XII.

DINEVAWR.

So in the court of Powys pleasantly,

With hawk and hound afield, and harp in hall,
The days went by; till Madoc, for his heart
Was with Cadwallon, and in early spring
Must he set forth to join him over-sea,

Took his constrain'd farewell. To Dinevawr
He bent his way, whence many a time with Rhys
Had he gone forth to smite the Saxon foe.
The Son of Owen greets his father's friend
With reverential joy: nor did the Lord
Of Dinevawr with cold or deaden'd heart
Welcome the Prince he loved; though not with joy
Unmingled now, nor the proud consciousness.
Which in the man of tried and approved worth
Could bid an equal hail. Henry had seen
The Lord of Dinevawr between his knees
Vow homage; yea, the Lord of Dinevawr
Had knelt in homage to that Saxon king,
Who set a price upon his father's head,

That Saxon, on whose soul his mother's blood
Cried out for vengeance. Madoc saw the shame
Which Rhys would fain have hidden, and, in grief
For the degenerate land, rejoiced at heart
That now another country was his home.

Musing on thoughts like these, did Madoc roam Alone along the Towy's winding shore.

The beavers in its bank had hollow'd out
Their social place of dwelling, and had damm'd
The summer-current, with their perfect art
Of instinct, erring not in means nor end.
But as the floods of spring had broken down
Their barrier, so its breaches unrepair'd

Were left; and round the piles, which, deeper driven,
Still held their place, the eddying waters whirl'd.
Now in those habitations desolate

One sole survivor dwelt: him Madoc saw,
Labouring alone, beside his hermit house;
And in that mood of melancholy thought,..
For in his boyhood he had loved to watch
Their social work, and for he knew that man
In bloody sport had well-nigh rooted out
The poor community, . . the ominous sight
Became a grief and burthen. Eve came on;
The dry leaves rustled to the wind, and fell
And floated on the stream; there was no voice
Save of the mournful rooks, who overhead

Wing'd their long line; for fragrance of sweet flowers,
Only the odour of the autumnal leaves;.

All sights and sounds of sadness... And the place
To that despondent mood was ministrant;..
Among the hills of Gwyneth and its wilds
And mountain glens, perforce he cherish'd still
The hope of mountain liberty; they braced
And knit the heart and arm of hardihood; ..
But here, in these green meads, by these low slopes
And hanging groves, attemper'd to the scene,

His spirit yielded. As he loiter'd on,
There came toward him one in peasant garb,
And call'd his name;.. he started at the sound,
For he had heeded not the man's approach;
And now that sudden and familiar voice
Came on him, like a vision.

So he stood
Gazing, and knew him not in the dim light,
Till he again cried, Madoc!.. then he woke,
And knew the voice of Ririd, and sprang on,
And fell upon his neck, and wept for joy
And sorrow.

;

O my brother! Ririd cried, Long, very long it is since I have heard The voice of kindness!.. Let me go with thee! I am a wanderer in my father's land, . . Hoel he kill'd, and Yorwerth hath he slain Llewelyn hath not where to hide his head In his own kingdom; Rodri is in chains; Let me go with thee, Madoc, to some land Where I may look upon the sun, nor dread The light that may betray me; where at night I may not, like a hunted beast, rouse up, If the leaves rustle over me.

The Lord

Of Ocean struggled with his swelling heart.
Let me go with thee? . . but thou didst not doubt
Thy brother?.. Let thee go? . . with what a joy,
Ririd, would I collect the remnant left, .
The wretched remnant now of Owen's house,
And mount the bark of willing banishment,
And leave the tyrant to his Saxon friends,
And to his Saxon yoke!.. I urged him thus,

Curb'd down my angry spirit, and besought
Only that I might bid our brethren come,

And share my exile;.. and he spurn'd my prayer!.
Thou hast a gentle pleader at his court;

She may prevail; till then abide thou here; ..
But not in this, the garb of fear and guilt.
Come thou to Dinevawr, assume thyself; .
The good old Rhys will bid thee welcome there,
And the great Palace, like a sanctuary,

Is safe. If then Queen Emma's plea should fail,
My timely bidding hence shall summon thee,
When I shall spread the sail... Nay, hast thou learnt
Suspicion?.. Rhys is noble, and no deed
Of treachery ever sullied his fair fame !

Madoc then led his brother to the hall Of Rhys. I bring to thee a supplicant, O King, he cried; thou wert my father's friend! And till our barks be ready in the spring,

I know that here the persecuted son

Of Owen will be safe.

A welcome guest!

The old warrior cried; by his good father's soul,
He is a welcome guest at Dinevawr!

And rising as he spake, he pledged his hand
In hospitality... How now ! quoth he,
This raiment ill beseems the princely son
Of Owen !.. Ririd at his words was led
Apart; they wash'd his feet, they gave to him
Fine linen, as beseem'd his royal race,
The tunic of soft texture woven well,

The broider'd girdle, the broad mantle edged

With fur and flowing low, the bonnet last,
Form'd of some forest martin's costly spoils.
The Lord of Dinevawr sat at the dice
With Madoc, when he saw him, thus array'd,
Returning to the hall. Aye! this is well!
The noble Chief exclaim'd;
't is as of yore,

When in Aberfraw, at his father's board,

We sat together, after we had won

Peace and rejoicing with our own right hands,
By Corwen, where, commixt with Saxon blood,
Along its rocky channel the dark Dee

Roll'd darker waters... Would that all his house
Had, in their day of trouble thought of me,
And honour'd me like this! David respects
Deheubarth's strength, nor would respect it less,
When such protection leagued its cause with Heaven.

I had forgot his messenger! quoth he, Arising from the dice. Go, bid him here! He came this morning at an ill-starr'd hour, To Madoc he pursued; my lazy grooms Had let the hounds play havoc in my flock, And my old blood was chafed. I'faith, the King Hath chosen well his messenger:

he saw

That in such mood, I might have render'd him
A hot and hasty answer, and hath waited,
Perhaps to David's service and to mine,
My better leisure.

Now the Messenger
Enter'd the hall; Goagan of Powys-land,
He of Caer-Einion was it, who was charged

From Gwyneth to Deheubarth; a brave man