Were wet with silent tears.

Now forth they go, And at the portal of the Church unfurl

Prince Madoc's banner: at that sight a shout Burst from his followers, and the hills and rocks Thrice echoed their acclaim.

There lie the ships,
Their sails all loose, their streamers rolling out
With sinuous flow and swell, like water-snakes,
Curling aloft; the waves are gay with boats,
Pinnace and barge and coracle,-—the sea
Swarms like the shore with life. Oh what a sight
Of beauty for the spirit unconcern'd,

If heart there be which unconcern'd could view
A sight like this! how yet more beautiful
For him, whose soul can feel and understand
The solemn import! Yonder they embark,
Youth, beauty, valour, virtue, reverend age;
Some led by love of noble enterprise,
Others, who, desperate of their country's weal,
Fly from the impending yoke; all warm alike
With confidence and high heroic hope,
And all in one fraternal bond conjoin'd
By reverence to their Chief, the best beloved
That ever yet ou hopeful enterprise
Led gallant army forth. He, even now
Lord of himself, by faith in God and love
To man subdues the feeling of this hour,
The bitterest of his being.

At this time,

Pale, and with feverish eye, the King came up,
And led him somewhat from the throng apart,
Saying, «I sent at day-break to release
Rodri from prison, meaning that with thee
He should depart in peace; but he was gone.
This very night he had escaped!-Perchance,
As I do hope,-it was thy doing, Madoc?
Is he aboard the fleet?»

<< I would he were! »
Madoc replied; «with what a lightened heart
Then should I sail away! Ririd is there.
Alone-alas! that this was done so late!»
«Reproach me not!» half sullenly the King,
Answering, exclaim'd; «Madoc, reproach me not!
Thou know'st how hardly I attain'd the throne:
And is it strange that I should guard with fear

The precious prize ?—Now,-when I would have taken
Thy counsel,-be the evil on his head!

Blame me not now, my brother, lest sometimes
I call again to mind thy parting words

And grasp'd, with trembling tenderness, his hand,
Then calm'd himself, and moved toward the boat.
Emma, though tears would have their way and sighs
Would swell, suppressing still all words of woe,
Follow'd Goervyl to the extremest shore.
But then as on the plank the maid set foot,
Did Emma, staying her by the hand, pluck out
The crucifix, which next her heart she wore
In reverence to its relic, and she cried,
Yet ere we part, change with me! dear Goervyl,-

Dear sister, loved too well, or lost too soon,-
I shall betake me often to my prayers,
Never in them, Goervyl, of thy name
Unmindful;-thou too wilt remember me
Still in thine orisons;-but God forefend
That ever misery should make thee find
This Cross thy only comforter!
She said,

And kiss'd the holy pledge, as each to each
Transferr'd the mutual gift. Nor could the Maid
Answer for agony, to that farewell;

She held Queen Emma to her breast, and close
She clasp'd her with a strong convulsive sob,
Silently. Madoc too in silence went,
But prest a kiss on Emma's lips, and left
His tears upon her cheek. With dizzy eyes
Gazing she stood, nor saw the boat push off,-
The dashing of the oars awaken'd her;
She wipes her tears away to view once more
Those dear familiar faces;-they are dim
In the distance; never shall her waking eye
Behold them, till the hour of happiness,
When death hath made her pure for perfect bliss!81

Two hearts alone of all that company,

Of all the thousands who beheld the scene, Partook unmingled joy. Dumb with delight, Young Hoel views the ships and feels the boat Rock on the heaving waves; and Llaian felt Comfort,-though sad, yet comfort,--that for her No eye was left to weep, nor heart to mourn. Hark! 't is the mariners with voice attuned Timing their toil! and now with gentle gales, Slow from the holy haven they depart!

XVIII. Rodri.

Now hath the evening settled; the broad Moon
Rolls through the rifted clouds. With gentle gales
Slowly they glide along, when they behold
A boat with press of sail and stress of oar
Speed forward to the fleet; and now, arrived
Beside the Chieftain's vessel, one enquires
If Madoc be aboard? the answer given,
Swift he ascended up the lofty side.
With joyful wonder did the Ocean Lord
Again behold Llewelyn; but he gazed
Doubtfully on his comrade's countenance,—

A meagre man, severe of brow, his eye

Stern. Thou dost view me, Madoc, he exclaim'd,
As 't were a stranger's face. I marvel not!
The long afflictions of my prison house
Have changed me.

Rodri! cried the Prince, and fell
Upon his neck;—last night, subdued at length
By my solicitations, did the King
Send to deliver thee, that thou shouldst share
My happy enterprise ;—and thou art come,
Even to my wish!

