Another shield, to save him, till his hand, Familiar with its weight and shape uncouth, Might wield it well to vengeance. Thus he stood, Baffling the impatient enemy, who now Wax'd wrathful, thus to waste, in idle strokes, Reiterate so oft, his bootless strength. And now yet more exasperate he grew; For from the eager multitude was heard, Amid the din of undistinguish'd sounds,
To kindle in his heart a fiercer thirst For vengeance. Nor to Madoc was the sting Of anger wanting, when in Tlalala He knew the captive whom his mercy freed, The man whose ambush had that day destroyed Young Hoel and himself; - for sure he deem'd Young Hoel was with God, and he himself At his death day arrived. And now he grasp'd A second sword, and held another shield;
The Tiger's murmur'd name, as though they And from the Stone of Blood Ocellopan
Had he been on the Stone, ere this, besure, The Gods had tasted of their sacrifice, Now all too long delayed. Then fiercelier, And yet more rapidly, he drove the sword; But still the wary Prince or met its fall,
Was borne away; and, fresh in arms, and fierce With all that makes a savage thirst for war, Hope, vengeance, courage, superstitious hate, A second foe came on. By this the Prince Could wield his weapon well; and dreading now Lest, in protracted combat, he might stand
And broke the force, or bent him from the blow; Again defenceless, he put forth his strength, And now retiring, and advancing now, As one free foot permitted, still provoked, And baffled still the savage; and sometimes With cautious strength did Madoc aim attack, Mastering each moment now with abler sway The acquainted sword. But, though as yet unharm'd
In life or limb, more perilous the strife Grew momently; for with repeated strokes, Battered and broken now, the shield hung loose; And shouts of triumph from the multitude Arose, as piecemeal they beheld it fall, And saw the Prince exposed.
As oft assailing as assailed, and watch'd So well the Tiger's motions, and received The Tiger's blows so warily, and aimed His own so fierce and fast, that in the crowd Doubt and alarm prevailed. Ilanquel grew Pale at her husband's danger; and she clasp'd The infant to her breast, whom late she held On high, to see his victory. The throng Of the beholders silently look'd on; And in their silence might at times be heard An indrawn breath of terror; and the Priests Angrily murmured, that in evil hour, Coanocotzin had indulged the pride Of vaunting valor, and from certain death Reprieved the foe.
That welcome sight, Those welcome sounds, inspired Ocellopan; He felt each limb new-strung. Impatient now Of conquest long delay'd, with wilder rage He drives the weapon; Madoc's lifted sword Received its edge, and shiver'd with the blow. A shriek of transport burst from all around; For lo! the White King, shieldless, weaponless, Naked before his foe! That savage foe, Dallying with the delight of victory, Drew back a moment to enjoy the sight, Then yell'd in triumph, and sprang on to give The consummating blow. Madoc beheld The coming death; he darted up his hand Instinctively to save, and caught the wrist In its mid fall, and drove with desperate force The splintered truncheon of his broken sword Full in the enemy's face. Beneath his eye It broke its way, and where the nasal nerves Branch in fine fibrils o'er their mazy seat, Burst through, and, slanting upward, in the brain Resign'd itself to death, and Madoc thought Buried its jagged point.
