    That even to breathe became an act
    Of will, and sense and pleasure! Not a cloud
    With purple islanded the dark-blue deep.
    By night, the quiet billows heav'd and glanced
    Under the moon, .. that heavenly noon! so bright,
    That many a midnight have I paced the deck,
    Forgetful of the hours of due repose;
    By day, the Sun, in his full majesty,
    Went forth like God beholding his own works.

    Once, when a chief was feasting us on shore,
    A captive served the food: I mark'd the youth,
    For he had features of a gentler race;
    And oftentimes his eye was fix'd on me,
    With looks of more than wonder. We return'd
    At evening to our ships; at night a voice
    Came from the sea, the intelligible voice
    Of earnest supplication: he had swam
    To trust our mercy; up the side he sprung,
    And look'd among the crew, and, singling me,
    Fell at my feet. Such friendly tokenings
    As our short commerce with the native tribes
    Had taught, I proffer'd, and sincerity



    V. - 50


    Gave force and meaning to the half-learnt forms;
    For one we needed who might speak for us,
    And well I liked the youth, the open lines
    Which character'd his face, the fearless heart,
    Which gave at once, and won full confidence.
    So that night at my feet Lincoya slept.

    When I displayed whate'er might gratify,
    Whate'er surprise, with most delight he view'd
    Our arms, the iron helm, the pliant mail,
    The buckler strong to save; and then he shook
    The lance, and grasp'd the sword, and turn'd to me
    With vehement words and gestures, every limb
    Working with one strong passion; and he placed
    The falchion in my hand, and gave the shield,
    And pointed south and west, that I should go,
    To conquer and protect; anon he wept
    Aloud, and clasp'd my knees, and, falling, fain
    He would have kiss'd my feet. Went we to shore?
    Then would he labor restlessly to show
    A better place lay onward; and in the sand
    To south and west he drew the line of coast,
    And figur'd how a mighty river there
    Ran to the sea. The land bent westward soon,
    And, thus confirm'd, we voyaged on to seek



    V. - 51


    The river inlet, following at the will
    Of our new friend; and we learnt after him,
    Well pleased and proud to teach, what this was call'd,
    What that, with no unprofitable toil.
    Nor light the joy I felt at hearing first
    The pleasant accents of my native tongue,
    Albeit in broken words and tones uncouth,
    Come from these foreign lips.

          At length we came
    Where the great river, amid shoals and banks
    And islands, growth of its own gathering spoils,
    Through many a branching channel, wide and full,
    Rushed to the main. The gale was strong; and safe,
    Amid the uproar of conflicting tides,
    Our gallant vessels rode. A stream as broad,
    And turbid, when it leaves the Land of Hills,
    Old Severn rolls; but banks so fair as these
    Old Severn views not in his Land of Hills,
    Nor even where his turbid waters swell
    And sully the salt sea.

          So we sail'd on
    By shores now cover'd with impervious woods,
    Now stretching wide and low, a reedy waste,
    And now through vales where earth profusely pour'd



    V. - 52


    Her treasures, gathered from the first of days.
    Sometimes a savage tribe would welcome us,
    By wonder from their lethargy of life
    Awakened; then again we voyaged on
    Through tracts all desolate, for days and days,
    League after league, one green and fertile mead,
    That fed a thousand herds.

          A different scene
    Rose on our view, of mount on mountain pil'd,
    Which when I see again in memory,
    The giant Cader Idris by their bulk
    Is dwarfed, and Snowdon, with its eagle haunts,
    Shrinks, and seems dwindled like a Saxon hill.

    Here, with Cadwallon and a chosen band,
    I left the ships. Lincoya guided us
    A toilsome way among the heights. At dusk,
    We reach'd the village skirts; he bade us halt,
    And raised his voice: the elders of the land
    Came forth, and led us to an ample hut,
    Which in the centre of their dwellings stood, ..
    The Stranger's House. They eyed us wondering,
    Yet not for wonder ceas'd they to observe
    Their hospitable rites; from hut to hut



    V. - 53


    The tidings spread the tale that strangers were arriv'd,
    Fatigued and hungry, and athirst; anon,
    Each from his means supplying us, came food
    And beverage, such as cheers the weary man.




     



    [ 54 ]





    VI.


    At morning, their high-priest, Ayayaca,
    Came with our guide: the venerable man
    With reverential awe accosted us;
    For we, he ween'd, were children of a race
    Mightier than they, and wiser, and by heaven
    Belov'd and favour'd more: he came to give
    Fit welcome; and he led us to the Queen.
    The fate of war had reft her of her realm;
    Yet with affection, and habitual awe,
    And old remembrances, which gave their love
    A deeper and religious character,
    Fallen as she was, and humbled as they were,
    Her faithful people still, in all they could,
    Obey'd Erillyab. She, too, in her mind
    Those recollections cherish'd, and such thoughts
    As, though no hope temper'd their bitterness,
    Gave to her eye a spirit, and a strength



    VI. - 55


    And pride to features which perchance had borne,
    Had they been fashion'd by a happier fate,
    Meaning more gentle and more womanly,
    Yet not more worthy of esteem and love.
    She sate upon the threshold of her hut;
    For in the palace where her sires had reign'd
    The conqueror dwelt. Her son was at her side,
    A boy now near to manhood; by the door,
    Bare of its bark, the head and branches shorn,
    Stood a young tree, with many a weapon hung,
    Her husband's war pole, and his monument.
    There had his quiver moulder'd, his stone-axe
    Had there grown green with moss, his bow-string there
    Sung as it cut the wind.

          She welcom'd us
    With a proud sorrow in her mien; fresh fruits
    Were spread before us, and her gestures said
    That, when he liv'd whose hand was wont to wield
    Those weapons, .. that in better days, .. that ere
    She let the tresses of her widowhood
    Grow wild, she could have given to guests like us,
    A worthier welcome. Soon a man approach'd,
    Hooded with sable, his half-naked limbs
    Smear'd black; the people, at his sight, drew round,
    The women wail'd and wept; the children turn'd,
    And hid their faces on their mothers knees.



    VI. - 56


    He to the Queen addressed his speech, then look'd
    Around the children, and laid hands on two,
    Of different sexes, but of age alike,
    Some six years each; they at his touch shriek'd out;
    But then Lincoya rose, and to my feet
    Led them, and told me that the conquerors claim'd
    These innocents, for tribute; that the Priest
    Would lay them on the altar of his god,
    Pluck out their little hearts in sacrifice,
    Yea, with more cursed wickedness, himself
    Feast on their flesh! .. I shudder'd, and my hand
    Instinctively unsheath'd the holy sword.
    He with most passionate and eloquent signs,
    Eye-speaking earnestness, and quivering lips,
    Besought me to preserve himself; and those
    Who now fell suppliant round me, .. youths and maids,
    Grey-headed men, and mothers with their babes.

