That song of triumph; on his sun-burnt brow
Sate exultation: . . other thoughts arose,
As on the fate of all his gallant house
Mournful he mused; oppressive memory swell'd
His bosom, over his fix'd eye-balls swam

The tear's dim lustre, and the loud-toned harp.
Rung on his ear in vain; its silence first

Roused him from dreams of days that were no more.

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 headland of 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