By the Great Spirit o'er the pathless deep,
Prince Madoc the Deliverer came to save.
As thus they communed, came a woman up,
Seeking Lincoya; 't was Aculhua's slave,
The nurse of Coatel. Her wretched eye,
Her pale and livid countenance foretold
Some tale of misery, and his life-blood ebb'd
In ominous fear. But when he heard her words
Of death, he seized the lance, and raised his arm
To strike the blow of comfort.
Caught his uplifted hand... O'er-hasty boy,
Quoth he, regain her yet, if she was dear!
Seek thy beloved in the Land of Souls,
And beg her from the Gods. The Gods will hear, And in just recompense of love so true
The miserable youth
Turned at his words a hesitating eye.
I knew a prisoner, ..so the old man pursued,
Or hoping to beguile the youth's despair
With tales that suited the despair of youth,
Or credulous himself of what he told,..
I knew a prisoner once who welcomed death
With merriment and songs and joy of heart,
Because, he said, the friends whom he loved best
Were gone before him to the Land of Souls;
Nor would they to resume their mortal state,
Even when the Keeper of the Land allowed,
Forsake its pleasures; therefore he rejoiced
To die and join them there. I question'd him,
How of these hidden things unknowable
So certainly he spake. The man replied,
One of our nation lost the maid he loved,
Nor would he bear his sorrow,.. being one
Into whose heart fear never found a way,..
But to the Country of the Dead pursued
Her spirit. Many toils he underwent,
And many dangers gallantly surpass'd,
Till to the Country of the Dead he came.
Gently the Guardian of the Land received
The living suppliant; listen'd to his prayer,
And gave him back the Spirit of the Maid.
But from that happy country, from the songs
Of joyance, from the splendour-sparkling dance,
Unwillingly compell'd, the Maiden's Soul
Loathed to return; and he was warn'd to guard
The subtle captive well and warily,
Till in her mortal tenement relodged,
Earthly delights might win her to remain
A sojourner on earth. Such lessoning
The Ruler of the Souls departed gave;
And mindful of his charge the adventurer brought
His subtle captive home. There underneath
The shelter of a hut, his friends had watch'd
The Maiden's corpse, secured it from the sun,
And fann'd away the insect swarms of heaven.
A busy hand marr'd all the enterprize :
Curious to see the Spirit, he unloosed
The knotted bag which held her, and she fled.
Lincoya, thou art brave; where man has gone
Thou wouldst not fear to follow!
Lincoya listen'd, and with unmoved eyes;
At length he answered, Is the journey long?
The old man replied, A way of many moons.
I know a shorter path! exclaimed the youth;
And up he sprung, and from the precipice
Darted: a moment,.. and Ayayaca heara
His body fall upon the rocks below,
MAID of the golden locks, far other lot
May gentle Heaven assign thy happier love,
Blue-eyed Senena!.. She, though not as yet
Had she put off her boy-habiliments,
Had told Goervyl all the history
Of her sad flight, and easy pardon gain'd
From that sweet heart, for guile which meant no ill,
And secrecy, in shame too long maintain❜d.
With her dear Lady now, at this still hour
Of evening is the seeming page gone forth,
Beside Caermadoc mere. They loitered on,
Along the windings of its grassy shore,
In such free interchange of inward thought
As the calm hour invited; or at times,
Willingly silent, listening to the bird
Whose one repeated melancholy note,
By oft repeating melancholy made,
Solicited the ear; or gladlier now
Hearkening that cheerful one, who knoweth all
The songs of all the winged choristers,
And in one sequence of melodious sounds
Pours all their music. But a wilder strain
At fits came o'er the water; rising now,
Now with a dying fall, in sink and swell
More exquisitely sweet than ever art
Of man evoked from instrument of touch,
Or beat, or breath. It was the evening gale,
Which passing o'er the harp of Caradoc,
Swept all its chords at once, and blended all
Their music into one continuous flow.
The solitary Bard beside his harp
Leant underneath a tree, whose spreading boughs,
With broken shade that shifted to the breeze,
Play'd on the waving waters. Overhead
There was the leafy murmur, at his foot
The lake's perpetual ripple; and from far,
Borne on the modulating gale, was heard
The roaring of the mountain-cataract. . .
A blind man would have loved the lovely spot.
Here was Senena by her Lady led,
Trembling, but not reluctant. They drew nigh,
Their steps unheard upon the elastic moss,
Till playfully Goervyl, with quick touch,
Ran o'er the harp-strings. At the sudden sound
He rose...
Hath then thy hand, quoth she, O Bard,
Forgot its cunning, that the wind should be
Thine harper?.. Come! one strain for Britain's sake;
And let the theme be Woman!.. He replied,
But if the strain offend, O Lady fair,
Blame thou the theme, not me!.. Then to the harp
He sung,.. Three things a wise man will not trust,
The Wind, the Sunshine of an April day,
And Woman's plighted faith. I have beheld
The Weathercock upon the steeple-point
Steady from morn till eve; and I have seen
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