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.

KESWICK, 1805.

she was, not undeservedly, held. Her epistolary | Spaniards. The manners of the Poem, in both its style was distorted, and disfigured by her admiration of Johnson; and in her poetry she set, rather than followed, the brocade fashion of Dr. Darwin. Still there are unquestionable proofs of extraordinary talents and great ability, both in her letters and her poems. She was an exemplary daughter, a most affectionate and faithful friend. Sir Walter has estimated, with characteristic skill, her powers of criticism, and her strong prepossessions upon literary points. And believing that the more she was known, the more she would have been esteemed and admired, I bear a willing testimony to her accomplishments and her genius, to her generous disposition, her frankness, and her sincerity and warmth of heart.

KESWICK, Feb. 19, 1838.

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

The three excellencies 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, thor oughly animated, and thoroughly natural.

Triads.

PREFACE

ΤΟ

THE FIRST EDITION.

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 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 time, 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, taking the 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

* That country has now been fully explored, and wher

ever Madoc may have settled, it is now certain that no Welsh Indians are to be found upon any branches of the Missouri.

-1815.

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
Fill'd 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,
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 enterprise
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
Rush'd roaring through the waves.

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

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.

Madoc made no reply, he closed his eyes,
Groaning. But Urien, for his heart 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 sight
Turn'd dizzy from the ocean, overcome

There, through the mist and twilight, many a fire, With heavy anguish, Madoc, I have prayed
Up-flaming, stream'd upon the level sea

Red lines of lengthening light, which, far away,
Rising and falling, flash'd athwart the waves.
Thereat, full many a thought of ill disturb'd
Prince Madoc's mind; - did some new conqueror
seize

The throne of David? had the tyrant's guilt
Awaken'd vengeance to the deed of death?
Or blazed they for a brother's obsequies,

That God would please to take me to his rest.

So as he ceased his speech, a sudden shout
Of popular joy awakened 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

The Saxon's sister.

What!-in loud reply

The sport and mirth of murder? Like the lights Of our old royalty! - Thy brother weds
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 reach'd at length
Her haven, safe from her unequall'd 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 turn'd to him, and fell upon his neck;
For it was Urien, who had foster'd him,
Had loved him like a child; and Madoc loved,
Even as a father, loved he that old man.
My sister? quoth the Prince. Oh, she and I
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, sat 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 paused
In the first breath of utterance, as to choose
Fit words for uttering some unhappy tale.

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 dropp'd
Some philtre 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 Gowalchmai struck the harp.
Only Goervyl, careless of the pomp,
Sits in her solitude, lamenting thee.

Saw ye not then my banner? quoth the Lord
Of Ocean; on the topmast-head it stood

More blood, quoth Madoc, yet? Hath David's fear To tell the tale of triumph; - or did night
Forced him to still more cruelty?
Hide the glad signal, and the joy hath yet
Woe for the house of Owen !
To reach her?

Alas

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 follow'd;- 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 outlaw'd fugitive, as yet
Eludes his deadly purpose; Rodri lives,

Now had they almost attain'd
The palace portal. Urien stopp`'d, 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

Await my sovereigns! - thus the Prince replied,—
And long may our dear country rest in peace!
Enough of sorrow hath our royal house

Thou good old man' replied the Prince, be sure Known in the field of battles,—yet we reap'd

Is long, Goervyl, said the mariner,

And I in truth am weary. Many moons
Have wax'd and waned, since from that distant
world,

When stiff with toil and faint with wounds, he The country of my dreams, and hope, and faith, raised

The tear's dim lustre, and the loud-toned harp
Rung on his ear in vain;-its silence first
Roused him from dreams of days that were no more.

ΙΙ.

CADWALLON.

THEN on the morrow, at the festal board,
The Lord of Ocean thus began his tale : -

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

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 sat an old blind man; his head was raised
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,
And homely fare, and I was satisfied:
That done, he piled 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

But, Madoc, I would learn, Of nature troubled my distemper'd sense;

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

Night now was coming on; a man approach'd
And bade me to his dwelling nigh at hand.
Thither I turn'd, too weak to travel more;
For I was overspent with weariness,
And, having now no hope to bear me up,
Trouble and bodily labor master'd me.
I ask'd him of the battle: - who had fallen
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

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; and though with all my speed
I strove to reach them ere the strife began,
Alas, I sped too slow!

Grievest thou for that?
He answer'd; grievest thou that thou art spared
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.

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 all too surely in the conqueror

Thou wilt find one whom his own fears henceforth
Must make to all his kin a perilous foe.

I felt as though he wrong'd my father's sons, And raised 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,
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

Fearless he was, the Saxon found him so.
Wise was his counsel; and no supplicant
For justice ever from his palace-gate