But in this wretched family the strife
Is rooted all too deep; it is an old

And cankered wound, . . an eating, killing sore,
For which there is no healing... If the King
Should ever speak his fears, . . and sure to you
All his most inward thoughts he will make known,..
Counsel him then to let his brethren share

My enterprise, to send them forth with me
To everlasting exile... She hath told you
Too hardly of the King; I know him well;
He hath a stormy nature; and what germs
Of virtue would have budded in his heart,
Cold winds have check'd, and blighting seasons nipt,
Yet in his heart they live... A blessing on you,
That you may see their blossom and their fruit!

X.

MATHRAVAL.

Now for Mathraval went Prince Madoc forth;
O'er Menai's ebbing tide, up mountain-paths,
Beside grey mountain-stream, and lonely lake,
And through old Snowdon's forest-solitude,
He held right on his solitary way.

Nor paused he in that rocky vale, where oft
Up the familiar path, with gladder pace,
His steed had hastened to the well-known door,..
That valley, o'er whose crags, and sprinkled trees,
And winding stream, so oft his eye
had loved
To linger, gazing, as the eve grew dim,

From Dolwyddelan's Tower; ..
..alas! from thence
As from his brother's monument, he turn'd

A loathing eye, and through the rocky vale
Sped on. From morn till noon, from noon till eve,
He travelled on his way: and when at morn
Again the Ocean Chief bestrode his steed,
The heights of Snowdon on his backward glance
Hung like a cloud in heaven. O'er heath and hill
And barren height he rode; and darker now,
In loftier majesty thy mountain-seat,
Star-loving Idris, rose. Nor turn'd he now
Beside Kregennan, where his infant feet
Had trod Ednywain's hall; nor loitered he

In the green vales of Powys, till he came
Where Warnway rolls its waters underneath
Ancient Mathraval's venerable walls,
Cyveilioc's princely and paternal seat.

But Madoc sprung not forward now to greet The chief he loved, for from Cyveilioc's hall The voice of harp and song commingled came; It was that day the feast of victory there; Around the Chieftain's board the warriors sate; The sword and shield and helmet, on the wall And round the pillars, were in peace hung up; And, as the flashes of the central fire At fits arose, a dance of wavy light

Play'd o'er the reddening steel. The Chiefs, who late
So well had wielded in the work of war

Those weapons, sate around the board, to quaff
The beverage of the brave, and hear their fame.
Mathraval's Lord, the Poet and the Prince,
Cyveilioc stood before them, . . in his pride;
His hands were on the harp, his eyes were closed,
His head, as if in reverence to receive

The inspiration, bent; anon, he raised

His glowing countenance and brighter eye,

And swept with passionate hand the ringing harp.

Fill high the Hirlas Horn! to Grufydd bear Its frothy beverage, .. from his crimson lance The invader fled; . . fill high the gold-tipt Horn! Heard ye in Maelor the step of war..

Did ye hear

The hastening shout.. the onset?..
The clash and clang of arms.. the battle-din,

Loud as the roar of Ocean, when the winds

At midnight are abroad?.. the yell of wounds.. The rage. the agony?.. Give to him the Horn

Whose spear was broken, and whose buckler pierced
With many a shaft, yet not the less he fought
And conquered; .. therefore let Ednyved share
The generous draught, give him the long blue Horn!
Pour out again, and fill again the spoil
Of the wild bull, with silver wrought of
yore;
And bear the golden lip to Tudyr's hand,
Eagle of battle! For Moreiddig fill

The honourable Hirlas!.. Where are They?
Where are the noble Brethren? Wolves of war,
They kept their border well, they did their part,
Their fame is full, their lot is praise and song..
A mournful song to me, a song of woe!..
Brave Brethren! for their honour brim the cup,
Which they shall quaff no more.

We drove away
The strangers from our land; profuse of life,
Our warriors rush'd to battle, and the Sun
Saw from his noontide fields their manly strife.
Pour thou the flowing mead! Cup-bearer, fill
The Hirlas! for hadst thou beheld the day
Of Llidom, thou hadst known how well the Chiefs
Deserve this honour now. Cyveilioc's shield
Were they in danger, when the Invader came;
Be praise and liberty their lot on earth,

And joy be theirs in heaven!

Here ceased the song;

Then from the threshold on the rush-strewn floor Madoc advanced. Cyveilioc's eye was now

To present forms awake, but even as still

He felt his harp-chords throb with dying sounds, The heat and stir and passion had not yet Subsided in his soul. Again he struck

The loud-toned harp.... Pour from the silver vase, And brim the honourable Horn, and bear

The draught of joy to Madoc, he who first

Explored the desert ways of Ocean, first
Through the wide waste of sea and sky, held on
Undaunted, till upon another World,

The Lord and Conqueror of the Elements,
He set his foot triumphant? Fill for him
The Hirlas! fill the honourable Horn!
This for Mathraval is a happy hour,
When Madoc, her hereditary guest,
Appears within her honour'd walls again,
Madoc, the British Prince, the Ocean Lord,
Who, never for injustice rear'd his arm;
Whose presence fills the heart of every foe
With fear, the heart of every friend with joy ;
Give him the Hirlas Horn, fill, till the draught
Of joy shall quiver o'er the golden brim!
In happy hour the hero hath return'd!
In happy hour the friend, the brother treads
Cyveilioc's floor!

He sprung to greet his guest;
The cordial grasp of fellowship was given;
So in Mathraval there was double joy

On that illustrious day; they gave their guest
The seat of honour, and they fill'd for him
The Hirlas Horn. Cyveilioc and his Chiefs,
All eagerly, with wonder-waiting eyes,