Even as He strengthens me. I would not raise Deceitful hope, but in His Hand, even yet, The issue hangs, and He is merciful.

Yea, daughter of Aberfraw, take thou hope! For Madoc lives! - he lives to wield the sword Of righteous vengeance, and accomplish all.

XVII.

THE DELIVERANCE.

MADOC, meantime, in bonds and solitude,
Lay listening to the tumult. How his heart
Panted! how then, with fruitless strength, he strove
And struggled for enlargement, as the sound
Of battle from without the city came;
While all things near were still, nor foot of man,
Nor voice, in that deserted part, were heard.
At length one light and solitary step
Approach'd the place; a woman cross'd the door;
From Madoc's busy mind her image pass'd
Quick as the form that caused it; but not so
Did the remembrance fly from Coatel,
That Madoc lay in bonds. That thought possess'd
Her soul, and made her, as she garlanded
The fane of Coatlantona with flowers,
Tremble in strong emotion.

It was now

The hour of dusk; the Pabas all were gone,
Gone to the battle; none could see her steps;
The gate was nigh. A momentary thought
Shot through her; she delay'd not to reflect,
But hastened to the Prince, and took the knife
Of sacrifice, which by the altar hung,
And cut his bonds, and with an eager eye,
Motioning haste and silence, to the gate
She led him. Fast along the forest way,
And fearfully, he followed to the chasm.
She beckon'd, and descended, and drew out
From underneath her vest, a cage, or net
It rather might be called, so fine the twigs
Which knit it, where, confined, two fire-flies gave
Their lustre. By that light did Madoc first
Behold the features of his lovely guide;
And through the entrance of the cavern gloom,
He followed in full trust.

Now have they reach'd
The abrupt descent; there Coatel held forth
Her living lamp, and turning, with a smile
Sweet as good Angels wear when they present
Their mortal charge before the throne of Heaven,
She show'd where little Hoel slept below.
Poor child! he lay upon that very spot,
The last whereto his feet had follow'd her;
And, as he slept, his hand was on the bones
Of one who years agone had perish'd there,
There, on the place where last his wretched eyes
Could catch the gleam of day. But when the
voice,

And stretch'd his arms to reach him. Madoc hush'd

The dangerous transport, raised him up the ascent,
And followed Coatel again, whose face,
Though tears of pleasure still were coursing down,
Betokened fear and haste. Adown the wood
They went; and, coasting now the lake, her eye
First what they sought beheld, a light canoe,
Moor'd to the bank. Then in her arms she took
The child, and kiss'd him with maternal love,
And placed him in the boat; but when the Prince,
With looks, and gestures, and imperfect words,
Such as the look, the gesture, well explain'd,
Urged her to follow, doubtfully she stood:
A dread of danger, for the thing she had done,
Came on her, and Lincoya rose to mind.
Almost she had resolved; but then she thought
Of her dear father, whom that flight would leave
Alone in age; how he would weep for her,
As one among the dead, and to the grave
Go sorrowing; or, if ever it were known
What she had dared, that on his head the weight
Of punishment would fall. That dreadful fear
Resolved her, and she waved her head, and raised
Her hand, to bid the Prince depart in haste,
With looks whose painful seriousness forbade
All further effort. Yet unwillingly,
And boding evil, Madoc from the shore
Push'd off his little boat. She on its way
Stood gazing for a moment, lost in thought,
Then struck into the woods.

Swift through the lake
Madoc's strong arm impell'd the light canoe.
Fainter and fainter to his distant ear
The sound of battle came; and now the Moon
Arose in heaven, and poured o'er lake and land
A soft and mellowing ray. Along the shore
Llaian was wandering with distracted steps,
And groaning for her child. She saw the boat
Approach; and as on Madoc's naked limbs,
And on his countenance, the moonbeam fell,
And as she saw the boy in that dim light,
It seemed as though the Spirits of the dead
Were moving on the waters; and she stood
With open lips that breathed not, and fix'd eyes,
Watching the unreal shapes: but when the boat
Drew nigh, and Madoc landed, and she saw
His step substantial, and the child came near,
Unable then to move, or speak, or breathe,
Down on the sand she sank.
But who can tell,
Who comprehend, her agony of joy,
When, by the Prince's care restored to sense,
She recognized her child, she heard the name
Of mother from that voice, which, sure, she
'thought

Had pour'd upon some Priest's remorseless ear
Its last vain prayer for life? No tear relieved
The insupportable feeling that convulsed
Her swelling breast. She look'd, and look'd, and
felt

The child, lest some delusion should have mock'd
Her soul to madness; then the gushing joy
Burst forth, and with caresses and with tears
She mingled broken prayers of thanks to Heaven.

XVIII.

THE VICTORY.