    I caught the little victims up; I kiss'd
    Their innocent cheeks; I rais'd my eyes to heaven,
    I call'd upon Almighty God, to hear
    And bless the vow I made: in our own tongue
    Was that sworn promise of protection pledg'd ..
    Impetuous feeling made no pause for thought.
    Heaven heard the vow; the suppliant multitude
    Saw what was stirring in my breast; the Priest,



    VI. - 57


    With eye inflam'd and rapid answer, rais'd
    His menacing hand; the tone, the bitter smile,
    Interpreting his threat.

          Meanwhile, the Queen,
    With watchful eye and steady countenance,
    Had listened: now she rose, and to the Priest
    Address'd her speech. Low was her voice, and calm,
    As one who spake with effort to subdue
    Sorrow that struggled still; but, while she spake,
    Her features kindled to more majesty,
    Her eye became more animate, her voice
    Rose to the height of feeling. On her son
    She call'd, and from her husband's monument
    His battle-axe she took; and I could see,
    That, when she gave the boy his father's arms,
    She call'd his father's spirit to look on,
    And bless them to his vengeance.

          Silently
    The tribe stood listening as Erillyab spake;
    The very priest was aw'd: once he essay'd
    To answer; his tongue fail'd him, and his lip
    Grew pale and fell. He to his countrymen
    Of rage and shame and wonder full, return'd,
    Bearing no victims for their shrines accurst,
    But tidings that the Hoamen had cast off



    VI. - 58


    Their vassalage, rous'd to desperate revolt
    By men, in hue and speech and garment strange,
    Who, in their folly, dar'd defy the power
    Of Aztlan.

          When the King of Aztlan heard
    The unlook'd-for tale, ere yet he rous'd his strength,
    Or pitying our rash valour, or belike
    Curious to see the man so bravely rash,
    He sent to bid me to his court. Surpris'd,
    I should have given to him no credulous faith,
    But fearlessly Erillyab bade me trust
    Her honourable foe. Unarm'd I went,
    Lincoya with me to exchange our speech,
    So as he could, of safety first assur'd;
    For to their devilish idols he had been
    A victim doom'd, and, from the bloody rites
    Flying, been carried captive far away.

    From early morning, till the midnoon hour,
    We travelled in the mountains; then a plain
    Open'd below, and rose upon the sight,
    Like boundless ocean from a hill-top seen.
    A beautiful and populous plain it was;
    Fair woods were there, and fertilizing streams,
    And pastures spreading wide, and villages



    VI. - 59


    In fruitful groves embower'd, and stately towns,
    And many a single dwelling specking it,
    As though for many a year, the land had been
    The land of peace. Below us, where the base
    Of the great mountains to the level slop'd,
    A broad, blue lake extended far and wide
    Its waters, dark beneath the light of noon.
    There Aztlan stood upon the farther shore;
    Amid the shade of trees its dwellings rose,
    Their level roofs with turrets set around,
    And battlements all burnish'd white, which shone
    Like silver in the sun-shine. I beheld
    The imperial city, her far-circling walls,
    Her garden groves, and stately palaces,
    Her temples mountain size, her thousand roofs;
    And, when I saw her might and majesty,
    My mind misgave me then.

          We reached the shore:
    A floating islet waited for me there,
    The beautiful work of man. I set my feet
    Upon green-growing herbs and flowers, and sate
    Embowered in odorous shrubs: four long light boats
    Yok'd to the garden, with accordant song,
    And dip and dash of oar in harmony,
    Bore me across the lake.



    VI. - 60


          Then in a car
    Aloft by human bearers was I borne;
    And through the city-gate, and through long lines
    Of marshalled multitudes who throng'd the way,
    We reach'd the palace court. Four priests were there;
    Each held a burning censer in his hand,
    And strew'd the precious gum as I drew nigh,
    And held the streaming fragrance forth to me,
    As I had been a god. They led me in,
    Where, on his throne, the royal Azteca
    Coanocotzin, sate. Stranger, said he,
    Welcome! and be this coming to thy weal!
    A desperate warfare doth thy courage court;
    But thou shalt see the people, and the power
    Whom thy deluded zeal would call to arms;
    So may the knowledge make thee timely wise.
    The valiant love the valiant. Come with me!
    So saying, he rose; we went together forth
    To the Great Temple. 'Twas a huge, square hill,
    Or, rather, like a rock it seem'd, hewn out
    And squar'd by patient labor. Never yet
    Did our forefathers, o'er beloved chief
    Fallen in his glory, heap a monument
    Of that prodigious bulk, though every shield
    Was laden for his grave, and every hand



    VI. - 61


    Toiled unremitting, at the willing work,
    From morn till eve, all the long summer day.

    The ascent was lengthened, with provoking art,
    By steps which led but to a wearying path
    Round the whole structure; then another flight,
    Another road around, and thus a third,
    And yet a fourth, before we reach'd the height.
    Lo, now, Coanocotzin cried, thou seest
    The cities of this widely peopled plain;
    And wert thou on yon farthest temple-top,
    Yet as far onward wouldst thou see the land
    Well husbanded like this, and full of men.
    They tell me that two floating palaces
    Brought thee and all thy people; .. when I sound
    The Tambour of the God, ten Cities hear
    Its voice, and answer to the call, in arms.

    In truth, I felt my weakness; and the view
    Had waken'd no unreasonable fear,
    But that a nearer sight had stirr'd my blood;
    For, on the summit where we stood, four Towers
    Were piled with human skulls, and all around
    Long files of human heads were strung, to parch
    And whiten in the sun. What then I felt



    VI. - 62


    Was more than natural courage; .. 'twas a trust
    In more than mortal strength, .. a faith in God, ..
    Yea, inspiration from him. I exclaim'd,
    Not though ten Cities ten times told obey'd
    The king of Aztlan's bidding, should I fear
    The power of man!

          Art thou, then, more than man?
    He answered; and I saw his tawny cheek
    Lose its life-color as the fear arose;
    Nor did I undeceive him from that fear,
    For sooth I knew not how to answer him,
    And therefore let it work. So not a word
    Spake he, till we again had reach'd the court;
    And I, too, went in silent thoughtfulness:
    But then when, save Lincoya, there was none,
    To hear our speech, again did he renew
    The query, .. Stranger! art thou more than man,
    That thou shouldst set the power of man at nought?

    Then I replied, Two floating Palaces
    Bore me and all my people o'er the seas.
    When we departed from our mother land,
    The Moon was newly born; we saw her wax
    And wane, and witnessed her new birth again;
    And all that while, alike by day and night,



    VI. - 63


    We travelled through the sea, and caught the winds,
    And made them bear us forward. We must meet
    In battle, if the Hoamen are not freed
    From your accursed tribute, .. thou and I,
    My people and thy countless multitudes.
    Your arrows shall fall from us as the hail
    Leaps on a rock, .. and, when ye smite with swords,
    Not blood, but fire, shall follow from the stroke.
    Yet think not thou that we are more than men!
    Our knowledge is our power, and God our strength,
    God, whose almighty will created thee,
    And me, and all that hath the breath of life.
    He is our strength; .. for in his name I speak; ..
    And when I tell thee that thou shalt not shed
    The life of man in bloody sacrifice,
    It is His holy bidding which I speak;
    And if thou wilt not listen and obey,
    When I shall meet thee in the battle field,
    It is his holy cause for which I fight,
    And I shall have his power to conquer thee!

