Deceitful hope, but in His Hand, even yet, The issue hangs; and He is merciful.

Yea, daughter of Aberfraw, take thou hope! For Madoc lives!.. he lives to wield the sword Of righteous vengeance, and accomplish all.

XVII.

THE DELIVERANCE.

MADOC, meantime, in bonds and solitude,
Lay listening to the tumult. How his heart
Panted! how then with fruitless strength, he strove
And struggled for enlargement, as the sound
Of battle from without the city came;

While all things near were still, nor foot of man
Nor voice, in that deserted part, were heard.
At length one light and solitary step

Approach'd the place; a woman cross'd the door
From Madoc's busy mind her image pass'd,
Quick as the form that caused it; but not so

Did the remembrance fly from Coatel,

That Madoc lay in bonds. That thought possess'd Her soul, and made her, as she garlanded

The fane of Coatlantona with flowers,

Tremble in strong emotion.

It was now

The hour of dusk; the Pabas all were gone,
Gone to the battle; .
.. none could see her steps;
The gate was nigh. A momentary thought
Shot through her; she delayed not to reflect,
But hastened to the Prince, and took the knife
Of sacrifice, which by the altar hung,
And cut his bonds, and with an eager eye,

Motioning haste and silence, to the gate
She led him. Fast along the forest way,
And fearfully, he followed to the chasm.
She beckon'd, and descended, and drew out
From underneath her vest, a cage, or net
It rather might be called, so fine the twigs
Which knit it, where confined two fire-flies gave
Their lustre. By that light did Madoc first
Behold the features of his lovely guide;

And through the entrance of the cavern gloom,
He followed in full trust.

Now have they reach'd The abrupt descent; there Coatel held forth Her living lamp, and turning, with a smile Sweet as good Angels wear when they present Their mortal charge before the throne of Heaven, She show'd where little Hoel slept below. Poor child! he lay upon that very spot, The last whereto his feet had followed her; And, as he slept, his hand was on the bones Of one, who years agone had perish'd there, There, on the place where last his wretched eyes Could catch the gleam of day. But when the voice, The well-known voice of Madoc wakened him, . . His Uncle's voice, . . he started, with a scream Which echoed through the cavern's winding length, And stretch'd his arms to reach him. Madoc hush'd The dangerous transport, raised him up the ascent, And followed Coatel again, whose face,

Though tears of pleasure still were coursing down Betokened fear and haste. Adown the wood They went; and coasting now the lake, her eye

First what they sought beheld, a light canoe,
Moor'd to the bank. Then in her arms she took
The child, and kiss'd him with maternal love,
And placed him in the boat; but when the Prince,
With looks and gestures and imperfect words
Such as the look, the gesture, well explain'd,
Urged her to follow, doubtfully she stood:
A dread of danger, for the thing she had done,
Came on her, and Lincoya rose to mind.
Almost she had resolved; but then she thought
Of her dear father, whom that flight would leave
Alone in age; how he would weep for her,
As one among the dead, and to the grave
Go sorrowing; or, if ever it were known

What she had dared, that on his head the weight
Of punishment would fall. That dreadful fear
Resolved her, and she waved her head, and raised
Her hand, to bid the Prince depart in haste,
With looks whose painful seriousness forbade
All farther effort. Yet unwillingly,

And boding evil, Madoc from the shore
Push'd off his little boat. She on its way

Stood gazing for a moment, lost in thought,
Then struck into the woods.

Swift through the lake
Madoc's strong arm impell'd the light canoe.
Fainter and fainter to his distant ear
The sound of battle came; and now the Moon
Arose in heaven, and poured o'er lake and land
A soft and mellowing ray. Along the shore
Llaian was wandering with distracted steps,
And groaning for her child. She saw the boat

Approach; and as on Madoc's naked limbs,
And on his countenance, the moonbeam fell,
And as she saw the boy in that dim light,
It seemed as though the Spirits of the dead
Were moving on the waters; and she stood
With open lips that breathed not, and fix'd eyes,
Watching the unreal shapes: but when the boat
Drew nigh, and Madoc landed, and she saw
His step substantial, and the child came near,
Unable then to move, or speak, or breathe,
Down on the sand she sank.

But who can tell,

Who comprehend, her agony of joy,

When, by the Prince's care restored to sense,
She recognized her child, she heard the name
Of mother from that voice, which, sure, she thought
Had pour'd upon some Priest's remorseless ear
Its last vain prayer for life! No tear relieved
The insupportable feeling that convulsed

Her swelling breast. She look'd, and look'd, and felt
The child, lest some delusion should have mock'd
Her soul to madness; then the gushing joy
Burst forth, and with caresses and with tears
She mingled broken prayers of thanks to heaven.

And now the Prince, when joy had had its course, Said to her, Knowest thou the mountain path? For I would to the battle. But at that, A sudden damp of dread came over her, O leave us not! she cried; lest haply ill Should have befallen; for I remember now,