How in the woods I spied a savage band
Making towards Caermadoc. God forefend
The evil that I fear!.. What! Madoc cried,
Were ye then left defenceless? . . She replied,
All ran to arms: there was no time for thought,
Nor counsel, in that sudden ill; nor one

Of all thy people, who could, in that hour,
Have brook'd home-duty, when thy life or death
Hung on the chance.

Now God be merciful! Said he; for of Goervyl then he thought, And the cold sweat started at every pore. Give me the boy! he travels all too slow. Then in his arms he took him, and sped on, Suffering more painful terrors, than of late His own near death provoked. They held their way In silence up the heights; and, when at length They reached the entrance of the vale, the Prince Bade her remain, while he went on, to spy The footsteps of the spoiler. Soon he saw Men, in the moonlight, stretch'd upon the ground; And quickening then his pace, in worse alarm, Along the shade, with cautious step, he moved Toward one, to seize his weapons: 't was a corpse; Nor whether, at the sight, to hope or fear Yet knew he. But anon, a steady light, As of a taper, seen in his own home, Comforted him; and, drawing nearer now, He saw his sister on her knees, beside The rushes, ministering to a wounded man. Safe that the dear one lived, then back he sped With joyful haste, and summon'd Llaian on,

And in loud talk advanced. Erillyab first
Came forward at the sound; for she had faith
To trust the voice... They live! they live! she cried
God hath redeem'd them!.. Nor the Maiden yet
Believed the actual joy; like one astound,
Or as if struggling with a dream, she stood,
Till he came close, and spread his arms, and call'd
Goervyl!.. and she fell in his embrace.

But Madoc lingered not, his eager soul Was in the war, in haste he donn'd his arms; And as he felt his own good sword again, Exulting played his heart... Boy, he exclaim'd To Mervyn, arm thyself, and follow me! For in this battle we shall break the power Of our blood-thirsty foe: and, in thine age, Would'st thou not wish, when young men crowd around,

To hear thee chronicle their fathers' deeds,

Would'st thou not wish to add,.. And I, too, fought In that day's conflict?

Mervyn's cheek turn'd pale

A moment, then, with terror all suffused,

Grew fever-red. Nay, nay, Goervyl cried,
He is too young for battles! . . But the Prince,
With erring judgement, in that fear-flush'd cheek
Beheld the glow of enterprising hope,

And youthful courage. I was such a boy
Sister! he cried, at Counsyllt; and that day,

In
my first field, with stripling arm, smote down
Many a tall Saxon. Saidst thou not but now,

How bravely in the fight of yesterday,

He flesh'd his sword,.. and wouldst thou keep him here And rob him of his glory? See his cheek!

How it hath crimson'd at the unworthy thought!

Arm! arm! and to the battle!

How her heart

Then panted! how, with late regret, and vain,
Senena wished Goervyl then had heard

The secret, trembling on her lips so oft,

So oft by shame withheld. She thought that now
She could have fallen upon her Lady's neck,
And told her all; but when she saw the Prince,
Imperious shame forbade her, and she felt

It were an easier thing to die than speak.
Avail'd not now regret or female fear!

She mail'd her delicate limbs; beneath the plate
Compress'd her bosom; on her golden locks
The helmet's overheavy load she placed;

Hung from her neck the shield; and, though the sword
Which swung beside her lightest she had chosen,
Though in her hand she held the slenderest spear,
Alike unwieldy for the maiden's grasp,

The sword and ashen lance. But as she touch'd
The murderous point, an icey shudder ran
Through every fibre of her trembling frame;
And, overcome by womanly terror then,
The damsel to Goervyl turn'd, and let
The breastplate fall, and on her bosom placed
The Lady's hand, and hid her face, and cried
Save me! The warrior, who beheld the act,
And heard not the low voice, with angry eye
Glow'd on the seemly boy of feeble heart.

But, in Goervyl, joy had overpower'd

The wonder; joy, to find the boy she loved
Was one, to whom her heart with closer love
Might cling; and to her brother she exclaim'd,
She must not go! We women in the war

Have done our parts.

A moment Madoc dwelt On the false Mervyn, with an eye from whence Displeasure did not wholly pass away.

Nor loitering to resolve Love's riddle now

To Malinal he turn'd, where, on his couch,
The wounded youth was laid... True friend, said he,
And brother mine,.. for truly by that name
I trust to greet thee,.. if in this near fight,
My hour should overtake me, ..as who knows
The lot of war?.. Goervyl hath my charge
To quite thee for thy service with herself;
That so thou mayest raise up seed to me
Of mine own blood, who may inherit here
The obedience of thy people and of mine...
Malinal took his hand, and to his lips
Feebly he prest it, saying, One boon more,

Father and friend, I ask! . . if thou shouldst meet
Yuhidthiton in battle, think of me.

XVIII.

THE VICTORY.

MERCIFUL God! how horrible is night
Upon the plain of Aztlan ! there the shout
Of battle, the barbarian yell, the bray
Of dissonant instruments, the clang of arms,
The shriek of agony, the groan of death,
In one wild uproar and continuous din,
Shake the still air; while, overhead, the Moon,
Regardless of the stir of this low world,
Holds on her heavenly way. Still unallay'd
By slaughter raged the battle, unrelax'd
By lengthened toil; anger supplying still
Strength undiminish'd for the desperate strife.
And lo! where yonder, on the temple top,
Blazing aloft, the sacrificial fire

Scene more accurst and hideous than the war,
Displays to all the vale; for whosoe'er
That night the Aztecas could bear away,
Hoaman or Briton, thither was he borne;

And as they stretch'd him on the stone of blood,
Did the huge tambour of the God, with voice
Loud as the thunder-peal, and heard as far,
Proclaim the act of death, more visible

Than in broad day-light, by those midnight fires Distinctlier seen. Sight that with horror fill'd The Cymry, and to mightier efforts roused.