    And thinkest thou our Gods are feeble? cried
    The King of Aztlan; dost thou they lack
    Power to defend their altars, and to keep
    The kingdom which they gave us strength to win?



    VI. - 64


    The Gods of thirty nations have oppos'd
    Their irresistible might, and they lie now
    Conquer'd and caged and fetter'd at their feet.
    That they who serve them are no coward race,
    Let prove the ample realm we won in arms; ..
    And I, their leader, am not of the sons
    Of the feeble! As he spake, he reach'd a mace,
    The trunk and knotted root of some young tree,
    Such as old Albion, and his monster brood,
    From the oak forest for their weapons pluck'd
    When Father Brute and Corineus set foot
    On the White Island first. Lo this, quoth he,
    My club! and he threw back his robe; and this
    The arm that wields it! .. 'twas my father's once:
    Erillyab's husband, King Tepollomi,
    He felt its weight ... did I not show thee him?
    He lights me at my evening banquet. There
    In very deed, the dead Tepollomi
    Stood up against the wall, by devilish art
    Preserv'd; and from his black and shrivell'd hand
    The steady lamp hung down.

          My spirit rose
    At that abomination. I exclaim'd,
    Thou art of noble nature, and full fain
    Would I in friendship plight my hand with thine;



    VI. - 65


    But till that body in the grave be laid,
    Till thy polluted altars be made pure,
    There is no peace between us. May my God,
    Who, though thou know'st him not, is also thine,
    And after death will be thy dreadful Judge,
    May it please him to visit thee, and shed
    His mercy on thy soul! ... But, if thy heart
    Be hardened to the proof, come when thou wilt!
    I know thy power, and thou shalt then know mine.'




     



    [ 66 ]





    VII.


    Now, then, to meet the war! Erillyab's call
    Roused all her people to revenue their wrongs;
    And, at Lincoya's voice, the mountain tribes
    Arose and broke their bondage. I, meantime,
    Took counsel with Cadwallon and his sire,
    And told them of the numbers we must meet,
    And what advantage from the mountain straits
    I thought, as in the Saxon wars, to win.
    Thou saw'st their weapons, then, Cadwallon said;
    Are they like these rude works of ignorance,
    Bone-headed shafts, and spears of wood, and shields
    Strong only for such strife?

          We had to cope
    With wiser enemies, and abler arm'd.
    What for the sword they wielded was a staff
    Set thick with stones across; you would have judged
    The uncouth shape was cumbrous; but a hand
    Expert, and practis'd to its use, could drive



    VII. - 67


    The heavy edge with deadly impulse down.
    Their mail, if mail it may be call'd, was woven
    Of vegetable down, like finest flax,
    Bleached to the whiteness of the new-fallen snow;
    To every bend and motion flexible,
    Light as a warrior's summer-garb in peace;
    Yet in that lightest, softest, habergeon,
    Harmless the sharp stone arrow-head would hang.
    Others, of higher office, were array'd
    In feathery breast-plates of more gorgeous hue
    Than the gay plumage of the mountain-cock,
    Or the pheasant's glittering pride. But what were these,
    Or what the thin gold hauberk, when oppos'd
    To arms like ours in battle? What the mail
    Of wood fire-hardened, or the wooden helm,
    Against the iron arrows of the South,
    Against our northern spears, or battle-axe,
    Or good sword, wielded by a British hand?

    Then, quoth Cadwallon, at the wooden helm,
    Of these weak arms the weakest, let the sword
    Hew, and the spear be thrust. The mountaineers,
    So long inured to crouch beneath their yoke,
    We will not trust in battle; from the heights
    They with their arrows may annoy the foe;



    VII. - 68


    And, when our closer strife has won the fray,
    Then let them loose for havoc.

          O my son!
    Exclaimed the blind old man, thou counsellest ill!
    Blood will have blood, revenge beget revenge,
    Evil must come of evil. We shall win,
    Certes, a cheap and easy victory
    In the first field; their arrows from our arms
    Will fall, and on the hauberk and the helm
    The flint-edge blunt and break; while thro' their limbs,
    Naked or vainly fenced, the griding steel
    Shall shear its mortal way. But what are we
    Against a nation? Other hosts will rise
    In endless warfare, with perpetual fights
    Dwindling our all-too-few; or multitudes
    Will wear and weary us, till we sink subdued
    By the very toil of conquest. Ye are strong;
    But he who puts his trust in mortal strength,
    Leans on a broken reed! First prove your power;
    Be in the battle terrible, but spare
    The fallen, and follow not the flying foe;
    Then may ye win a nobler victory,
    So dealing with the captives as to fill
    Their hearts with wonder, gratitude, and awe,
    That love shall mingle with their fear, and fear



    VII. - 69


    Stablish the love, else wavering: let them see,
    That, as more pure and gentle is your faith,
    Yourselves are gentler, purer. Ye shall be
    As gods among them, if ye thus obey
    God's precepts.

          Soon the mountain tribes in arms,
    Rose at Lincoya's call; a numerous host,
    More than in numbers, in the memory
    Of long oppression, and revengeful hope,
    A formidable foe. I stationed them
    Where, at the entrance of the rocky straits,
    Secure themselves, their arrows might command
    The coming army. On the plain below
    We took our stand, between the mountain base
    And the green margin of the waters. Soon
    Their long array came on. Oh, what a pomp
    And pride and pageantry of war was there!
    Not half so gaudied, for their May-day mirth
    All wreath'd and ribanded, our youths and maids,
    As these stern Aztecas in war attire!
    The golden glitterance, and the feather-mail,
    More gay than glittering gold; and round the helm,
    A coronal of high, upstanding plumes,
    Green as the spring grass in the sunny shower;
    Or scarlet bright, as in the wintry wood



    VII. - 70


    The clustered holly; or of purple tint, ..
    Whereto shall that be likened? to what gem
    Indiadem'd ... what flower ... what insect's wing?
    With war-songs and wild music they came on,
    We, the while, kneeling, rais'd with one accord
    The hymn of supplication

          Front to front,
    And now the embattled armies stood: band
    Of priests, all sable-garmented, advanced;
    They piled a heap of sedge before our host,
    And warned us ... Sons of Ocean! from the land
    Of Aztlan, while ye may, depart in peace!
    Before the fire shall be extinguished, hence!
    Or, even as yon dry sedge amid the flame,
    So ye shall be consumed ... The arid heap
    They kindled, and the rapid flame ran up,
    And blazed, and died away. Then from his bow,
    With steady hand, their chosen archer loos'd
    The Arrow of the Omen. To its mark
    The shaft of divination fled; it smote
    Cadwallon's plated breast; the brittle point
    Rebounded. He, contemptuous of their faith,
    Stooped for the shaft, and while with zealous speed
    To the rescue they rush'd onward, snapping it
    Asunder, tossed the fragments back in scorn.



