Now all is done.

Stores, beeves and flocks and water all aboard ;
The dry East blows, and not a sign of change
Stains the clear firmament. The Sea-Lord sate

At the last banquet in his brother's court,
And heard the song: It told of Owen's fame,
When with his Normen and assembled force
Of Guienne and Gascony, and Anjou's strength,
The Fleming's aid and England's chosen troops,
Along the ascent of Berwyn, many a day
The Saxon vainly on his mountain foes
Denounced his wrath; for Mona's dragon sons,
By wary patience baffled long his force,
Winning slow Famine to their aid, and help'd
By the angry Elements, and Sickness sent
From Heaven, and Fear that of its vigour robb'd
The healthy arm; . . then in quick enterprize
Fell on his weary and dishearten'd host,
Till with defeat and loss and obloquy
He fled with all his nations. Madoc gave
His spirit to the song; he felt the theme
In every pulse; the recollection came,
Revived and heighten'd to intenser pain,
That in Aberfraw, in his father's hall,
He never more should share the feast, nor hear
The echoing harp again! His heart was full;
And, yielding to its yearnings, in that mood
Of aweful feeling, he call'd forth the King,
And led him from the palace-porch, and stretch'd
His hand toward the ocean, and exclaim'd,
To-morrow over yon wide waves 1 go;
To-morrow, never to return, I leave

My native land! O David, O my brother,
Turn not impatiently a reckless ear

To that affectionate and natural voice

Which thou wilt hear no more! Release our brethren, Recall the wanderers home, and link them to thee By cordial confidence, by benefits

Which bless the benefactor.

Be not thou
As is the black and melancholy yew

That strikes into the grave its baleful roots,
And prospers on the dead! . . The Saxon King, .
Think not I wrong him now; . . an hour like this
Hath soften'd all my harsher feelings down;
Nor will I hate him for his sister's sake,

Thy gentle Queen,.. whom, that great God may bless,
And, blessing her, bless thee and our dear country,
Shall never be forgotten in my prayers;

But he is far away; and should there come
The evil hour upon thee,.. if thy kin,
Wearied by suffering, and driven desperate,
Should lift the sword, or young Llewelyn raise
His banner and demand his father's throne, . .
Were it not trusting to a broken reed,
To lean on England's aid? . . I urge thee not
For answer now; but sometimes, O my brother!
Sometimes recall to mind my parting words,
As 't were the death-bed counsel of the friend
Who loved thee best!

The affection of his voice,

So mild and solemn, soften'd David's heart,
He saw his brother's eyes, suffused with tears,
Shine in the moon-beam as he spake; the King
Remembered his departure, and he felt

Feelings, which long from his disnatured breast
Ambition had expell'd: he could almost

Have follow'd their strong impulse. From the shore,
Madoc with quick and agitated step

Had sought his home; the monarch went his way,
Serious and slow, and laid him down that night
With painful recollections, and such thoughts,
As might, if Heaven had will'd it, have matured
To penitence and peace.

The day is come,
The adventurers in Saint Cybi's holy fane
Hear the last mass, and all assoil'd of sin
Partake the bread of Christian fellowship.
Then, as the Priest his benediction gave,
They knelt, in such an aweful stillness hush'd,
As with yet more oppression seem'd to load
The burthen'd heart. At times and half supprest,
Womanly sobs were heard, and manly cheeks
Were wet with silent tears. Now forth they go,
And at the portal of the Church unfurl

Prince Madoc's banner; at that sight a shout Burst from his followers, and the hills and rocks Thrice echoed their acclaim.

There lie the ships,

Their sails all loose, their streamers rolling out
With sinuous flow and swell, like water-snakes,
Curling aloft; the waves are gay with boats,
Pinnace and barge and coracle, . . the sea
Swarms like the shore with life. Oh what a sight

Of beauty for the spirit unconcern'd,

If heart there be which unconcern'd could view

A sight like this! . . how yet more beautiful

For him, whose soul can feel and understand
The solemn import! Yonder they embark,
Youth, beauty, valour, virtue, reverend age;
Some led by love of noble enterprise,
Others, who, desperate of their country's weal,
Fly from the impending yoke; all warm alike
With confidence and high heroic hope,
And all in one fraternal bond conjoin'd
By reverence to their Chief, the best beloved
That ever yet on hopeful enterprize

Led gallant army forth. He, even now
Lord of himself, by faith in God and love
To man subdues the feeling of this hour,
The bitterest of his being.

At this time,

Pale, and with feverish eye, the King came up,
And led him somewhat from the throng apart,
Saying, I sent at day-break to release
Rodri from prison, meaning that with thee
He should depart in peace; but he was gone,
This very night he had escaped! . . Perchance,
As I do hope, . . it was thy doing, Madoc?
Is he aboard the fleet?

I would he were !
Madoc replied; with what a lighten'd heart
Then should I sail away! Ririd is there
Alone . . . alas! that this was done so late!

Reproach me not! half sullenly the King, Answering, exclaim'd; Madoc, reproach me not! Thou know'st how hardly I attain'd the throne; And is it strange that I should guard with fear

The precious prize?.. Now,.. when I would have taken Thy counsel,.. be the evil on his head!

Blame me not now, my brother, lest sometimes

I call again to mind thy parting words

In sorrow!

God be with thee! Madoc cried;

And if at times the harshness of a heart,

Too prone to wrath, have wrong'd thee, let these tears Efface all faults, I leave thee, O my brother,

With all a brother's feelings!

So he said,

And grasp'd, with trembling tenderness, his hand,
Then calm'd himself, and moved toward the boat.
Emma, though tears would have their way and sighs
Would swell, suppressing still all words of woe,
Follow'd Goervyl to the extremest shore.
But then as on the plank the maid set foot,
Did Emma, staying her by the hand, pluck out
The crucifix, which next her heart she wore
In reverence to its relic, and she cried,
Yet ere we part change with me, dear Goervyl, .
Dear sister, loved too well, or lost too soon!..
I shall betake me often to my prayers,
Never in them, Goervyl, of thy name
Unmindful; . . thou too wilt remember me
Still in thine orisons; . . but God forefend
That ever misery should make thee find
This Cross thy only comforter!

She said,

And kiss'd the holy pledge, as each to each

Transferr'd the mutual gift. Nor could the Maid Answer for agony, to that farewell;