Impatient and revenge. Cadwallon these,
With tidings of their gallant Prince enthrall'd, Had summoned from the ships. That dreadful tale Roused them to fury. Not a man was left
To guard the fleet; for who could have endured That idle duty? who could have endured The long, inactive, miserable hours, And hope and expectation and the rage Of maddening anguish? Ririd led them on; In whom a brother's love had call'd not up More spirit-stirring pain, than trembled now In every British heart; so dear to all
Was Madoc. On they came; and Aztlan then Had fled appall'd; but in that dangerous hour Her faith preserved her. From the gate her Priests Rush'd desperate out, and to the foremost rank Forced their wild way, and fought with martyr zeal. Through all the host contagious fury spread : Nor had the sight that hour enabled them To mightier efforts, had Mexitli, clad In all his imaged terrors, gone before Their way, and driven upon his enemies His giant club destroying. Then more fierce The conflict grew; the din of arms, the yell Of savage rage, the shriek of agony, The groan of death, commingled in one sound Of undistinguished horrors; while the Sun, Retiring slow beneath the plain's far verge, Shed o'er the quiet hills his fading light.
SILENT and solitary is thy vale, Caermadoc, and how melancholy now That solitude and silence!.. Broad noon-day, And not a sound of human life is there! The fisher's net, abandoned in his haste, Sways idly in the waters; in the tree,
Where its last stroke had pierced, the hatchet hangs : The birds, beside the mattock and the spade, Hunt in the new-turn'd mould, and fearlessly Fly through the cage-work of the imperfect wall; Or through the vacant dwelling's open door, Pass and repass secure.
And on his bed of reeds, Goervyl lies,
Her face toward the ground. She neither weeps,
Nor sighs, nor groans; too strong her agony For outward sign of anguish, and for prayer Too hopeless was the ill; and though, at times, The pious exclamation past her lips,
Thy will be done! yet was that utterance Rather the breathing of a broken heart, Than of a soul resigned. Mervyn beside, Hangs over his dear mistress silently, Having no hope or comfort to bestow,
Nor aught but sobs and unavailing tears. The women of Caermadoc, like a flock Collected in their panic, stand around
The house of their lost leader; and they too Are mute in their despair. Llaian alone
Is absent; wildly hath she wander'd forth
To seek her child, and such the general woe, That none hath mark'd her absence. Yet have they, Though unprotected thus, no selfish fear; The sudden evil had destroyed all thought, All sense, of present danger to themselves, All foresight.
Yet new terrors! Malinal,
Panting with speed, bursts in, and takes the arms Of Madoc down. Goervyl, at that sound, Started in sudden hope; but when she saw The Azteca, she uttered a faint scream Of wrongful fear, remembering not the proofs Of his tried truth, nor recognizing aught
In those known features, save their hostile hue. But he, by worser fear abating soon
Her vain alarm, exclaim'd, I saw a band Of Hoamen coming up the straits, for ill, Besure, for Amalahta leads them on. Buckle this harness on, that, being arm'd, I may defend the entrance.
Fastened the breast-plate with her trembling hands, When, flying from the sight of men in arms, The women crowded in. Hastily he seized The shield and spear, and on the threshold took His stand; but, waken'd now to provident thought,
Goervyl, following, helm'd him.
There was now No time to gird the bauldric on; she held
Her brother's sword, and bade him look to her For prompt supply of weapons; in herself Being resolved not idly to abide,
Nor unprepared of hand or heart to meet The issue of the danger, nor to die
The Hoaman's felon purpose. When he heard The fate of Madoc, from his mother's eye He mask'd his secret joy, and took his arms, And to the rescue, with the foremost band, Set forth. But soon, upon the way, he told The associates of his crime, that now their hour Of triumph was arrived; Caermadoc, left Defenceless, would become, with all its wealth, The spoiler's easy prey, raiment and arms And iron; skins of that sweet beverage, Which to a sense of its own life could stir The joyful blood; the women above all, Whom to the forest they might bear away, To be their slaves, if so their pleasure was; Or, yielding them to Aztlan, for such prize Receive a royal guerdon. Twelve there were, Long leagued with him in guilt, who turn'd aside : And they have reach'd Caermadoc now, and now Rush onward, where they see the women fly; When, on the threshold, clad in Cimbric arms, And with long lance protended, Malinal
Rebuffs them from the entrance.
At that sight Suddenly quail'd, they stood, as midnight thieves
Who find the master waking; but ere long, Gathering a boastful courage, as they saw No other guard, press'd forward, and essay'd To turn his spear aside. Its steady point, True to the impelling strength, held on, and thrust The foremost through the breast, and breath and blood
Followed the re-drawn shaft. Nor seem'd the strife Unequal now, though, with their numbers, they Beleaguer'd in half-ring the door, where he, The sole defender, stood. From side to side, So well and swiftly did he veer the lance, That every enemy beheld its point Aim'd at himself direct.
Had Malinal his deadly purpose fix'd. On Amalahta; by his death to quell The present danger, and cut off the root Of many an evil, certain else to spring From that accursed stock. On him his eye Turn'd with more eager wilfulness, and dwelt With keener ken; and now, with sudden step Bending his body on, at him he drives The meditated blow: but that ill Prince, As chiefly sought, so chiefly fearing, swerved Timely aside; and ere the Azteca
Recovered from the frustrate aim, the spear Was seized, and from his hold, by stress and weight Of numbers wrench'd. He, facing still the foe, And holding at arm's length the targe, put back His hand, and called Goervyl, and from her Received the sword: . . in time, for the enemy Prest on so near, that having now no scope
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