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 gather'd up his strength to speak,
Speech fail'd him, his lip falter'd, and his eye
Fell utterly abash'd, 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,
Unheard: what marvel, therefore, if we find
No ready answer? Let our Lord the King
Do that which seemeth best.

and in the land till now

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 ask'd of mine own heart if it were so,
And, as he said, the living instinct there
Answer'd, and own'd 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 clamor 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, No blood shall flow in sacrifice; the rites Shall all be pure, such as the blind Old Man, 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 honorable 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 follow'd 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 come, 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 bless'd the earth, My lot hath been assign'd; 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.

IX.

EMMA.

BUT while Aberfraw echoed to the sounds
Of merriment and music, Madoc's heart
Mourn'd for his brethren. Therefore, when no ea
Was nigh, he sought the King, and said to him,
To-morrow, for Mathraval I set forth;
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
Their summons, my brother! so, secure,
You may forgive the past, and once again
Will peace and concord bless our father's house.

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 turn'd away; nor further 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 sat 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
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 fea Fled to the cheek of Emma, and her eye, Quickening with wonder, turn'd 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 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 vengeance they must call from Hea

[ven!

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 suck'd 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 Have drawn this dolorous 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;

Cold winds have check'd, and blighting seasons

Now for Mathraval went Prince Madoc forth;
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 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 Tower; -alas! from thence,
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 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 turn'd he now
Beside Kregennan, where his infant feet
Had trod Edny wain's hall; nor loitered he
In the green vales of Powys, till he came
Where Warnway rolls its waters underneath
Ancient Mathraval's venerable walls,
Cyveilioc's princely and paternal seat.

But Madoc sprung not forward now to greet The chief he loved, for from Cyveilioc's hall The voice of harp and song commingled came; It was that day the feast of victory there; Around the Chieftain's board the warriors sat; 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 Play'd o'er the reddening steel. The Chiefs, who So well had wielded in the work of war Those weapons, sat around the board, to quaff

[late

Mathraval's Lord, the Poet and the Prince,
Cyveilioc, stood before them, in his pride;
His hands were on the harp, his eyes were closed,
His head, as if in reverence to receive
The inspiration, bent; anon, he raised

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-tipp'd 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 woundsThe 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 yore;
And bear the golden lip to Tudyr's hand,
Eagle of battle! For Moreiddig fill
The honorable 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 honor 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 honor 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-strown 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 honorable 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 honorable Horn!
This for Mathraval is a happy hour,
When Madoc, her hereditary guest,
Appears within her honor'd walls again,
Madoc, the British Prince, the Ocean Lord,
Who never for injustice rear'd his arm;
Whose presence fills the heart of every foe
With fear, the heart of every friend with joy;
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;
So in Mathraval there was double joy
On that illustrious day; they gave their guest
The seat of honor, and they fill'd for him
The Hirlas Horn. Cyveilioc and his Chiefs,
All eagerly, with wonder-waiting eyes,
Look to the Wanderer of the Water's tale.
Nor mean the joy which kindled Madoc's brow,
When as he told of daring enterprise

Crown'd 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.

Thus at Mathraval went the Hirlas round; A happy day was that! Of other years They talk'd, of common toils, and fields of war, Where they fought side by side; of Corwen's scene 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, stretch'd around The central fire.

The Sun was newly risen When Madoc join'd his host, no longer now Clad, as the conquering chief of Maclor, 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 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 forever 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, And drew Cyveilioc through the church-yard porch, To the rude image of Saint Monacel. 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