    VII. - 71


    Fierce was their onset; never in the field
    Encountered I with braver enemies.
    Nor marvel ye, nor think it to their shame,
    If soon they stagger'd, and gave way, and fled,
    So many from so few: they saw their darts
    Recoil, their lances shiver, and their swords
    Fall ineffectual, blunted with the blow.
    Think ye no shame of Aztlan that they fled,
    When the bowmen of Deheubarth plied so well
    Their shafts with fatal aim; through the thin gold,
    Or feather mail, while Gwyneth's deep-driven spears
    Pierced to the bone and vitals; when they saw
    The falchion, flashing late so lightning-like,
    Quenched in their own life-blood. Our mountaineers
    Showered from the heights, meantime, an arrowy storm,
    Themselves secure; and we who bore the brunt
    Of battle, iron men, impassable,
    Stood in our strength unbroken. Marvel not
    If then the brave felt fear, already impress'd
    That day by ominous thoughts to fear akin;
    For so it chanced, high heaven ordaining so,
    The king, who should have led his people forth,
    At the army-head, as they began their march,
    Was with sore sickness stricken; and the stroke
    Came like the act and arm of very God,



    VII. - 72


    So suddenly, and in that point of time.
    A gallant man was he, who, in his stead,
    That day commanded Aztlan: his long hair,
    Tufted with many a cotton lock, proclaim'd
    Of princely prowess many a feat achiev'd
    In many a field of fame. Oft had he led
    The Aztecas, with happy fortune, forth;
    Yet could not now Yuhidthiton inspire
    His host with hope: he, not the less, that day,
    True to his old renown, and in the hour
    Of rout and ruin, with collected mind,
    Sounded his signals shrill, and in the voice
    Of loud reproach and anger, and brave shame,
    Called on the people ... But when nought avail'd,
    Seizing the standard from the timid hand
    Which held it in dismay, alone he turn'd,
    For honourable death resolv'd, and praise
    That would not die. At that the braver chiefs
    Rallied; anew their signals rung around,
    And Aztlan, seeing how we spared her flight,
    Took heart, and roll'd the tide of battle back.
    But when Cadwallon from the chieftain's grasp
    Had cut the standard-staff away, and stunn'd
    And stretch'd him at his mercy on the field;
    Then fled the enemy in utter rout,



    VII. - 73


    Broken and quelled at heart. One chief alone
    Bestrode the body of Yuhidthiton;
    Bareheaded did young Malinal bestride
    His brother's body, wiping from his brow
    With the shield-hand, the blinding blood away,
    And dealing franticly, with broken sword,
    Obstinate wrath, the last resisting foe.
    Him, in his own despite, we seiz'd and sav'd.
    Then, in the moment of our victory,
    We purified our hands from blood, and knelt,
    And poured to heaven the grateful prayer of praise,
    And raised the choral psalm. Triumphant thus
    To the hills we went our way" the mountaineers
    With joy, and dissonant song, and antic dance;
    The captives sullenly, deeming that they went
    To meet the certain death of sacrifice,
    Yet stern and undismay'd. We bade them know,
    Ours was a law of mercy and of love;
    We healed their wounds, and set the prisoners free.
    Bear ye, quoth I, my bidding to your King!
    Say to him, Did the Stranger speak to thee
    The words of truth, and hath he proved his power?
    Thus saith the Lord of Ocean, in the name
    Of God, Almighty, Universal God,
    Thy Judge and mine, whose battles I have fought,



    VII. - 74


    Whose bidding I obey, whose will I speak;
    Shed thou no more in impious sacrifice,
    The life of man; restore unto the grave
    The dead Tepollomi; set this people free,
    And peace shall be between us.

          On the morrow
    Came messengers from Aztlan in reply.
    Coanocotzin with sore malady
    Hath, by the Gods been stricken: will the Lord
    Of Ocean visit his sick bed? .. He told
    Of wrath, and, as he said, the vengeance came:
    Let him bring healing now, and stablish peace.



     



    [ 75 ]





    VIII.


    Again, and now with better hope, I sought
    The city of the King: there went with me
    Iolo, old Iolo, he who knows
    The virtue of all herbs of mount or vale,
    Or greenwood shade, or quiet brooklet's bed;
    Whatever lore of science or of song,
    Sages and Bards of old have handed down.
    Aztlan that day poured forth her swarming sons,
    To wait my coming. Will he ask his God
    To stay the wrathful hand? that was the cry,
    The general cry; and will he save the King?
    Coanocotzin, too, had nurst that thought,
    And the strong hope upheld him: he put forth
    His hand, and rais'd a quick and anxious eye, ..
    Is it not peace and mercy? .. thou art come
    To pardon and to save!

          I answer'd him,



    VIII. - 76


    That power, O King of Aztlan, is not mine!
    Such help as human cunning can bestow,
    Such human help I bring; but health and life
    Are in the hand of God, who at his will
    Gives or withdraws; and what he wills is best.
    Then old Iolo took his arm, and felt
    The symptom; and he bade him have good hope,
    For life was strong within him. So it prov'd:
    The drugs of subtle virtue did their work;
    They quell'd the venom of the malady,
    And from the frame expell'd it, .. that a sleep,
    Fell on the king, a sweet and natural sleep,
    And from its healing he awoke refresh'd,
    Though weak, and joyful as a man who felt
    The peril passed away.

          Ere long, we spake
    Of concord, and how best to knit the bonds
    Of lasting friendship. When we won this land,
    Coanocotzin said, these fertile vales
    Were not, as now, with fruitful groves embower'd,
    Nor rich with towns and populous villages,
    Abounding, as thou seest, with life and joy:
    Our fathers found bleak heath and desert moor,
    Wild woodland, and savannas wide and waste,
    Rude country of rude dwellers. From our arms



    VIII. - 77


    They to the mountain fastnesses retir'd,
    And long with obstinate and harassing war
    Provoked us, hoping not for victory,
    Yet mad for vengeance; till Tepollomi
    Fell by my father's hand; and with their king,
    The strength and flower of all their youth cut off,
    All in one desolating day, they took
    The yoke upon their necks. What wouldest thou
    That to these Hoamen I should now concede?
    Lord of the Ocean, speak!

          Let them be free!
    Quoth I. I come not from my native isle
    To wage the war of conquest, and cast out
    Your people from the land which time and toil
    Have rightly made their own. The World is wide:
    There is enough for all. So they be freed
    From that accurs'd tribute, and ye shed
    The life of man no more in sacrifice, ..
    In the most holy name of God I say,
    Let there be peace between us!

          Thou hast won
    Their liberty, the King replied: henceforth,
    Free as they are, if they provoke the war,
    Reluctantly will Aztlan raise her arm.
    Be thou the peace-preserver. To what else



    VIII. - 78


    Thou say'st, instructed by calamity,
    I lend a humble ear; but to destroy
    The worship of my fathers, or abate
    Or change one point, lies not within the reach
    And scope of kingly power. Speak thou hereon
    With those whom we hold holy, with the sons
    Of the Temple, they who commune with the Gods;
    Awe them, for they awe me. So we resolv'd,
    That, when the bones of King Tepollomi
    Had had their funeral honours, they and I
    Should by the green lake-side, before the King
    And in the presence of the people, hold
    A solemn talk.