Nay, Madoc, nay, not so!
He answer'd with a stern and bitter smile;
This gallant boy had given me liberty,
And I will pay him with his father's throne:

Ay, by my father's soul!-Last night we fled
The house of bondage, and in the sea-caves
By day we lurk'd securely. Here I come,
Only to see thee once before I die,
And say farewell,-dear brother!

Would to God

This purpose could be changed! the Sea Lord cried;
But thou art roused by wrongs, and who shall tame
That lion heart?-This only, if your lot
Fall favourable, will I beseech of ye,
That to his Queen, the fair Plantagenet,
All honourable humanity ye show
For her own virtue, and in gratitude,

As she hath pleaded for you, and hath urged
Her husband on your part, till it hath turn'd
His wrath upon herself. Oh! deal ye by her
As by your dearest sister in distress!

For even so dear is she to Madoc's heart:
And now I know she from Aberfraw's tower
Watcheth these spots upon the moonlight sea,
And weeps for my departure, and for me

Sends

་

up her prayers to Heaven, nor thinks that now I must make mine to man in her behalf!

Quoth Rodri, Rest assured for her. I swear,
By our dead mother, so to deal with her
As thou thyself wouldst dictate, as herself
Shall wish.

The tears fell fast from Madoc's eyes:
O Britain! O my country! he exclaim'd,
For ever thus by civil strife convulsed,
Thy children's blood flowing to satisfy

Thy children's rage, how wilt thou still support The struggle with the Saxon?

Rodri cried,

Our strife shall not be long. Mona will rise
With joy to welcome me her rightful Lord;
And woe be to the king who rules by fear,
When danger comes against him!

Fear not thou
For Britain! quoth Llewelyn; for not yet
The country of our fathers shall resign
Her name among the nations. Though her Sun-
Slope from his eminence, the voice of man
May yet arrest him on his downward way.
My dreams by day, my visions in the night,
Are of her welfare. I shall mount the throne,-
Yes, Madoc! and the Bard of years to come,
Who harps of Arthur's and of Owen's deeds,
Shall with the Worthies of his country rank
Llewelyn's name. Dear uncle, fare thee well! —
And I almost could wish I had been born
Of humbler lot, that I might follow thee,
Companion of this noble enterprise.
Think of Llewelyn often, who will oft
Remember thee in love!

When Amadis with his prime chivalry,

He of all chivalry himself the flower,
Came from the rescue, proud of Roman spoils,
And Oriana, freed from Roman thrall.

PART II.

MADOC IN AZTLAN.

I.

The Return to Aztlan.

Now go your way, ye gallant company!
God and good Angels guard ye as ye go!
Blow fairly, Winds of Heaven! ye Ocean Waves,
Swell not in anger to that fated fleet!

For not of conquest greedy nor of gold,

Seck they the distant world.-Blow fairly, Winds! Waft, Waves of Ocean, well your blessed load!

Fair blew the Winds, and safely did the Waves Bear that beloved charge. It were a tale Would rouse adventurous courage in a boy, Making him long to be a mariner

That he might rove the main, if I should tell How pleasantly for many a summer-day, Over the sunny sea with wind at will,

Prince Madoc sailed; and of those happy Isles,
Which had he seen ere that ordained storm
Drove southward his slope course, there he had pitched
His tent, and blest his lot that it had fallen
In land so fair; and human blood had reeked
Daily on Aztlan's cursed altars still.
But other doom was his, more arduous toil
Yet to achieve, worse danger to endure,
Worse evil to be quelled, and higher good
Which passeth not away educed from ill;
Whereof all unforeseeing, yet for all
Of ready heart, he over ocean sails,
Wafted by gentle winds o'er gentle waves,
As if the elements combined to serve
The perfect Prince, by God and man beloved.
And now how joyfully he views the land,
Skirting like morning clouds the dusky sea;
With what a searching eye recals to mind
Foreland and creek and cape; how happy now
Up the great river bends at last his way!
No watchman had been stationed on the height
To seek his sails,-for with Cadwallon's hope
Too much of doubt was blended and of fear:
Yet thitherward whene'er he walked abroad
His face, as if instinctively, was turned;
And duly morn and eve Lincoya there,
As though religion led his duteous feet,
Went up to gaze. He on a staff had scored
The promised moons and days; and many a time
Counting again its often-told account,
So to beguile impatience, day by day
Smoothed off with more delight the daily notch.
But now that the appointed time was nigh,
Did that perpetual presence of his hope
Haunt him, and mingle with his sleep and mar

When man is meanest. I sate by his side,

And prayed with him and talked with him of death And life to come. O Madoc! those were hours Which even in anguish gave my soul a joy :

I think of them in solitude, and feel

The comfort of my faith.