But now a murmur rose Amid the multitude; and they who stood So thickly throng'd, and with such eager eyes Late watch'd the fight, hastily now broke up. And with disorder'd speed and sudden arms, Ran to the city gates. More eager now, Conscious of what had chanced, fought Tlalala : And hope invigorated Madoc's heart; For well he ween'd Cadwallon was at hand, Leading his gallant friends. Aright he ween'd; At hand Cadwallon was! His gallant friends Came from the mountains with impetuous speed, To save or to revenge. Nor long endured The combat now: the Priests ascend the stone, And bid the Tiger hasten to defend
Stood at his fall astonished, at escape Unhoped, and strange success. The multitude Beheld, and they were silent, and they stood Gazing in terror. But far other thoughts Rose in the Tiger's heart; it was a joy To Tlalala; and forth he sprung, and up The Stone of Sacrifice, and call'd aloud To bring the Prince another sword and shield, For his last strife. Then, in that interval, Upon Ocellopan he fixed his eyes, Contemplating the dead, as though thereby
His country and his Gods; and, hand and foot, Binding the captive Prince, they bear him thence, And lay him in the temple. Then his heart
Of Llaian and Goervyl; and he felt That death was dreadful. But not so the King Permitted; but not so had Heaven decreed; For noble was the King of Aztlan's heart, And pure his tongue from falsehood: he had said, That by the warrior's death should Madoc die; Nor dared the Pabas violently break The irrevocable word. There Madoc lay In solitude; the distant battle reach'd His ear; inactive and in bonds he lay, Expecting the dread issue, and almost Wish'd for the perils of the fight again.
Nor unprepared Cadwallon found the sons Of Aztlan, nor defenceless were her walls; But when the Britons' distant march was seen, A ready army issued from her gates,
And dight themselves to battle: these the King Coanocotzin had, with timely care,
And provident for danger, thus arrayed. Forth issuing from the gates, they met the foe, And with the sound of sonorous instruments, And with their shouts, and screams, and yells, drove back
The Britons' fainter war-cy, as the swell Of ocean, flowing onward, up its course Repels the river-stream. Their darts and stones Fell like the rain drops of the summer-shower, So fast, and on the helmet and the shield, On the strong corselet and the netted mail, So innocent they fell. But not in vain The bowmen of Deheubarth sent, that day, Their iron bolts abroad; those volant deaths Descended on the naked multitude, And through the chieftain's quilted gossampine, Through feathery breastplate and effulgent gold, They reach'd the life.
For archers' art was left, nor scope for flight Of stone from whirling sling: both hosts, alike Impatient for the proof of war, press on; The Aztecas, to shun the arrowy storm, The Cymry, to release their Lord, or heap Aztlan in ruins, for his monument.
Spear against spear, and shield to shield, and breast To breast, they met; equal in force of limb, And strength of heart, in resolute resolve And stubborn effort of determined wrath: The few, advantaged by their iron mail; The weaklier arm'd, of near retreat assured And succor close at hand, in tenfold troops Their foemen overnumbering. And of all That mighty multitude, did every man Of either host, alike inspired by all That stings to will and strengthens to perform, Then put forth all his power; for well they knew Aztlan that day must triumph or must fall. Then sword and mace on helm and buckler rang, And hurtling javelins whirr'd along the sky. Nor when they hurled the javelin, did the sons Of Aztlan, prodigal of weapons, loose The lance, to serve them for no second stroke; A line of ample measure still retain'd
The missile shaft; and when its blow was spent, Swiftly the dexterous spearman coiled the string, And sped again the artificer of death. Rattling, like summer hailstones, they descend, But from the Britons' iron panoply, Baffled and blunted, fell; nor more avail'd The stony falchion there, whose broken edge Inflicts no second wound; nor profited, On the strong buckler or the crested helm, The knotty club; though fast, in blinding showers,
Those javelins fly, those heavy weapons fall With stunning weight. Meantime, with wonted strength,
The men of Gwyneth through their fenceless foes Those lances thrust, whose terrors had so oft Affrayed the Saxons, and whose home-driven points
So oft had pierced the Normen's knightly arms. Little did then his pomp of plumes bestead The Azteca, or glittering pride of gold, Against the tempered sword; little his casque, Gay with its feathery coronal, or dress'd In graven terrors, when the Britons' hand Drove in through helm and head the short-piked mace;
Or swung its iron weights with shattering sway, Which, where they struck, destroyed. Beneath those arms
The men of Aztlan fell; and whoso dropp'd Dead or disabled, him his comrades bore Away with instant caution, lest the sight Of those whom they had slaughtered might inspire The foe with hope and courage. Fast they fell, And fast were resupplied, man after man Succeeding to the death. Nor in the town Did now the sight of their slain countrymen, Momentarily carried in and piled in heaps, Awake one thought of fear. Hark! through the
Of Aztlan, how from house to house, and tower To tower, reiterate, Paynalton's name Calls all her sons to battle! at whose name All must go forth, and follow to the field The Leader of the Armies of the Gods, Whom, in his unseen power, Mexitli now Sends out to lead his people. They, in crowds, Throng for their weapons to the House of Arms, Beneath their guardian Deity preserved,
Through years of peace; and there the Pabas stood Within the temple-court, and dealt around The ablution of the Stone of Sacrifice, Bidding them, with the holy beverage, Imbibe diviner valor, strength of arm Not to be wearied, hope of victory,
And certain faith of endless joy in Heaven, Their sure reward. Oh, happy, cried the Priests, Your brethren who have fallen! already they Have joined the company of blessed souls; Already they, with song and harmony, And in the dance of beauty, are gone forth, To follow down his western path of light Yon Sun, the Prince of Glory, from the world Retiring to the Palace of his rest.