          Then to the mountain-huts,
    The bearer of good tidings, I return'd,
    Leading the honourable train who bore
    The relies of the King; not parch'd and black,
    As I had seen the unnatural corpse stand up,
    In ghastly mockery of the attitude
    And act of life: his bones had now been blanch'd
    With decent reverence. Soon the mountaineers
    Saw the white deer-skin shroud; the rumour spread;
    They gather'd round, and follow'd in our train.
    Before Erillyab's hut the bearers laid
    Their burden down. She, calm of countenance,



    VIII. - 79


    And with dry eye, albeit her hand the while,
    Shook like an agueish limb, unroll'd the shroud.
    The multitude stood gazing silently,
    The young and old alike all aw'd and hush'd
    Under the holy feeling, .. and the hush
    Was awful; that huge multitude so still,
    That we could hear distinct the mountain stream
    Roll down its rocky channel far away.
    And this was all; sole ceremony this,
    The sight of death and silence, .. till, at length,
    In the ready grave his bones were laid to rest.
    'Twas in her hut and home, yea, underneath
    The marriage bed, the bed of widowhood,
    Her husband's grave was dug; on softest fur
    The bones were laid, with fur were cover'd o'er,
    Then heaped with bark and boughs, and, last of all,
    Earth was to earth trod down.

          And now the day,
    Appointed for our talk of peace was come.
    On the green margin of the lake we met,
    Elders and Priests and Chiefs; the multitude
    Around the circle of the council stood.
    Then, in the midst, Coanocotzin rose,
    And thus the King began: Pabas and Chiefs
    Of Aztlan, hither ye are come to learn



    VIII. - 80


    The law of peace. The Lord of Ocean saith,
    The Tribes whom he hath gather'd underneath
    The wings of his protection shall be free;
    And in the name of his great God he saith,
    That ye shall never shed in sacrifice
    The blood of man. Are ye content? that so
    We may together here, in happy hour,
    Bury the sword!

          Hereat a Paba rose,
    And answered for his brethren: .. He hath won
    The Hoamen's freedom, that their blood no more
    Shall on our altars flow; for this the Lord
    Of Ocean fought, and Aztlan yielded it
    In battle: but if we forego the rites
    Of our forefathers; if we wrong the Gods,
    Who give us timely sun and timely showers,
    Their wrath will be upon us; they will shut
    Their ears to prayer, and turn away the eyes
    Which watch for our well-doing, and withhold
    The hands that scatter our prosperity.

    Cynetha then arose; between his son
    And me supported, rose the blind old man.
    Ye wrong us, men of Aztlan, if ye deem
    We bid ye wrong the Gods; accurst were he



    VIII. - 81


    Who would obey such bidding, .. more accurst
    The wretch who should enjoin impiety!
    It is the will of God which we make known,
    Your God and ours. Know ye not Him, who laid
    The deep foundations of the earth, and built
    The arch of heaven, and kindled yonder sun,
    And breathed into the woods and waves and sky
    The power of life?

          We know Him, they replied
    The great For-Ever One, the God of Gods,
    Ipalnemoani, He by whom we live!
    And we too, quoth Ayayaca, we know
    And worship the Great Spirit, who in clouds
    And storms, in mountain caves and by the fall
    Of waters, in the woodland solitude,
    And in the night and silence of the sky,
    Doth make his being felt. We also know,
    And fear and worship the Beloved One.

    Our God, replied Cynetha, is the same,
    The Universal Father. He to the first
    Made his will known; but, when men multiplied,
    The Evil Spirits darken'd them, and sin
    And misery came into the world, and men
    Forsook the way of truth, and gave to stocks



    VIII. - 82


    And stones the incommunicable name.
    Yet with one chosen, one peculiar Race,
    The knowledge of their Father and their God
    Remained, from sire to son transmitted down.
    While the bewildered Nations of the earth
    Wandered in fogs, and were in darkness lost,
    The light abode with them; and, when at times
    They sinned and went astray, the Lord hath put
    A voice into the mouths of holy men,
    Raising up witnesses unto himself,
    That so the saving knowledge of his name
    Might never fail; nor the glad promise, given
    To our first parent, that at length his sons,
    From error, sin, and wretchedness redeem'd,
    Should form one happy family of love.
    Nor ever hath that light, howe'er bedimm'd,
    Wholly been quench'd; still in the heart of man
    A feeling and an instinct it exists,
    His very nature's stamp and privilege,
    Yea, of his life the life. I tell ye not,
    O Aztecas! of things unknown before;
    I do but waken up a living sense
    That sleeps within ye! Do ye love the Gods
    Who call for blood? Doth the poor sacrifice
    Go with a willing step to lay his life



    VIII. - 83


    Upon their altars? .. Good must come of good,
    Evil of evil: if the fruit be death,
    The poison springeth from the sap and root,
    And the whole tree is deadly; if the rites
    Be evil, they who claim them are not good,
    Not to be worshipp'd then; for to obey
    The evil will is evil. Aztecas!
    From the For-Ever, the Beloved One,
    The Universal, Only God, I speak,
    Your God and mine, our Father and our Judge.
    Hear ye his law, .. hear ye the perfect law
    Of love: "Do ye to others as ye would
    That they should do to you!" He bids us meet,
    To praise his name, in thankfulness and joy;
    He bids us, in our sorrow, pray to him,
    The Comforter. Love him, for he is good!
    Fear him, for he is just; obey his will,
    For who can bear his anger!

          While he spake,
    They stood with open mouth and motionless sight,
    Watching his countenance, as though the voice
    Were of a God; for sure it seem'd that less
    Than inspiration could not have infus'd
    That eloquent passion in a blind man's face.
    And, when he ceas'd, all eyes at once were turn'd



    VIII. - 84


    Upon the Pabas, waiting their reply,
    If that to that acknowledged argument
    Reply could be devised: but they themselves,
    Stricken by the truth, were silent; and they look'd
    Toward their chief and mouth-piece, the High Priest
    Tezozomoc: he, too, was pale and mute,
    And, when he gathered up his strength to speak,
    Speech failed him, his lip faltered, and his eye
    Fell utterly abashed, and put to shame.
    But in the Chiefs, and in the multitude,
    And in the King of Aztlan, better thoughts
    Were working; for the Spirit of the Lord
    That day was moving in the heart of man.
    Coanocotzin rose: Pabas and Chiefs,
    And men of Aztlan, ye have heard a talk
    Of peace and love, and there is no reply.
    Are ye content with what the Wise Man saith?
    And will ye worship God in that good way
    Which God himself ordains? If it be so,
    Together here will we in happy hour
    Bury the sword.

          Tezozomoc replied,
    This thing is new, and in the land till now
    Unheard: what marvel, therefore, if we find
    No ready answer? Let our Lord the King
    Do that which seemeth best.