But when that time Of bitterness was past, and I returned To daily duties, no suspicious sign Betokened ill; the Priests among us came As heretofore, and I their intercourse Encouraged as I could, suspecting nought, Nor conscious of the subtle-minded men I dealt with, how inveterate in revenge, How patient in deceit. Lincoya first Forewarned me of the danger. He, thou knowest, Had from the death of sacrifice escaped, And lived a slave among a distant tribe, When seeing us he felt a hope, that we, Lords as he deemed us of the Elements, Might pity his oppressed countrymen,

And free them from their bondage. Didst thou hear
How from yon devilish altars he was saved?
For in the eternal chain his fate and ours
Were linked together then.

The Prince replied,
I did but hear a broken tale. Tell on!

Among the Gods of yon unhappy race,
Tezcalipoca 2 as the chief they rank,
Or with the chief co-equal; maker he,
And master of created things esteemed.
He sits upon a throne of trophied skulls,
Hideous and huge; a shield is on his arm,

And with his black right hand he lifts, as though
In wrath, the menacing spear. His festival,
Of all this wicked nation's wicked rites,
With most solemnity and circumstance,
And pomp of hellish piety, is held.
From all whom evil fortune hath subdued
To their inhuman thraldom, they select
Him whom they judge, for comely countenance
And shapely form and all good natural gifts,
Worthiest to be the victim; and for this
Was young Lincoya chosen, being in truth

The flower of all his nation. For twelve months,
Their custom is, that this appointed youth

Be as the Idol's living image held.
Garbed therefore like the Demon Deity,
Whene'er he goes abroad, an antic train
With music and with dance attend his way;
The crowd before him fall and worship him;
And those infernal Priests who guard him then
To be their victim and their feast at last,
At morning and at evening incense him,
And mock him with knee-reverence. Twenty days
Before the bloody festival arrive,

As 't were to make the wretch in love with life,
Four maids the loveliest of the land are given
In spousals. With Lincoya all these rites
Duly were kept; and at the stated time,

Four maids the loveliest of the land were his.
Of these was one, whom even at that hour
He learnt to love, so excellently good
Was she; and she loved him and pitied him.
She is the daughter of an aged Priest;

I oftentimes have seen her; and in truth,
Compared with Britain's maids so beautiful,
Or with the dark-eyed daughters of the South,
She would be lovely still. Her cotton vest
Falls to the knee, and leaves her olive arms
Bare in their beauty; loose, luxuriant, long,
Flow the black tresses of her glossy hair;
Mild is her eye's jet lustre; and her voice!-
A soul which harboured evil never breathed
Such winning tones.

Thou knowest how manfully
These tribes, as if insensible to pain,
Welcome their death in battle, or in bonds
Defy their torturers. To Lincoya's mind
Long preparation now had made his fate
Familiar; and he says the thought of death
Broke not his sleep, nor mingled with his dreams,
Till Coatel was his. But then it woke;-

It hung, it prest upon him like a weight
On one who scarce can struggle with the waves;
And when her soul was full of tenderness,
That thought recurring to her, she would rest
Her cheek on his and weep.

The day drew nigh;
And now the eve of sacrifice was come.-
What will not woman, gentle woman, dare,
When strong affection stirs her spirit up?-
She gathered herbs, which, like our poppy, bear
The seed of sleep, 3 and with the temple food
Mingled their power; herself partook the food,
So best to lull suspicion; and the youth,
Instructed well, when all were laid asleep,
Fled far away.

After our conquering arms

Had freed the Hoamen from their wretched yoke,
Lincoya needed but his Coatel

To fill his sum of earthly happiness.

Her to the temple had her father's vow

Awhile devoted, and some moons were still

To pass away, ere yet she might become

A sojourner with us, Lincoya's wife,
When from the Paba's wiles his watchful mind
Foreboded ill. He bade me take good heed,
And fear the sudden kindness of a foe.

I started at his words;-these artful men,
Hostile at heart, as well we knew they were,
These were lip-lavish of their friendship now,
And courted confidence, while our tried friend
Yuhidthiton, estranged, a seldom guest,
Sullen and joyless, seemed to bear at heart
Something that rankled there. These things are strange;
The omens, too, had ceased;-
;-we heard no more

Of twilight voices, nor the unholy cloud
Steamed from the morning incense. Why was this?

Now to resume his rank;-belike his voice Might yet be heard, or if the worst befell, His timely warning save us from the snare.

