Exclaim'd Llewelyn; what hath he to give, But life for life? and what have I to claim
vengeance, and my father Yorwerth's throne? If with aught short of this my soul could rest, Would I not through the wide world follow thee, Dear Uncle! and fare with thee, well or ill, And show to thine old age the tenderness My childhood found from thee!.. What hopes I have Let time display. Have thou no fear for me! My bed is made within the ocean caves,
Of sea-weeds, bleach'd by many a sun and shower; I know the mountain dens, and every hold And fastness of the forest; and I know,. . . What troubles him by day and in his dreams, There's many an honest heart in Gwyneth yet! But tell me thine adventure; that will be A joy to think of in long winter nights, When stormy billows make my lullaby.
So as they walk'd along the moonlight shore, Did Madoc tell him all; and still he strove, By dwelling on that noble end and aim,
That of his actions was the heart and life,
To win him to his wish. It touch'd the youth; And when the Prince had ceased, he heaved a sigh, Long-drawn and deep, as if regret were there. No, no! he cried, it must not be! lo yonder My native mountains, and how beautiful They rest in the moonlight! I was nurst among them; They saw my sports in childhood, they have seen My sorrows, they have saved me in the hour
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,
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.
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.
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.
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,
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?
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
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