    VIII. - 85


          Yuhidthiton,
    Chief of the Chiefs of Aztlan, next arose.
    Of all her numerous sons, could Aztlan boast
    No mightier arm in battle, nor whose voice
    To more attentive silence hush'd the hall
    Of council. When the Wise Man spake, quoth he,
    I asked of mine own heart if it were so,
    And, as he said, the living instinct there
    Answer'd, and owned the truth. In happy hour,
    O King of Aztlan, did the Ocean Lord
    Through the great waters hither wend his way;
    For sure he is the friend of God and man!

          At that an uproar of assent arose
    From the whole people, a tumultuous shout
    Of universal joy and glad acclaim.
    But when Coanocotzin rais'd his hand,
    That he might speak, the clamor and the buzz
    Ceas'd, and the multitude, in tiptoe hope,
    Attent and still, await the final voice.
    Then said the Sovereign, Hear, O Aztecas,
    Your own united will! From this day forth
    No life upon the altar shall be shed,
    No blood shall flow in sacrifice; the rites
    Shall all be pure, such as the blind old man,



    VIII. - 86


    Whom God hath taught, will teach. This ye have will'd;
    And therefore it shall be!

          The King hath said!
    Like thunder the collected voice replied:
    Let it be so!

          Lord of the Ocean, then
    Pursued the King of Aztlan, we will now
    Lay the war-weapon in the grave, and join
    In right-hand friendship. By our custom, blood
    Should sanctify and bind the solemn act
    But by what oath and ceremony thou
    Shalt proffer, by the same will Aztlan swear.

    Nor oath nor ceremony, I replied,
    O King, is needful. To his own good word
    The good and honourable man will act.
    Oaths will not curb the wicked. Here we stand
    In the broad daylight; the For-Ever One,
    The Every Where, beholds us. In his sight,
    We join our hands in peace: if e'er again
    Should these right hands be rais'd in enmity,
    Upon the offender will His judgment fall.
    The grave was dug; Coanocotzin laid
    His weapon in the earth; Erillyab's son,



    VIII. - 87


    Young Amalahta, for the Hoamen, laid
    His hatchet there; and there I laid the sword.

    Here let me end. What followed was the work
    Of peace, no theme for story; how we fix'd
    Our sojourn in the hills, and sow'd our fields,
    And, day by day, saw all things prospering.
    Thence have I sail'd, Goervyl, to announce
    The tidings of my happy enterprise;
    There I return, to take thee to our home.
    I love my native land; with as true love
    As ever yet did warm a British heart,
    Love I the green fields of the beautiful Isle,
    My father's heritage! But far away,
    Where Nature's booner hand has blest the earth,
    My heritage hath fallen; beyond the seas
    Madoc hath found his home; beyond the seas
    A country for his children hath he chosen,
    A land wherein their portion may be peace.


     



    [ 88 ]





    IX.


    But, while Aberfraw echoed to the sounds
    Of merriment and music, Madoc's heart
    Mourned for his brethren. Therefore, when no ear
    Was nigh, he sought the King, and said to him,
    To-morrow, I set forth for Mathraval;
    Longer I must not linger here, to pass
    The easy hours in feast and revelry,
    Forgetful of my people far away.
    I go to tell the tidings of success,
    And seek new comrades. What if it should chance,
    That, for this enterprise, our brethren,
    Foregoing all their hopes and fortunes here,
    Would join my banner? .. Let me send abroad
    That summons, O my brother! so secure,
    You may forgive the past, and once again
    Will peace and concord bless our father's house.



    IX. - 89


    Hereafter will be time enow for this,
    The King replied: thy easy nature sees not,
    How, if the traitors for thy banner send
    Their bidding round, in open war against me
    Their own would soon be spread. I charge thee, Madoc,
    Neither to see nor aid these fugitives,
    The shame of Owen's blood.

          Sullen he spake,
    And turned away; nor further commune now
    Did Madoc seek, nor had he more endur'd;
    For bitter thoughts were rising in his heart,
    And anguish, kindling anger. In such mood,
    He to his sister's chamber took his way.
    She sate with Emma, with the gentle Queen;
    For Emma had already learnt to love
    The gentle maid. Goervyl saw what thoughts
    Troubled her brother's brow. Madoc, she cried,
    "Thou hast been with the king, been rashly pleading
    For Ririd and for Rodri!" .. He repli'd,
    I did but ask him little, .. did but say,
    Belike our brethren would go forth with me,
    To voluntary exile; then, methought,
    His fear and jealousy might well have ceas'd,
    And all be safe.

          And did the King refuse?



    IX. - 90


    Quoth Emma: I will plead for them, quoth she,
    With dutiful warmth and zeal will plead for them;
    And surely David will not say me nay.

    O sister! cried Goervyl, tempt him not!
    Sister, you know him not! Alas! to touch
    That perilous theme is, even in Madoc here,
    A perilous folly ... Sister tempt him not!
    You do not know the King!

          At that, a fear
    Fled to the cheek of Emma; and her eye,
    Quickening with wonder, turned toward the Prince,
    As if expecting that his manly mind
    Would mould Goervyl's meaning to a shape
    Less fearful, would interpret and amend
    The words she hoped she did not hear aright.
    Emma was young; she was a sacrifice
    To that cold king craft, which, in marriage vows
    Linking two hearts, unknowing each of each,
    Perverts the ordinance of God, and makes
    The holiest tie a mockery and a curse.
    Her eye was patient; and she spake in tones
    So sweet, and of so pensive gentleness,
    That the heart felt them. Madoc! she exclaim'd,
    Why dost thou hate the Saxons? O my brother,



    IX. - 91


    If I have heard aright, the hour will come
    When the Plantagenet shall wish herself
    Among her nobler, happier countrymen,
    From these unnatural enmities escap'd,
    And from the curse which they will call from heaven.

    Shame then suffused the Prince's countenance,
    Mindful how, drunk in anger, he had given
    His hatred loose. My sister Queen, quoth he,
    Marvel not you that with my mother's milk
    I sucked that hatred in. Have they not been
    The scourge and the devouring sword of God,
    The curse and pestilence that he hath sent
    To root us from the land? Alas, our crimes
    Have drawn this fearful visitation down!
    Our sun hath long been westering; and the night
    And darkness and extinction are at hand.
    We are a fallen people! .. From ourselves
    The desolation and the ruin come!
    In our own vitals doth the poison work ...
    The House that is divided in itself,
    How should it stand? .. A blessing on you, Lady!
    But in this wretched family the strife
    Is rooted all too deep; it is an old
    And canker'd wound, .. an eating, killing sore,



    IX. - 92


    For which there is no healing! ..If the King
    Should ever speak his fears, .. and sure to you
    All his most inward thoughts he will make known ..
    Counsel him then to let his brethren share
    My enterprise, to send them forth with me
    To everlasting exile. .. She hath told you
    Too rudely of the King; I know him well;
    He hath a stormy nature; and what germs
    Of virtue would have budded in his heart,
    Cold winds have check'd, and blighting seasons nipt,
    Yet in his heart they live ... A blessing on you.
    That you may see their blossom and their fruit!



     



    [ 93 ]





    X.