Oh, happy they, who, for their country's cause, And for their Gods, shall die the brave man's death!
Them will their country consecrate with praise! Them will the Gods reward! They heard the
Priests Intoxicate, and from the gate swarmed out, Tumultuous, to the fight of martyrdom.
But when Cadwallon every moment saw The enemies increase, and with what rage Of drunken valor to the fight they rush'd,
He, against that impetuous attack,
As best he could, providing, form'd the troops Of Britain into one collected mass: Three equal sides it offered to the foe, Close and compact; no multitude could break The
condensed strength; its narrow point press'd on,
Entering the throng's resistance, like a wedge, Still from behind impell'd. So, thought the Chief, Likeliest the gates of Aztlan might be gain'd, And Hoel and the Prince preserved, if yet They were among mankind. Nor could the force Of hostile thousands break that strength con- densed,
Against whose iron sides the stream of war Roll'd unavailing, as the ocean waves Which idly round some insulated rock Foam furious, warning with their silvery smoke The mariner far off. Nor could the point Of that compacted body, though it bore Right on the foe, and with united force Press'd on to enter, through the multitude Win now its difficult way; as where the sea Pours through some strait its violent waters, swoln By inland fresh, vainly the oarmen there With all their weight and strength essay to drive Their galley through the ass, the stress and strain Availing scarce to stem the impetuous stream.
And hark! above the deafening din of fight Another shout, heard like the thunder-peal, Amid the war of winds! Lincoya comes, Leading the mountain-dwellers. From the shock Aztlan recoil'd. And now a second troop Of Britons to the town advanced, for war Impatient and revenge. Cadwallon these, With tidings of their gallant Prince enthrall'd, Had summoned from the ships. That dreadful tale Roused them to fury. Not a man was left To guard the fleet; for who could have endured That idle duty? who could have endured The long, inactive, miserable hours, And hope, and expectation, and the rage Of maddening anguish? Ririd led them on; In whom a brother's love had call'd not up More spirit-stirring pain, than trembled now In every British heart; so dear to all Was Madoc. On they came; and Aztlan then Had fled appall'd; but in that dangerous hour Her faith preserved her. From the gate her Priests Rush'd desperate out, and to the foremost rank Forced their wild way, and fought with martyr zeal. Through all the host contagious fury spread; Nor had the sight that hour enabled them To mightier efforts, had Mexitli, clad In all his imaged terrors, gone before
Their way, and driven upon his enemies His giant club destroying. Then more fierce The conflict grew; the din of arms, the yell Of savage rage, the shriek of agony, The groan of death, commingled in one sound Of undistinguished horrors: while the Sun, Retiring slow beneath the plain's far verge, Shed o'er the quiet hills his fading light.