MERCIFUL God! how horrible is night
Upon the plain of Aztlan! there the shout
Of battle, the barbarian yell, the bray

Of dissonant instruments, the clang of arms,
The shriek of agony, the groan of death,
In one wild uproar and continuous din,
Shake the still air; while, overhead, the Moon,
Regardless of the stir of this low world,
Holds on her heavenly way. Still unallay'd
By slaughter raged the battle, unrelax'd
By lengthened toil; anger supplying still
Strength undiminish'd for the desperate strife.
And lo! where, yonder, on the temple top,
Blazing alcft, the sacrificial fire,

Scene more accurst and hideous than the war,
Displays to all the vale; for whosoe'er
That night the Aztecas could bear away,
Hoaman or Briton, thither was he borne;
And as they stretch'd him on the stone of blood,
Did the huge tambour of the God, with voice
Loud as the thunder-peal, and heard as far,
Proclaim the act of death, more visible
Than in broad day-light, by those midnight fires
Distinctlier seen. Sight that with horror fill'd
The Cymry, and to mightier efforts roused.
Howbeit, this abhorred idolatry
Work'd for their safety; the deluded foes,
Obstinate in their faith, forbearing still

The mortal stroke, that they might to the God
Present the living victim, and to him
Let the life flow.

And now the orient sky
Glow'd with the ruddy morning, when the Prince
Came to the field. He lifted up his voice,
And shouted, Madoc! Madoc! They who heard
The cry, astonish'd, turn'd; and when they saw
The countenance his open helm disclosed,
They echoed, Madoc! Madoc! Through the host
Spread the miraculous joy — He lives! he lives!
He comes himself in arms! - Lincoya heard,
As he had raised his arm to strike a foe,
And stay'd the stroke, and thrust him off, and cried,
Go tell the tidings to thy countrymen,
Madoc is in the war! Tell them his God
Hath set the White King free! Astonishment
Seized on the Azteca; on all who heard,
Amazement and dismay; and Madoc now
Stood in the foremost battle, and his sword
His own good sword-flash'd like the sudden
death

Of lightning in their eyes.

The King of Aztlan Heard and beheld, and in his noble heart Heroic hope arose. Forward he moved, And in the shock of battle, front to front, Encountered Madoc. A strong-statured man Coanocotzin stood, one well who knew The ways of war, and never yet in fight Had found an equal foe. Adown his back Hung the long robe of feathered royalty;

Gold fenced his arms and legs; upon his helm
A sculptured snake protends the arrowy tongue;
Around a coronal of plumes arose,

Brighter than beam the rainbow hues of light,
Or than the evening glories which the sun
Slants o'er the moving, many-color'd sea —
Such their surpassing beauty; bells of gold
Emboss'd his glittering helmet, and where'er
Their sound was heard, there lay the press of war,
And Death was busiest there. Over the breast
And o'er the golden breastplate of the King,
A feathery cuirass, beautiful to eye,

Light as the robe of peace, yet strong to save;
For the sharp falchion's baffled edge would glide
From its smooth softness. On his arm he held
A buckler overlaid with beaten gold;

And so he stood, guarding his thighs and legs,
His breast and shoulders also, with the length
Of his broad shield.

Opposed, in mail complete,
Stood Madoc in his strength. The flexile chains
Gave play to his full muscles, and displayed
How broad his shoulders, and his ample breast.
Small was his shield, there broadest where it fenced
The well of life, and gradual to a point
Lessening, steel-strong, and wieldy in his grasp.
It bore those blazoned eaglets, at whose sight,
Along the Marches, or where holy Dee
Through Cestrian pastures rolls his tamer stream,
So oft the yeoman had, in days of yore,
Cursing his perilous tenure, wound the horn,
And warden from the castle-tower rung out
The loud alarum-bell, heard far and wide.
Upon his helm no sculptured dragon sat,
Sat no fantastic terrors; a white plume
Nodded above, far-seen, floating like foam
Upon the stream of battle, always where
The tide ran strongest. Man to man opposed,
The Sea Lord and the King of Aztlan stood.

Fast on the intervening buckler fell
The Azteca's stone falchion. Who hath watch'd
The midnight lightnings of the summer storm,
That with their awful blaze irradiate heaven,
Then leave a blacker night? So quick, so fierce,
Flash'd Madoc's sword, which, like the serpent's
tongue,

Seemed double, in its rapid whirl of light.
Unequal arms! for on the British shield
Avail'd not the stone falchion's brittle edge,
And in the golden buckler, Madoc's sword
Bit deep. Coanocotzin saw, and dropp'd
The unprofitable weapon, and received
His ponderous club,- that club, beneath whose
Driven by his father's arm, Tepollomi

[force,

Shunning its frustrate aim, and breast to breast
He grappled with the King. The pliant mail
Bent to his straining limbs, while plates of gold,
The feathery robe, the buckler's amplitude,
Cumbered the Azteca, and from his arm,
Clinch'd in the Briton's mighty grasp, at once
He dropp'd the impeding buckler, and let fall
The unfastened club; which when the Prince
beheld,

He thrust him off, and drawing back, resumed
The sword that from his wrist suspended hung,
And twice he smote the King; twice from the quilt
Of plumes the iron glides; and lo! the King-
So well his soldiers watch their monarch's need
Shakes in his hand a spear.

