Of danger; I have vowed, that as they were
My cradle, they shall be my monument!..

But we shall meet again, and thou wilt find me,
When next thou visitest thy native Isle,

King in Aberfraw!

Never more, Llewelyn,

Madoc replied, shall I behold the shores

Of Britain, nor will ever tale of me
Reach the Green Isle again. With fearful care
I chuse my little company, and leave

No traces of our path, where Violence,
And bloody Zeal, and bloodier Avarice
Might find their blasting way.

If it be so,. .

And wise is thy resolve, the youth replied,
Thou wilt not know my fate; . but this be sure,
It shall not be inglorious. I have in me

A hope from Heaven... Give me thy blessing, Uncle!

Llewelyn, kneeling on the sand, embraced
His knees, with lifted head and streaming eyes
Listening. He rose, and fell on Madoc's neck,
And clasp'd him, with a silent agony,

Then launch'd his coracle, and took his way,
A lonely traveller on the moonlight sea.

XIV.

LLAIAN.

Now hath Prince Madoc left the holy Isle,
And homeward to Aberfraw, through the wilds
Of Arvon, bent his course.
A little way
He turn'd aside, by natural impulses
Moved, to behold Cadwallon's lonely hut.
That lonely dwelling stood among the hills,
By a grey mountain-stream; just elevate
Above the winter torrents did it stand,
Upon a craggy bank; an orchard slope
Arose behind, and joyous was the scene
In early summer, when those antic trees
Shone with their blushing blossoms, and the flax
Twinkled beneath the breeze its liveliest green.
But save the flax-field and that orchard slope,
All else was desolate, and now it wore

One sober hue; the narrow vale which wound
Among the hills, was grey with rocks, that peer'd
Above its shallow soil; the mountain side
Was loose with stones bestrewn, which oftentimes
Clattered adown the steep, beneath the foot
Of straggling goat dislodged; or tower'd with crags,
One day when winter's work hath loosen'd them,
To thunder down. All things assorted well
With that grey mountain hue; the low stone lines,

Which scarcely seem'd to be the work of man,
The dwelling rudely rear'd with stones unhewn,
The stubble flax, the crooked apple-trees
Grey with their fleecy moss and misseltoe,
The white-bark'd birch now leafless, and the ash
Whose knotted roots were like the rifted rock,
Through which they forced their way. Adown the vale,
Broken by stones and o'er a stoney bed,
Roll'd the loud mountain-stream.

When Madoc came,

A little child was sporting by the brook,
Floating the fallen leaves, that he might see them
Whirl in the eddy now and now be driven
Down the descent, now on the smoother stream
Sail onward far away. But when he heard
The horse's tramp, he raised his head and watch'd
The Prince, who now dismounted and drew nigh.
The little boy still fix'd his eyes on him,

His bright blue eyes; the wind just moved the curls
That cluster'd round his brow; and so he stood,

His

rosy cheeks still lifted up to gaze

In innocent wonder. Madoc took his hand,
And now had ask'd his name, and if he dwelt
There in the hut, when from that cottage-door
A woman came, who seeing Madoc stopt
With such a fear,.. for she had cause for fear,.
As when a bird returning to her nest,
Turns to a tree beside, if she behold
Some prying boy too near the dear retreat.
Howbeit advancing soon she now approach'd
The approaching Prince, and timidly enquired,
If on his wayfare he had lost the track,

That thither he had strayed. Not so, replied
The gentle Prince; but having known this place,
And its old habitants, I came once more

To see the lonely hut among the hills.
Hath it been long your dwelling?

Some few years,

Here we have dwelt, quoth she, my child and I.
Will it please you enter, and partake such fare
As we can give? Still timidly she spake,
But gathering courage from the gentle mien
Of him with whom she conversed. Madoc thank'd
Her friendly proffer, and toward the hut
They went, and in his arms he took the boy.
Who is his father? said the Prince, but wish'd
The word unutter'd; for thereat her cheek
Was flush'd with sudden heat and manifest pain;
And she replied, He perish'd in the war.

They enter'd now her home; she spread the board, And set before her guest soft curds, and cheese Of curd-like whiteness, with no foreign die Adulterate, and what fruits the orchard gave, And that old British beverage which the bees Had toil'd to purvey all the summer long.

Three years, said Madoc, have gone by, since here I found a timely welcome, overworn

With toil and sorrow and sickness: .. three long years!

'T was when the battle had been waged hard by, Upon the plain of Arvon.

She grew pale, Suddenly pale; and seeing that he mark'd

The change, she told him, with a feeble voice,
That was the fatal fight which widow'd her.

O Christ, cried Madoc, 't is a grief to think
How many a gallant Briton died that day,
In that accursed strife! I trod the field

When all was over, 1 beheld them heap'd...
Aye like ripe corn within the reaper's reach,
Strewn round the bloody spot where Hoel lay;
Brave as he was, himself cut down at last,
Oppress'd by numbers, gash'd with wounds, yet still
Clenching in his dead hand the broken sword!..
But you are moved,.. you weep at what I tell.
Forgive me, that renewing my own grief,

I should have waken'd yours! Did you then know
Prince Hoel?

...

She replied, Oh no! my lot
Was humble, and my loss a humble one;
Yet was it all to me! They say, quoth she,.
And, as she spake, she struggled to bring forth
With painful voice the interrupted words, ...
They say Prince Hoel's body was not found;
But you who saw him dead perchance can tell
Where he was laid, and by what friendly hand.

Even where he fell, said Madoc, is his grave; For he who buried him was one whose faith Reck'd not of boughten prayers, nor passing bell. There is a hawthorn grows beside the place, A solitary tree, nipt by the winds,

That it doth seem a fitting monument

For one untimely slain... But wherefore dwell we