SILENT and solitary is thy vale, Caermadoc, and how melancholy now That solitude and silence! · Broad noon-day, And not a sound of human life is there! The fisher's net, abandoned in his haste, Sways idly in the waters; in the tree, Where its last stroke had pierced, the hatchet hangs :
The birds, beside the mattock and the spade, Hunt in the new-turn'd mould, and fearlessly Fly through the cage-work of the imperfect wall; Or through the vacant dwelling's open door, Pass and repass secure.
And on his bed of reeds, Goervyl lies, Her face toward the ground. She neither weeps, Nor sighs, nor groans; too strong her agony For outward sign of anguish, and for prayer Too hopeless was the ill; and though, at times, The pious exclamation past her lips, Thy will be done! yet was that utterance Rather the breathing of a broken heart, Than of a soul resigned. Mervyn, beside, Hangs over his dear mistress silently, Having no hope or comfort to bestow, Nor aught but sobs and unavailing tears. The women of Caermadoc, like a flock Collected in their panic, stand around The house of their lost leader; and they too Are mute in their despair. Llaian alone Is absent; wildly hath she wander'd forth To seek her child; and such the general woe, That none hath mark'd her absence. Yet have they,
Though unprotected thus, no selfish fear; The sudden evil had destroyed all thought, All sense, of present danger to themselves, All foresight.
Yet new terrors! Malinal, Panting with speed, bursts in, and takes the arms Of Madoc down. Goervyl, at that sound, Started in sudden hope; but when she saw The Azteca, she uttered a faint scream Of wrongful fear, remembering not the proofs Of his tried truth, nor recognizing aught In those known features, save their hostile hue. But he, by worser fear abating soon Her vain alarm, exclaim'd, I saw a band Of Hoamen coming up the straits, for ill, Besure, for Amalahta leads them on. Buckle this harness on, that, being arm'd, may defend the entrance.
Fastened the breastplate with her trembling hands, When, flying from the sight of men in arms, The women crowded in. Hastily he seized The shield and spear, and on the threshold took His stand; but, waken'd now to provident thought, Goervyl, following, helm'd him. There was now
No time to gird the bauldric on; she held Her brother's sword, and bade him look to her For prompt supply of weapons; in herself Being resolved not idly to abide, Nor unprepared of hand or heart to meet The issue of the danger, nor to die Reluctant now.
Rightly had they divined
The Hoaman's felon purpose. When he heard The fate of Madoc, from his mother's eye He mask'd his secret joy, and took his arms, And to the rescue, with the foremost band, Set forth. But soon upon the way, he told The associates of his crime, that now their hour Of triumph was arrived; Caermadoc, left Defenceless, would become, with all its wealth, The spoiler's easy prey-raiment, and arms, And iron; skins of that sweet beverage, Which to a sense of its own life could stir The joyful blood; the women, above all, Whom to the forest they might bear away, To be their slaves, if so their pleasure was; Or, yielding them to Aztlan, for such prize Receive a royal guerdon. Twelve there were, Long leagued with him in guilt, who turn'd aside: And they have reach'd Caermadoc now, and now Rush onward where they see the women fly; When, on the threshold, clad in Cimbric arms, And with long lance protended, Malinal Rebuffs them from the entrance. At that sight Suddenly quail'd, they stood, as midnight thieves Who find the master waking; but erelong, Gathering a boastful courage, as they saw No other guard, press'd forward, and essay'd To turn his spear aside. Its steady point, True to the impelling strength, held on, and thrust The foremost through the breast, and breath and blood