And, following close, the Cymry drive along,
Till on the summit of the mound their cry
Of victory rings aloud. The temple floor,
So often which had reek'd with innocent blood,
Reeks now with righteous slaughter. Franticly,
In the wild fury of their desperate zeal,

The Priests crowd round the God, and with their knives

Hack at the foe, and call on him to save ;--
At the Altar, at the Idol's feet they fall.
Nor with less frenzy did the multitude
Flock to defend their God. Fast as they fell,
New victims rush'd upon the British sword;
And sure that day had rooted from the earth
The Aztecas, and on their conquerors drawn
Promiscuous ruin, had not Madoc now
Beheld from whence the fearless ardor sprang;
They saw Mexitli; momently they hoped
That he would rise in vengeance. Madoc seized
A massy club, and from his azure throne
Shattered the giant idol.
At that sight

The men of Aztlan pause; so was their pause
Dreadful, as when a multitude expect

[saw

Still follow'd Urien, call'd upon his men,

And through the broken army of the foe,
Press'd to his rescue.

But far off the old man
Was borne with furious speed. Ririd alone
Pursued his path, and through the thick of war
Close on the captors, with avenging sword,
Follow'd right on, and through the multitude,
And through the gate of Aztlan, made his way,
And through the streets, till from the temple-mound,
The press of Pabas and the populace
Repell'd him, while the old man was hurried up.
Hark! that infernal tambour! o'er the lake
Its long, loud thunders roll, and through the hills,
Awakening all their echoes. Ye accurs'd,
Ye blow the fall too soon! Ye Dogs of Hell,
The Hart is yet at bay! - Thus long the old man,
As one exhausted or resign'd, had lain,
Resisting not; but at that knell of death,
Springing with unexpected force, he freed
His feet, and shook the Pabas from their hold,
And, with his armed hand, between the eyes
Smote one so sternly, that to earth he fell,
Bleeding, and all astound. A man of proof
Was Urien in his day, thought worthiest,
In martial thewes and manly discipline,
To train the sons of Owen. He had lost
Youth's supple sleight; yet still the skill remain'd,
And in his stiffen'd limbs a strength, which yet
Might put the young to shame. And now he set
His back against the altar, resolute
Not as a victim by the knife to die,
But in the act of battle, as became
A man grown gray in arms; and in his heart
There was a living hope; for now he knew
That Madoc lived, nor could the struggle long
Endure against that arm.

Soon was the way
Laid open by the sword; for side by side
The brethren of Aberfraw mow'd their path;

Earth did not open, nor the temple fall,

To crush their impious enemies, dismay'd,
They felt themselves forsaken by their Gods;
Then from their temples and their homes they fled,
And, leaving Aztlan to the conqueror,
Sought the near city, whither they had sent
Their women, timely saved.

But Tlalala,
With growing fury as the danger grew,
Raged in the battle; but Yuhidthiton
Still with calm courage, till no hope remain'd,
Fronted the rushing foe. When all was vain,
When back within the gate Cadwallon's force
Resistless had compell'd them, then the Chief
Call'd on the Tiger-Let us bear from hence
The dead Ocellopan, the slaughter'd King;
Not to the Strangers should their bones be left,
O Tlalala! - The Tiger wept with rage,
With generous anger. To the place of death,
Where, side by side, the noble dead were stretch'd,
They fought their way. Eight warriors join'd their
shields;

On these—a bier which well beseem'd the dead -
The lifeless Chiefs were laid. Yuhidthiton
Call'd on the people Men of Aztlan! yet
One effort more! Bear hence Ocellopan;
Bear hence the body of your noble King!
Not to the Strangers should their bones be left!
That whoso heard, with wailing and loud cries,
Press'd round the body-bearers; few indeed,
For few were they who in that fearful hour
Had ears to hear,—but with a holy zeal,
Careless of death, around the bier they ranged
Their bulwark breasts. So toward the farther gate
They held their steady way, while outermost,
In unabated valor, Tlalala

Faced, with Yuhidthiton, the foe's pursuit.
Vain valor then, and fatal piety,

As the fierce conquerors bore on their retreat,
If Madoc had not seen their perilous strife: