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
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!53
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. 54 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 darkened them, and sin
And misery came into the world, and men
Forsook the way of truth, and gave to stocks
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 redeemed,
Should form one happy family of love.
Nor ever hath that light, howe'er bedimmed,
Wholly been quenched; 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
Which 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
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 worshipped 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!
They stood with open mouth, and motionless sight,
Watching his countenance, as though the voice
Were of a God; for sure it seemed that less
Than inspiration could not have infused
That eloquent passion in a blind man's face.
And when he ceased, all eyes at once were turned
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 looked
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.55
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.
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 hushed 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
Answered, 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!
With that an uproar of assent arose
From the whole people, a tumultuous shout
Of universal joy and glad acclaim.
But when Coanocotzin raised his hand,
That he might speak, the clamour and the buzz
Ceased, 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,
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 day-light; 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 raised in enmity,
Upon the offender will His judgment fall.
The grave was dug; Coanocotzin laid
His weapon in the earth; Erillyab's son,
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 of story; how we fixed
Our sojourn in the hills, and sowed our fields,
And, day by day, saw all things prospering.
Thence have I sailed, 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 portions may be peace.
BUT while Aberfraw echoed to the sounds
Of merriment and music, Madoc's heart
Mourned for his brethren. Therefore, when no car
Was nigh, he sought the King, and said to him,
To-morrow, I set forth for Mathraval;
For long 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
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.
Neither to see nor aid these fugitives, The shame of Owen's blood.
And turned away; nor farther commune now
Did Madoc seek, nor had he more endured;
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 replied,
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 ceased,
And all be safe.
And did the King refuse?
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!
But then 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 the sacrifice
To that sad 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 curse.
Her eye was patient, and she spake in tones
So sweet and of so pensive gentleness,
That the heart felt them. Madoc! she exclaimed,
Why dost thou hate the Saxons? O, my brother,
If I have heard aright the hour will come
When the Plantagenet shall wish herself
Among her nobler, happier countrymen,
From these unnatural enmities escaped,
And from the curse which they must 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 which he hath sent
To root us from the land? Alas, our crimes
flave 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 shall it stand?-A blessing on you, Lady!
But in this wretched family the strife
Is rooted all too deep; it is an old
And cankered wound,—an eating, killing sore,
For which there is no healing!-If the King
Should ever speak his fear,-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 checked, and blighting seasons nipt,
Yet in his heart they live.-A blessing on you,
That you may see their blossom and their fruit!
AND now went Madoc forth for Mathraval;
O'er Menai's ebbing tide, up mountain-paths,
Beside grey mountain-stream, and lonely lake,
And through old Snowdon's forest solitude,
He held right on his solitary way.
Nor paused he in that rocky vale, where oft
Up the familiar path, with gladder pace,
His steed had hastened to the well-known door,-
That valley, o'er whose crags, and sprinkled trees,
And winding stream, so oft his eye had loved
To linger, gazing, as the eve grew dim,
From Dolwyddelan's, 56 Tower;-alas! from thence
As from his brother's monument, he turned
A loathing eye, and through the rocky vale
Sped on. From morn till noon, from noon till eve,
He travelled on his way; and when at morn
Again the Ocean Chief bestrode his steed,
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; 57 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 rushed 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.
Cyveilioc stood before them,-in his pride
Stood up the Poet-Prince of Mathraval;
His hands were on the harp, his eyes were closed,
His head, as if in reverence to receive
The inspiration, bent; anou, he raised
His glowing countenance, and brighter eye,
And swept, with passionate hand, the ringing harp.
Fill high the Hilas 58 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
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 conquered;-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
Bear
ye to Tudyr's hand the golden lip,
Eagle of battle! for Moreiddig fill
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.
The strangers from our land; profuse of life,
Our warriors rushed 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
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 Birlas! fill the honourable Horn!
This is a happy hour, for Madoc treads
The hall of Mathraval; by every foe
Dreaded, by every friend beloved the best,
Madoc, the Briton Prince, the Ocean Lord,
Who never for injustice reared 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 returned!
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 filled
For him the Hirlas Horn.-So there was joy
In Mathraval. Cyveilioc and his Chiefs,
All eagerly, with wonder-waiting eyes,
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 gazed, 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 a 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. Seekëst thou
Comrades to share success? proclaim abroad
Thine invitation there, and it shall spread
Far as our father's ancient tongue is known.
The mantling mead went round at Mathraval;-
That was a happy hour!
Of other years
They talked, 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 beguiled the pleasant hours, while night
Waned fast away; then late they laid them down,
Each on his bed of rushes, stretched 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, arrayed.