Followed the re-drawn shaft. Nor seem'd the strife Unequal now, though, with their numbers, they Beleaguer'd in half-ring the door, where he, The sole defender, stood. From side to side So well and swiftly did he veer the lance, That every enemy beheld its point Aim'd at himself direct. But chief on one Had Malinal his deadly purpose fix'd, On Amalahta; by his death to quell The present danger, and cut off the root Of many an evil, certain else to spring From that accursed stock. On him his eye Turn'd with more eager wilfulness, and dwelt With keener ken; and now, with sudden step Bending his body on, at him he drives The meditated blow; but that ill Prince, As chiefly sought, so chiefly fearing, swerved Timely aside; and ere the Azteca Recovered from the frustrate aim, the spear Was seized, and from his hold by stress and weight Of numbers wrench'd. He, facing still the foe, And holding at arm's length the targe, put back His hand, and called Goervyl, and from her Received the sword; - - in time, for the enemy Press'd on so near, that, having now no scope To raise his arm, he drove the blade straight on. It entered at the mouth of one who stood
With face aslant, and glanced along the teeth Through to the ear, then, slivering downward, left The cheek-flap dangling. He, in that same point Of time, as if a single impulse gave
Birth to the double action, dash'd his shield Against another's head, with so fierce swing And sway of strength, that his third enemy Fell at his feet. Astounded by such proof Of prowess, and by unexpected loss Dismayed, the foe gave back, beyond the reach Of his strong arm; and there awhile they stood, Beholding him at bay, and counselling How best to work their vengeance upon him, Their sole opponent. Soon did they behold The vantage, overlook'd by hasty hope, How vulnerable he stood, his arms and thighs Bare for their butt. At once they bent their bows; At once ten arrows fled; seven, shot in vain, Rung on his shield; but, with unhappier mark, Two shafts hung quivering in his leg; a third Below the shoulder pierced. Then Malinal Groan'd, not for anguish of his wounds, but grief And agony of spirit; yet resolved
To his last gasp to guard that precious post, Nor longer able to endure afoot, He, falling on his knees, received unharm'd Upon the shield, now ample for defence, Their second shower, and still defied the foe. But they, now sure of conquest, hasten'd on To thrust him down; and he too felt his strength Ebbing away. Goervyl, in that hour Of horror and despair, collected still, Caught him, and by the shoulders drew him in; And, calling on her comrades, with their help Shut to the door in time, and with their weight Secured it, not their strength; for she alone, Found worthy of her noble ancestry, In this emergence felt her faculties
All present, and heroic strength of heart, To cope with danger and contempt of death. Shame on ye, British women! shame! exclaim'd The daughter of King Owen, as she saw The trembling hands and bloodless countenance Pale as sepulchral marble; silent some; Others with womanish cries lamenting now That ever, in unhappy hour, they left Their native land; - - a pardonable fear; For hark, the war-whoop! sound, whereto the Of tigers or hyenas, heard at night By captive from barbarian foes escaped, And wandering in the pathless wilderness, Were music. Shame on ye! Goervyl cried; Think what your fathers were, your husbands what, And what your sons should be! These savages Seek not to wreak on ye immediate death; So are ye safe, if safety such as this Be worth a thought; and in the interval We yet may gain, by keeping to the last This entrance, easily to be maintain'd By us, though women, against foes so few ;- Who knows what succor chance, or timely thought
Of our own friends may send, or Providence, Who slumbereth not?- While thus she spake, a
In at the window came, of one who sought That way to win the entrance. She drew out The arrow through the ar.n of Malinal,' With gentle care,- the readiest weapon that, And held it short above the bony barb, And, adding deeds to words, with all her might She stabbed it through the hand. The sudden pain
Provoked a cry, and back the savage fell, Loosening his hold, and maim'd for further war. Nay! leave that entrance open! she exclaim'd To one who would have closed it, — who comes
Shall not go thence so cheaply! —for she now Had taken up a spear to guard that way, Easily guarded, even by female might. O heart of proof! what now avails thy worth And excellent courage? for the savage foe, With mattock and with spade, for other use Design'd, hew now upon the door, and rend The wattled sides; and they within shrink back, For now it splinters through,—and lo, the way Is open to the spoiler !
