III.

CADWALLON.

THEN on the morrow, at the festal board,
The Lord of Ocean thus began his tale.

My heart beat high when with the favouring wind We sail'd away; Aberfraw! when thy towers, And the huge head landof my mother isle,

Shrunk and were gone.

But, Madoc, I would learn,

Quoth David, how this enterprize arose,
And the wild hope of worlds beyond the sea;
For at thine outset being in the war,

I did not hear from vague and common fame
The moving cause. Sprung it from bardic lore,
The hidden wisdom of the years of old,
Forgotten long? or did it visit thee

In dreams that come from Heaven?

The Prince replied,

Thou shalt hear all; . . but if, amid the tale,
Strictly sincere, I haply should rehearse.
Aught to the King ungrateful, let my brother
Be patient with the involuntary fault.

I was the guest of Rhys at Dinevawr,

And there the tidings found me, that our sire

Was gather'd to his fathers: . . not alone
The sorrow came; the same ill messenger
Told of the strife that shook our royal house,
When Hoel, proud of prowess, seized the throne
Which you, for elder claim and lawful birth,
Challenged in arms. With all a brother's love,
I on the instant hurried to prevent

The impious battle: . . all the day I sped;
Night did not stay me on my eager way ・・・
Where'er I pass'd, new rumour raised new fear...
Midnight, and morn, and noon, I hurried on,
And the late eve was darkening when I reach'd
Arvon, the fatal field. . . The sight, the sounds,
Live in my memory now, for all was done!
For horse and horseman side by side in death,
Lay on the bloody plain;
a host of men,
And not one living soul, . . and not one sound,
One human sound; . . only the raven's wing,
Which rose before my coming, and the neigh
Of wounded horses, wandering o'er the plain.

Night now was coming on; a man approach'd
And bade me to his dwelling nigh at hand.
Thither I turn'd, too weak to travel more;
For I was overspent with weariness,

And having now no hope to bear me up,
Trouble and bodily labour master'd me,
I ask'd him of the battle: . . who had fallen
He knew not, nor to whom the lot of war
Had given my father's sceptre. Here, said he,
I came to seek if haply I might find

Some wounded wretch, abandon'd else to death.

My search was vain, the sword of civil war

Had bit too deeply.

Soon we reach'd his home,

A lone and lowly dwelling in the hills,

By a grey mountain stream. Beside the hearth
There sate an old blind man; his head was raised
As he were listening to the coming sounds,

And in the fire-light shone his silver locks.
Father, said he who guided me, I bring
A guest to our poor hospitality;

And then he brought me water from the brook,
And homely fare, and I was satisfied:

That done, he piled the hearth, and spread around
The rushes of repose. I laid me down;

But worn with toil, and full of many fears,
Sleep did not visit me: the quiet sounds
Of nature troubled my distemper'd sense;
My ear was busy with the stirring gale,
The moving leaves, the brook's perpetual flow.

So on the morrow languidly I rose,

And faint with fever: but a restless wish
Was working in me, and I said, My host,
Wilt thou go with me to the battle-field,
That I may search the slain? for in the fray
My brethren fought; and though with all my speed
I strove to reach them ere the strife began,
Alas, I sped too slow!

Grievest thou for that?

He answer'd, grievest thou that thou art spared
The shame and guilt of that unhappy strife,
Briton with Briton in unnatural war?

Nay, I replied, mistake me not! I came

To reconcile the chiefs; they might have heard
Their brother's voice.

Their brother's voice? said he,

Was it not so? ... And thou, too, art the son
Of Owen!... Yesternight I did not know
The cause there is to pity thee. Alas,

Two brethren thou wilt lose when one shall fall!..
Lament not him whom death may save from guilt;
For all too surely in the conqueror

Thou wilt find one whom his own fears henceforth Must make to all his kin a perilous foe.

I felt as though he wrong'd my father's sons, And raised an angry eye, and answer'd him, . My brethren love me.

...

Then the old man cried, Oh what is Princes' love? what are the ties Of blood, the affections growing as we grow, If but ambition come? ... Thou deemest sure Thy brethren love thee;.. ye have play'd together In childhood, shared your riper hopes and fears, Fought side by side in battle: ... they may be Brave, generous, all that once their father was, Whom ye, I ween, call virtuous.

At the name,

With pious warmth I cried, Yes, he was good,

And great, and glorious! Gwyneth's ancient annals
Boast not a name more noble. In the war
Fearless he was, the Saxon found him so;

Wise was his counsel, and no supplicant

For justice ever from his palace-gate

Unrighted turned away. King Owen's name
Shall live to after times without a blot!

There were two brethren once of kingly line, The old man replied; they loved each other well, And when the one was at his dying hour,

It then was comfort to him that he left
So dear a brother, who would duly pay
A father's duties to his orphan boy.
And sure he loved the orphan, and the boy
With all a child's sincerity loved him,
And learnt to call him father: so the years
Went on, till when the orphan gain'd the age
Of manhood, to the throne his uncle came.
The young man claim'd a fair inheritance,
His father's lands; and...mark what follows, Prince!
At midnight he was seized, and to his eyes
The brazen plate was held. . . He cried aloud,
He look'd around for help, he only saw

...

His Uncle's ministers, prepared to do
Their wicked work, who to the red hot brass
Forced his poor eyes, and held the open lids.
Till the long agony consumed the sense;
And when their hold relax'd, it had been worth
The wealth of worlds if he could then have seen,
Dreadful to him and hideous as they were,
Their ruffian faces!.. I am blind, young Prince,
And I can tell how sweet a thing it is

To see the blessed light!

Must more be told?

What farther agonies he yet endured?