The words she hoped she did not hear aright.
Emma was young; she was a sacrifice
To that cold king-craft, which, in marriage-vows
Linking two hearts, unknowing each of each,
Perverts the ordinance of God, and makes
The holiest tie a mockery and a curse.
Her eye was patient, and she spake in tones
So sweet and of so pensive gentleness,
That the heart felt them. Madoc! she exclaimed,
Why dost thou hate the Saxons? O my brother,
If I have heard aright, the hour will come
When the Plantagenet shall wish herself
Among her nobler, happier countrymen,
From these unnatural enmities escaped,
And from the vengeance they must call from Heaven!
Shame then suffused the Prince's countenance, Mindful how, drunk in anger, he had given His hatred loose. My sister Queen, quoth he, Marvel not you that with my mother's milk I suck'd that hatred in. Have they not been The scourge and the devouring sword of God, The curse and pestilence which he hath sent To root us from the land? Alas, our crimes Have drawn this dolorous visitation down! Our sun hath long been westering; and the night And darkness and extinction are at hand.
We are a fallen people!.. From ourselves
The desolation and the ruin come;
In our own vitals doth the poison work..
The House that is divided in itself,
How should it stand?.. A blessing on you, Lady!
But in this wretched family the strife
Is rooted all too deep; it is an old
And cankered wound, . . an eating, killing sore,
For which there is no healing... If the King
Should ever speak his fears, and sure to you
All his most inward thoughts he will make known,..
Counsel him then to let his brethren share
My enterprise, to send them forth with me
To everlasting exile... She hath told you
Too hardly of the King; I know him well;
He hath a stormy nature; and what germs
Of virtue would have budded in his heart,
Cold winds have check'd, and blighting seasons nipt,
Yet in his heart they live... A blessing on you,
That you may see their blossom and their fruit!
Now for Mathraval went Prince Madoc forth;
O'er Menai's ebbing tide, up mountain-paths,
Beside grey mountain-stream, and lonely lake,
And through old Snowdon's forest-solitude,
He held right on his solitary way.
Nor paused he in that rocky vale, where oft
Up the familiar path, with gladder pace,
His steed had hastened to the well-known door,.
That valley, o'er whose crags, and sprinkled trees,
And winding stream, so oft his eye had loved
To linger, gazing, as the eve grew dim,
From Dolwyddelan's Tower;.. alas! from thence
As from his brother's monument, he turn'd
A loathing eye, and through the rocky vale
Sped on. From morn till noon, from noon till eve,
He travelled on his way: and when at morn
Again the Ocean Chief bestrode his steed,
The heights of Snowdon on his backward glance
Hung like a cloud in heaven. O'er heath and hill
And barren height he rode; and darker now,
In loftier majesty thy mountain-seat,
Star-loving Idris, rose. Nor turn'd he now
Beside Kregennan, where his infant feet
Had trod Ednywain's hall; nor loitered he
In the green vales of Powys, till he came
Where Warnway rolls its waters underneath
Ancient Mathraval's venerable walls,
Cyveilioc's princely and paternal seat.
But Madoc sprung not forward now to greet
The chief he loved, for from Cyveilioc's hall
The voice of harp and song commingled came;
It was that day the feast of victory there;
Around the Chieftain's board the warriors sate;
The sword and shield and helmet, on the wall
And round the pillars, were in peace hung up;
And, as the flashes of the central fire
At fits arose, a dance of wavy light
Play'd o'er the reddening steel. The Chiefs, who late
So well had wielded in the work of war
Those weapons, sate around the board, to quaff
The beverage of the brave, and hear their fame.
Mathraval's Lord, the Poet and the Prince,
Cyveilioc stood before them, . . in his pride;
His hands were on the harp, his eyes were closed,
His head, as if in reverence to receive
The inspiration, bent; anon, he raised
His glowing countenance and brighter eye,
And swept with passionate hand the ringing harp.
Fill high the Hirlas Horn! to Grufydd bear Its frothy beverage,.. from his crimson lance The invader fled;.. fill high the gold-tipt Horn! Heard ye in Maelor the step of war.. The hastening shout.. the onset?.. Did ye The clash and clang of arms.. the battle-din,
Loud as the roar of Ocean, when the winds
At midnight are abroad?.. the yell of wounds..
The rage.. the agony?.. Give to him the Horn
Whose spear was broken, and whose buckler pierced
With many a shaft, yet not the less he fought
And conquered; .. therefore let Ednyved share
The generous draught, give him the long blue Horn!
Pour out again, and fill again the spoil
Of the wild bull, with silver wrought of yore;
And bear the golden lip to Tudyr's hand,
Eagle of battle! For Moreiddig fill
The honourable Hirlas!.. Where are They?
Where are the noble Brethren? Wolves of war,
They kept their border well, they did their part,
Their fame is full, their lot is praise and song.
A mournful song to me, a song of woe!..
Brave Brethren! for their honour brim the cup,
Which they shall quaff no more.
We drove away
The strangers from our land; profuse of life,
Our warriors rush'd to battle, and the Sun
Saw from his noontide fields their manly strife.
Pour thou the flowing mead! Cup-bearer, fill
The Hirlas! for hadst thou beheld the day
Of Llidom, thou hadst known how well the Chiefs
Deserve this honour now. Cyveilioc's shield
Were they in danger, when the Invader came;
Be praise and liberty their lot on earth,
And joy be theirs in heaven!
Then from the threshold on the rush-strewn floor Madoc advanced. Cyveilioc's eye was now
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