Then once more, Collecting his last strength, did Malinal Rise on his knees, and over him the maid Stands with the ready spear, she guarding him Who guarded her so well. Roused to new force By that exampled valor, and with will To achieve one service yet before he died, If death indeed, as sure he thought, were nigh, Malinal gathered up his fainting powers; And reaching forward, with a blow that threw His body on, upon the knee he smote One Hoaman more, and brought him to the ground. The foe fell over him; but he, prepared, Threw him with sudden jerk aside, and rose Upon one hand, and with the other plunged Between his ribs the mortal blade. Meantime Amalahta, rushing in blind eagerness To seize Goervyl, set at nought the power Of female hands, and stooping as he came, Beneath her spear-point, thought with lifted arm To turn the thrust aside. But she drew back, And lowered at once the spear, with aim so sure, That on the front it met him, and ploughed up The whole scalp-length. He, blinded by the blood, Staggered aside, escaping by that chance A second push, else mortal. And by this, The women, learning courage from despair, And by Goervyl's bold example fired, Took heart, and rushing on with one accord, Drove out the foe. Then took they hope; for then They saw but seven remain in plight for war; And, knowing their own number, in the pride Of strength, caught up stones, staves, or axe, or
To hostile use converting whatsoe'er
The hasty hand could seize. Such fierce attack Confused the ruffian band; nor had they room To aim the arrow, nor to speed the spear, Each now beset by many. But their Prince, Still mindful of his purport, call'd to them— Secure my passage while I bear away
The White King's Sister; having her, the law
Of peace is in our power. And on he went Toward Goervyl, and, with sudden turn, While on another foe her eye was fix'd, Ran in upon her, and stoop'd down, and clasp'd The maid above the knees, and throwing her Over his shoulder, to the valley straits Set off; -ill seconded in ill attempt; For now his comrades are too close beset To aid their Chief, and Mervyn hath beheld His lady's peril. At the sight, inspired With force, as if indeed that manly garb
| Had clothed a manly heart, the Page ran on, And with a bill-hook striking at his ham, Cut the back sinews. Amalahta fell;" The Maid fell with him: and she first hath risen, While, grovelling on the earth, he gnash'd his teeth For agony. Yet, even in those pangs, Remembering still revenge, he turn'd and seized Goervyl's skirt, and pluck'd her to the ground, And roll'd himself upon her, and essayed To kneel upon her breast; but she clinch'd fast His bloody locks, and drew him down aside, Faint now with anguish, and with loss of blood; And Mervyn, coming to her help again, As once again he rose, around the neck Seized him, with throttling grasp, and held him down,
Strange strife and horrible, till Malinal Crawl'd to the spot, and thrust into his groin The mortal sword of Madoc; he himself, At the same moment, fainting, now no more By his strong will upheld, the service done. The few surviving traitors, at the sight Of their fallen Prince and Leader, now too late Believed that some diviner power had given These female arms strength for their overthrow, Themselves proved weak before them, as, of late, Their God, by Madoc crush'd.
Away they fled Toward the valley straits; but in the gorge Erillyab met their flight: and then her heart, Boding the evil, smote her, and she bade Her people seize, and bring them on in bonds, For judgment. She herself, with quicken'd pace, Advanced, to know the worst; and o'er the dead Casting a rapid glance, she knew her son. She knew him by his garments, by the work Of her own hands; for now his face, besmeared And black with gore, and stiffened in its pangs, Bore of the life no semblance. - God is good! She cried, and closed her eyelids, and her lips Shook, and her countenance changed. But in her heart
She quell'd the natural feeling. — Bear away These wretches! to her followers she exclaim'd; And root them from the earth. Then she ap- proach'd
Goervyl, who was pale and trembling now, Exhausted with past effort; and she took Gently the maiden's tremulous hand, and said, God comfort thee, my Sister! At that voice Of consolation, from her dreamy state, Goervyl to a sense of all her wod Awoke, and burst into a gush of tears God comfort thee, my Sister! cried the Queen,
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