    And now went Madoc forth for Mathraval;
    O'er Menai's ebbing tide, up mountain-paths,
    Beside gray mountain-stream and lonely lake,
    And through old Snowdon's forest-solitude,
    He held right on his solitary way.
    Nor paus'd he in that rocky vale, where oft.
    Up the familiar path, with gladder pace,
    His steed had hasten'd to the well-known door, ..
    That valley, o'er whose crags, and sprinkled trees,
    And winding stream, so oft his eye had lov'd
    To linger, gazing, as the eve grew dim,
    From Dolwyddelan's Tower; .. alas! from therefrom,
    As from his brother's monument, he turn'd
    A loathing eye, and through the rocky vale
    Sped on. From morn till noon, from noon till eve,
    He travell'd on his way; and, when at morn
    Again the Ocean Chief bestrode his steed,



    X. - 94


    The heights of Snowdon on his backward glance
    Hung like a cloud in heaven. O'er heath and hill,
    And barren height, he rode; and darker now,
    In loftier majesty, thy mountain seat,
    Star-loving Idris, rose. Nor turned he now
    Beside Kregennan, where his infant feet
    Had trod Ednywain's hall; nor loitered he
    In the green vales of Powys, till he came
    Where Warnway rolls his waters underneath
    The walls of Mathraval, old Mathraval,
    Cyveilioc's princely and paternal seat.

    But Madoc rush'd not forward now to greet
    The chief he loved; for from the hall was heard
    The voice of harp and song. It was that day,
    The feast of victory at Mathraval;
    Around the Chieftain's board the warriors sate;
    The sword and shield and helmet, on the wall
    And round the pillars, were in peace hung up;
    And as the flashes of the central fire,
    At fits arose, a dance of wavy light
    Played o'er the reddening steel. The Chiefs, who late
    So well had wielded, in the play of war,
    Those weapons, sate around the board, to quaff
    The beverage of the brave, and hear their fame.



    X. - 95


    Cyveilioc, stood before them, .. in his pride
    Stood up the Poet-Prince of Mathraval;
    His hands were on the harp, his eyes were clos'd,
    His head, as if in reverence to receive
    The inspiration, bent; anon, he rais'd
    His glowing countenance, and brighter eye,
    And swept, with passionate hand, the ringing harp.

    Fill high the Hirlas Horn! to Grufydd bear
    Its frothy beverage, .. from his crimson lance
    The invader fled; .. fill high the gold-tipt Horn!
    Heard ye in Maelor the step of war? ..
    The hastening shout? .. the onset? .. Did ye hear
    The clash and clang of arms? .. the battle-din,
    Loud as the roar of Ocean, when the winds
    At midnight are abroad? .. the yell of wounds? ..
    The rage? .. the agony? ... give to him the Horn
    Whose spear was broken, and whose buckler pierced
    With many a shaft, yet not the less he fought
    And conquer'd; .. therefore let Ednyved share
    The generous draught; give him the long, blue Horn!
    Pour out again, and fill again the spoil
    Of the wild bull, with silver wrought of yore;
    Bear ye to Tudyr's hand the golden lip,
    Eagle of battle! For Moreiddig fill



    X. - 96


    The honourable Hirlas! ... where are They?
    Where are the noble Brethren? Wolves of war,
    They kept their border well, they did their part,
    Their fame is full, their lot is praise and song ...
    A mournful song to me, a song of woe! ..
    Brave Brethren! for their honour brim the cup,
    Which they shall quaff no more.

          We drove away
    The strangers from our land; profuse of life,
    Our warriors rush'd to battle, and the Sun
    Saw from his noontide fields their manly strife.
    Pour thou the flowing mead! Cup-bearer, fill
    The Hirlas! for, hadst thou beheld the day
    Of Llidom, thou hadst known how well the Chiefs
    Deserve this honour now. Cyveilioc's shield
    Were they in danger, when the Invader came;
    Be praise and liberty their lot on earth,
    And joy be theirs in heaven!.

          Here ceased the song.
    Then from the threshold on the rush-strewn floor
    Madoc advanced. Cyveilioc's eye was now
    To present forms awake, but even as still
    He felt his harp-chords throb with dying sounds,
    The heat and stir and passion had not yet
    Subsided in his soul. Again he struck



    X. - 97


    The loud-toned harp ... Pour from the silver vase,
    And brim the honourable Horn, and bear
    The draught of joy to Madoc, .. he who first
    Explored the desert ways of Ocean, first
    Through the wide waste of sea and sky held on
    Undaunted, till upon another World,
    The Lord and Conqueror of the Elements,
    He set his foot triumphant! Fill for him
    The Hirlas! fill the honourable Horn!
    This is a happy hour, for Madoc treads
    The hall of Mathraval; by every foe
    Dreaded, by every friend belov'd the best,
    Madoc, the British Prince, the Ocean Lord,
    Who never for injustice rear'd his arm.
    Give him the Hirlas Horn, fill, till the draught
    Of joy shall quiver o'er the golden brim!
    In happy hour the hero hath return'd!
    In happy hour the friend, the brother treads
    Cyveilioc's floor!

          He sprung to greet his guest;
    The cordial grasp of fellowship was given;
    They gave the seat of honour, and they fill'd
    for him The Hirlas Horn. .. So there was joy
    In Mathraval Cyveilioc and his Chiefs,
    All eagerly, with wonder-waiting eyes,



    X. - 98


    Look to the Wanderer of the Waters' tale.
    Nor mean the joy which kindled Madoc's brow,
    When as he told of daring enterprise
    Crowned with deserved success. Intent they heard
    Of all the blessings of that happier clime;
    And, when the adventurer spake of soon return,
    Each on the other gaz'd, as if to say,
    Methinks it were a goodly lot to dwell
    In that fair land in peace.

          Then said the Prince
    Of Powys, Madoc, at an happy time
    Thy feet have sought the house of Mathraval;
    For on the morrow, in the eye of light,
    Our bards will hold their congress. Seekest thou
    Comrades to share success? proclaim abroad
    Thine invitation there, and it shall spread
    Far as our fathers ancient tongue is known.

    Thus mantling mead went round at Mathraval; ..
    That was a happy hour! Of other years
    They talk'd; of common toils, and fields of war,
    Where they fought side by side; of Corwen's day
    Of glory, and of comrades now no more: ..
    Themes of delight, and grief which brought its joy.
    Thus they beguil'd the pleasant hours, while night



    X. - 99


    Wan'd fast away; then late they laid them down,
    Each on his bed of rushes, stretch'd around
    The central fire.

          The Sun was newly risen
    When Madoc joined his host, no longer now
    Clad, as the conquering chief of Maelor,
    In princely arms, but in his nobler robe,
    The sky-blue mantle of the bard, array'd.
    So for the place of meeting they set forth;
    And now they reach'd Melangell's lonely church.
    Amid a grove of evergreens it stood,
    A garden and a grove, where every grave
    Was deck'd with flowers, or with unfading plants
    O'ergrown, sad rue and funeral rosemary.
    Here Madoc paused. The morn is young, quoth he;
    A little while to old remembrance given
    Will not belate us. .. Many a year hath fled,
    Cyveilioc, since you led me here, and told
    The legend of the Saint. Come! .. be not loath!
    We will not loiter long. .. So soon to mount
    The bark, which will for ever bear me hence,
    I would not willingly pass by one spot
    Which thus recalls the thought of other times,
    Without a pilgrim's visit.