But in their secret councils Malinal

No longer bore a part; the Chiefs and King
Yielding blind reverence to the Pabas now,
Deluded or dismayed. He sent to say

Some treachery was designed, and bade me charge
His brother with the crime.. On that same day,
Lincoya came from Aztlan; he had found
Coatel labouring with a wretchedness
She did not seek to hide; and when the youth
Revealed his fear, he saw her tawny cheek
Whiten, and round his neck she clung and wept.
She told him something dreadful was at hand,
She knew not what: That in the dead of night,
Coanocotzin at Mexitli's shrine

Had stood with all his nobles; human blood
Had then been offered up, and secret vows
Vowed with mysterious horror: That but late,
When to her father of the days to come
She spake, and of Lincoya and her lot
Among the strangers, he had frowned, and strove
Beneath dissembled anger to conceal

Oppressive grief. She knew not what to fear,
But something dreadful surely was at hand,
And she was wretched.

When I heard these things,

Yuhidthiton and the Priest Heluha

Were in our dwellings. Them I called apart.There should be peace between us, I began; Why is it otherwise?

The Priest replied,

Is there not peace, Cadwallon? seek we not
More frequent and more friendly intercourse,
Even we, the servants of our Country-Gods,
Whose worship ye have changed, and for whose sake
We were and would have been your enemies?
But as those Gods have otherwise ordained,
Do we obey. Why, therefore, is this doubt?
The Power who led us hither, I replied,
Over the world of waters, who hath saved,
And who will save his people, warns me now.
Then on Yuhidthiton I fixed my eye.
Danger is near! I cried; I know it near!
It comes from Aztlan.

His disordered cheek,

And the forced and steady boldness of his eye,
Which in defiance met the look it feared,
Confessed the crime. I saw his inward shame;
Yet with a pride like angry innocence
Did he make answer, I am in your hands,
And you believe me treacherous!-Kill me now!

Not so, Yuhidthiton! not so! quoth I;
You were the Strangers' friend, and yet again
That wisdom may return. We are not changed;-
Lovers of peace, we know, when danger comes,
To make the evil on the guilty head
Fall heavily and sure! with our good arms,
And our good cause, and that Almighty One,
We are enough, had we no other aid,
We of Caermadoc here, to put to shame
Aztlan, with all her strength and all her wiles.
But even now is Madoc on the seas;

He leads our brethren here; and should he find
That Aztlan hath been false,-oh! hope not then,
By force or fraud, to baffle or elude
Inevitable vengeance! While ye may,
Look to your choice; for we are friends or foes,
Even to your own desert.

So saying, I left

The astonished men, whose unprovided minds
Failed them; nor did they aim at answer more,
But homeward went their way. Nor knew I then,—
For this was but a thing of yesterday,―
How near the help I boasted. Now, I trust,
Thy coming shall discomfit all their wiles.

III.

colin.

Nor yet at rest, my Sister! quoth the Prince,
As at her dwelling-door he saw the Maid
Sit gazing on that lovely moonlight scene :—
To bed, Goervyl Dearest, what hast thou
To keep thee wakeful here at this late hour,
When even I shall bid a truce to thought,
And lay me down in peace?-Good night, Goervyl!
Dear sister mine,—my own dear mother's child!

She rose and bending on with lifted arms,
Met the fond kiss, obedient then withdrew.
Yet could not he so lightly as he weened
Lay wakeful thoughts aside, for he foresaw
Long strife and hard adventure to achieve,

And forms of danger vague disturbed his dreams.
Early at morn the colonists arose ;

Some pitch the tent-pole, and pin down the lines
That stretch the o'er-awning canvass; to the wood
Others with saw and axe and bill for stakes
And undergrowth to weave the wicker walls;
These to the ships, with whom Cadwallon sends
The Elk and Bison, broken to the yoke.

Ere noon Erillyab and her son arrived,
To greet the Chief. She wore no longer now
The lank loose locks of careless widowhood;
Her braided tresses round her brow were bound,
Bedecked with tufts of grey and silvery plumes
Plucked from the eagle's pennons. She with eye
And countenance which spake no feigned delight,
Welcomed her great deliverer. But her son
Had Nature charactered so legibly,

That when his tongue told fair, his face bewrayed
The lurking falsehood; sullen, slow of speech,
Savage, down-looking, dark, that at his words
Of welcome, Madoc in his heart conceived
Instinctive enmity.

In a happy hour
Did the Great Spirit, said Erillyab,
Give bidding to the Winds to speed thee here!
For this I made my prayer; and when He sent
For the Beloved Teacher, to restore him
Eyesight and youth, of him I then besought,
As he had been thy friend and ours on earth,
That he would intercede.-Brother, we know,
That the Great Spirit loves thee; He hath blest
Thy going and thy coming, and thy friends