So for the place of meeting they set forth;
And now they reached Melangall's lonely church.
Amid a grove of evergreens it stood,
A garden and a grove, where every grave
Was decked 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 loth!
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.
And drew Cyveilioe through the church-yard porch,
To the rude image of Saint Monacel. 59
Dost thou remember, Owen, said the Prince,
When first I was thy guest in early youth,
That once, as we had wandered here at eve,
You told, how here a poor and hunted hare
Ran to the Virgin's feet, and looked 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 beamed,
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.
His glancing eye fell on a monument,
Around whose base the rosemary drooped down,
As yet not rooted well. Sculptured 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.
Cyveilioc took him by the hand : For this,
Madoc, was I so loth 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 consigned to rest,
Daily due masses for his soul are sung,
And duly hath his grave been decked 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 these secret thoughts
Led him away. God prosper the brave boy!
It were a happier day for this poor land
If e'er Llewelyn mount his rightful throne.
THE place of meeting was a high hill-top, 60
Nor bowered 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 yore,
There had the circling stones been planted; there,
From earliest ages, the primeval lore,
Through Bard to Bard with reverence handed down.
They whom to wonder, or the love of song,
Or reverence of their father's ancient rites
Led thither, stood without the ring of stones.
Cyveilioc entered to the initiate Bards,
Himself, albeit his hands were stained 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. 61 The Masters of the Song
In azure robes were robed,-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.
Within the Stones of Federation there,
On the green turf, and under the blue sky,
A noble band, the Bards of Britain stood,
Their heads in reverence bare, and bare of foot.
A deathless brotherhood! Cyveilioc there,
Lord of the Hirlas; Llyware there was seen,
And old Cynddelow, to whose lofty song,
So many a time amid 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 loved
To listen,-Hoel was not there!-the hand
That once so well, amid the triple chords,
Moved 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,
Upon its bed of clay. He looked around,
And there was no familiar countenance,
None but Cynddelow's face, which he had learnt
In childhood, and old age had set his 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 favoured race
Heaven with the hereditary power had blest,
The old Gowalchmai's not degenerate child;
And there another Einion; gifted youths,
The 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
Began. Upon the Stone of Covenant
The sheathed sword was laid; the Master then
Upraised 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: 62 With that,
Heirs and transmitters of the ancient light,
The youths advanced; they heard the Cimbric lore, 63
From earliest days preserved; they struck their harps,
And each in due succession raised the song.
Last of the aspirants, as of greener years, Young Caradoc advanced; his lip as yet
Scarce darkened with its down, his flaxen locks
Wreathed in contracting ringlets waving low;
Brightened his large blue eyes, and kindled now
With that same passion that inflamed 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
Approved their claim, stood hearkening, as it seemed,
And yet like unintelligible sounds
He heard the symphony and voice attuned;
Even in such feelings as, all undefined,
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? 64 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? 65
Belike his crystal Ark, instinct with life,
Obedient to the mighty Master, reached
The Land of the Departed; there, belike,
They in the clime of immortality,
Themselves immortal, drink the gales of bliss,
Which o'er Flathinnis 66 breathe eternal spring,
Blending whatever odours make the gale
Of evening sweet, whatever melody
Charms the wood-traveller. In their high-roofed halls
There, with the Chiefs of other days, feel they
The mingled joy pervade them ?-Or beneath
The mid-sea waters, did that crystal Ark
Down to the secret depths of Ocean plunge
Its fated crew? Dwell they in coral bowers
With Mermaid loves, teaching their paramours
The songs that stir the sea, or make the winds
Hush, and the waves be still? In fields of joy
Have they their home, where central fires maintain
Perpetual summer, where one emerald light
Through the green element for ever flows? 67
Twice have the sons of Britain left her shores,
As the fledged eaglets quit their native nest;
Twice over ocean have her fearless sons
For ever sailed away. Again they launch
Their vessels to the deep.-Who mounts the bark?
The son of Owen, the beloved Prince,
Who never for injustice reared his arm.
Respect his enterprise, ye Ocean Waves!
Ye Winds of Heaven, waft Madoc on his way!
The Waves of Ocean, and the Winds of Heaven,
Became his ministers, and Madoc found
The world he sought.
Who seeks the better land?
Who mounts the vessel for the world of peace?
He who hath felt the throb of pride, to hear
Our old illustrious annals; who was taught
To lisp the fame of Arthur, to revere
Great Caratach's unconquered soul, and call
That gallant chief his countryman, who led
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