          Thus he spake,



    X. - 100


    And drew Cyveilioc through the church-yard porch,
    To the rude image of St. Monacel.
    Dost thou remember, Owen," said the Prince,
    When first I was thy guest in early youth,
    That once, as we had wander'd here at eve,
    You told how here a poor and hunted hare
    Ran to the Virgin's feet, and look'd to her
    For life? .. I thought, when listening to the tale,
    She had a merciful heart, and that her face
    Must with a saintly gentleness have beam'd,
    When beasts could read its virtue. Here we sate
    Upon the jutting root of this old yeugh ...
    Dear friend! so pleasant didst thou make those days,
    That in my heart, long as my heart shall beat,
    Minutest recollections still will live,
    Still be the source of joy.

          As Madoc spake,
    His glancing eye fell on a monument,
    Around whose base the rosemary droop'd down,
    As yet not rooted well. Sculptur'd above,
    A warrior lay; the shield was on his arm;
    Madoc approached, and saw the blazonry, ..
    A sudden chill ran through him, as he read,
    Here Yorwerth lies ... it was his brother's grave.



    X. - 101


    Cyveilioc took him by the hand: For this,
    Madoc, was I so loath to enter here!
    He sought the sanctuary; but close upon him
    The murderers followed, and by yonder copse
    The stroke of death was given. All I could
    Was done; .. I saw him here consign'd to rest,
    Daily due masses for his soul are sung,
    And duly hath his grave been deck'd with flowers.

    So saying, from the place of death he led
    The silent prince. But lately, he pursued,
    Llewelyn was my guest, thy favourite boy.
    For thy sake and his own, it was my hope
    That he would make his home at Mathraval:
    He had not needed then a father's love.
    But he, I know not on what enterprise,
    Was brooding ever; and those secret thoughts
    Drew him away. God prosper the brave boy!
    It were a happy day for this poor land
    If e'er Llewelyn mount his rightful throne.


     



    [ 102 ]





    XI.


    The place of meeting was a high hill-top,
    Nor bower'd with trees nor broken by the plough,
    Remote from human dwellings and the stir
    Of human life, and open to the breath
    And to the eye of Heaven. In days of old,
    There had the circling stones been planted; there,
    From earliest ages, the primeval lore,
    Thro' Bard to Bard, with reverence handed down.
    They whom to wonder, or the love of song,
    Or reverence of their fathers' ancient rites,
    Drew thither, stood without the ring of stones.
    Cyveilioc enter'd to the initiate Bards,
    Himself, albeit his hands were stain'd with war,
    Initiate; for the Order, in the lapse
    Of years, and in their nation's long decline,
    From the first rigour of their purity
    Somewhat had fallen. The Masters of the Song



    XI. - 103


    In azure robes were rob'd, .. that one bright hue
    To emblem unity, and peace, and truth,
    Like Heaven, which' o'er a world of wickedness
    Spreads its eternal canopy serene.

    The bards of Britain there, a noble band,
    Within the Stones of Federation stood,
    On the green turf, and under the blue sky,
    Their heads in reverence bare, and bare of foot.
    A deathless brotherhood! Cyveilioc there,
    Lord of the Hirlas; Llywarc there was seen;
    And old Cynddelow, to whose lofty song,
    So many a time amidst his father's hall
    Resigning all his soul, had Madoc given
    The flow of feeling loose. But Madoc's heart
    Was full; old feelings and remembrances
    And thoughts from which was no escape, arose:
    He was not there to whose sweet lay, so oft,
    With all a brother's fond delight, he lov'd
    To listen, .. Hoel was not there! .. the hand
    That once so well, amid the triple chords,
    Mov'd in the rapid maze of harmony,
    It had no motion now; the lips were dumb
    Which knew all tones of passion; and that heart,
    That warm, ebullient heart, was cold and still,



    XI. - 104


    Upon its bed of clay. He look'd around,
    And there was no familiar countenance,
    None but Cynddelow's face, which he had learnt
    In childhood, and old age had set its mark,
    Making unsightly alteration there.
    Another generation had sprung up,
    And made him feel how fast the days of man
    Flow by, how soon their number is told out.
    He knew not then that Llywarc's lay should give
    His future fame; his spirit, on the past
    Brooding, beheld, with no forefeeling joy
    The rising sons of song, who there essayed
    Their eaglet flight. But there among the youth,
    In the green vesture of their earliest rank,
    Or with the aspirants clad in motley garb,
    Young Benvras stood; and, one whose favour'd race
    Heaven with the hereditary power had blest,
    The old Gowalchmai's not degenerate child;
    And there another Einion; gifted youths,
    And heirs of immortality on earth,
    Whose after-strains, through many a distant age
    Cambria shall boast, and love the songs that tell
    The fame of Owen's house.

          There, in the eye
    Of light, and in the face of day, the rites



    XI. - 105


    Began. Upon the Stone of Covenant
    The sheathed sword was laid; the Master then
    Rais'd up his voice, and cried, Let them who seek
    The high degree and sacred privilege
    Of Bardic science, and of Cimbric lore,
    Here to the Bards of Britain make their claim!
    Thus having said, the Master bade the youths
    Approach the place of peace, and merit there
    The Bard's most honourable name. At that,
    Heirs and transmitters of the ancient light,
    The youths advanced; they heard the Cimbric lore,
    From earliest days preserv'd; they struck their harps,
    And each in due succession rais'd the song.

    Last of the aspirants, as of greener years,
    Young Caradoc advanced; his lip as yet
    Scarce darken'd with its down, his flaxen locks
    Wreathed in contracting ringlets waving low;
    His large blue eyes were bright, and kindled now
    With that same passion that inflam'd his cheek;
    Yet in his cheek there was the sickliness
    Which thought and feeling leave, wearing away
    The hue of youth. Inclining on his harp,
    He, while his comrades in probation song
    Approv'd their claim, stood hearkening, as it seem'd,



    XI. - 106


    And yet like unintelligible sounds
    He heard the symphony and voice attuned;
    Even in such feelings as, all undefin'd,
    Come with the flow of waters to the soul,
    Or with the motions of the moonlight sky.
    But, when his bidding came, he, at the call
    Arising from that dreamy mood, advanced,
    Threw back his mantle, and began the lay.

    Where are the sons of Gavran? where his tribe
    The faithful? Following their beloved Chief,
    They the Green Islands of the Ocean sought;
    Nor human tongue hath told, nor human ear,
    Since from the silver shores they went their way,
    Hath heard, their fortunes. In his crystal Ark,
    Whither sailed Merlin with his band of Bards,
    Old Merlin, master of the mystic lore?
    Belike his crystal Ark, instinct with life,
    Obedient to the mighty Master, reach'd
    The Land of the Departed; there, belike,
    They in the cl