Part I, Madoc in Wales: XI

The place of meeting was a high hill-top,
Nor bowered with trees, nor broken by the plough,
Remote from human dwellings, and the stir
Of human life, and open to the breath
And to the eye of Heaven. In days of yore,
There had the circling stones been planted ; there,
From earliest ages, the primeval lore,
From Bard to Bard, with reverence handed down.
They whom to wonder, or the love of song,
Or reverence of their fathers' ancient rites,
Led thither, stood without the ring of stones.
Cyveilioc entered to the initiate Bards,
Himself, albeit his hands were stained with war,
Initiate ; for the Order in the lapse
Of years, and in their nation's long decline,
From the first rigour of their purity
Somewhat had fallen. The Masters of the Song
In azure robes were robed, that one bright hue
To emblem unity, and peace, and truth,
Like Heaven, that o'er a world of wickedness
Spreads its eternal canopy serene.

The bards of Britain there, a noble band,
Within the Stones of Federation stood,
On the green turf, and under the blue sky,
Their heads in reverence bare, and bare of foot.
A deathless brotherhood ! Cyveilioc there,
Lord of the Hirlas ; Llywarc there was seen,
And old Cynddelw, to whose lofty song,
So many a time amid his father's hall,
Resigning all his soul, had Madoc given
The flow of feeling loose. But Madoc's heart
Was full ; old feelings and remembrances,
And thoughts from which was no escape, arose :
He was not there to whose sweet lay, so oft,
With all a brother's fond delight, he loved
To listen, .. Hoel was not there ! .. the hand
That once so well, amid the triple chords,
Moved in the rapid maze of harmony,
It had no motion now ; the lips were dumb -
Which knew all tones of passion ; and that heart,
That warm, ebullient heart, was cold and still,
Upon its bed of clay. He looked around,
And there was no familiar countenance,
None but Cynddelw's face, which he had learnt
In childhood, and old age had set his mark,
Making unsightly alteration there.
Another generation had sprung up,
And made him feel how fast the days of man
Flow by, how soon their number is told out.
He knew not then that Llywarc's lay should give
His future fame; his spirit, on the past
Brooding, beheld, with no forefeeling joy,
The rising sons of song, who there essayed
Their eaglet flight. But there among the youth,
In the green vesture of their earliest rank,
Or with the aspirants clad in motley garb,
Young Benvras stood; and, one whose favoured race
Heaven with the hereditary power had blest,
The old Gwalchmai's not degenerate child ;
And there another Einion; gifted youths,
The heirs of immortality on earth,
Whose after-strains, through many a distant age
Cambria shall boast, and love the songs that tell .
The fame of Owen's house.

There, in the eye
Of light, and in the face of day, the rites
Began. Upon the Stone, of Covenant
The sheathed sword was laid ; the Master then
Raised up his voice, and cried, Let them who seek
The high degree and sacred privilege
Of Bardic science, and of Cimbric lore,
Here to the Bards of Britain make their claim !
Thus having said, the Master bade the youths
Approach the place of peace, and merit there
The Bard's most honourable name: At that,
Heirs and transmittors of the ancient light,
The youths advanced ; they heard the Cimbric lore,
From earliest days preserved ; they struck their harps,
And each in due succession raised the song.

Last of the aspirants, as of greener years,
Young Caradoc advanced : his lip as yet
Scarce darkened with its down, his flaxen locks
Wreathed in contracting ringlets waving low ;
His large blue eyes were bright, and kindled now
With that same passion that inflamed his cheek ;
Yet in his cheek there was the sickliness
Which thought and feeling leave, wearing away
The hue of youth. Inclining on his harp,
He, while his comrades in probation song
Approved their claim, stood hearkening, as it seemed,
And yet like unintelligible sounds:
He heard the symphony and voice attuned ;
Even in such feelings as, all undefined,
Come with the flow of waters to the soul,
Or with the motions of the moonlight sky.
But when his bidding came, he at the call
Arising from the dreamy mood, advanced,
Threw back his mantle, and began the lay.

Where are the sons of Gavran? where his tribe,
The faithful ? following their beloved Chief,
They the Green Islands of the Ocean sought.
Nor human tongue hath told, nor human ear,
Since from the silver shores they went their way,
Hath heard their fortunes. In his crystal Ark,
Whither sailed Merlin with his band of Bards,
Old Merlin, master of the mystic lore ?
Belike his crystal Ark, instinct with life,
Obedient to the mighty Master, reached
The Land of the Departed ; there, belike,
They in the clime of immortality,
Themselves immortal, drink the gales of bliss,
That o'er Flathinnis breathe eternal spring,
Blending whatever odours make the gale
Of evening sweet, whatever melody
Charms the wood-traveller. In their high-roofed halls,
There, with the Chiefs of other days, feel they
The mingled joy pervade them ?.. Or beneath
The mid-sea waters, did that crystal Ark
Down to the secret depths of Ocean plunge
Its fated crew ? Dwell they in coral bowers
With Mermaid loves, teaching their paramours
The songs that stir the sea, or make the winds
Hush, and the waves be still ? In fields of joy
Have they their home, where central fires maintain
Perpetual summer, where one emerald light
Through the green element for ever flows?

Twice have the sons of Britain left her shores,
As the fledged eaglets quit their native nest ;
Twice over ocean have her fearless sons
For ever sailed away. Again they launch
Their vessels to the deep. .. Who mounts the bark ?
The Son of Owen, the beloved Prince,
Who never for injustice reared his arm.
Respect his enterprize, ye Ocean Waves !
Ye Winds of Heaven, waft Madoc on his way !
The Waves of Ocean, and the Winds of Heaven
Became his ministers, and Madoc found
The world he sought.

Who seeks the better land ?
Who mounts the vessel for the world of peace ?
He who hath felt the throb of pride, to hear
Our old illustrious annals ; who was taught
To lisp the fame of Arthur, to revere
Our Caratach's unconquered soul, and call
That gallant chief his countryman, who led
The wrath of Britain, from her chalky shores
To drive the Roman robber. He who loves
His country, and who feels his country's shame,
Whose bones amid a land of servitude
Could never rest in peace ; who, if he saw
His children slaves, would feel a pang in heaven, ..
He mounts the bark, to seek for liberty.
Who seeks the better land? The wretched one,
Whose joys are blasted all, whose heart is sick,
Who hath no hope, to whom all change is gain,
To whom remembered pleasures strike a pang
Which only guilt should know, . . he mounts the bark.
The Bard will mount the bark of banishment ;
The harp of Cambria shall, in other lands,
Remind the Cambrian of his fathers fame ;..
The Bard will seek the land of liberty,
The world of peace. ...O Prince, receive the Bard !

He ceased the song. His cheek, now fever-flushed,
Was turned to Madoc, and his asking eye
Lingered on him in hope; nor lingered long
The look expectant ; forward sprung the Prince,
And stretched to Caradoc the right-hand pledge,
And for the comrade of his enterprize,
With joyful welcome, hailed the joyful Bard.

Nor needed now the Searcher of the Sea
Announce his enterprize, by Caradoc
In song announced so well; from man to man
The busy murmur spread, while from the Stone
Of Covenant the sword was taken up,
And from the Circle of the Ceremony
The Bards went forth, their meeting now fulfilled.
The multitude, unheeding all beside,
Of Madoc and his noble enterprize
Held stirring converse on their homeward way,
And spread abroad the tidings of the Land,
Where Plenty dwelt with Liberty and Peace.