Part I, Madoc in Wales: XIII

Farewell, my brother, cried the Ocean Chief ;
A little while farewell! as through the gate
Of Dinevawr he past, to pass again
That hospitable threshold never more.
And thou too, O thou good old man! true friend
Of Owen, and of Owen's house, farewell!
'Twill not be told me, Rhys, when thy grey hairs
Are to the grave gone down; .. but oftentimes
In the distant world I shall remember thee,
And think that, come thy summons when it may,
Thou wilt not leave a braver man behind... .
Now God be with thee, Rhys!

The old Chief paused
A moment ere he answered, as for pain ;
Then shaking his hoar head, I never yet
Gave thee this hand unwillingly before!
When for a guest I spread the board, my heart
Will think on him, whom ever with most joy
It leapt to welcome: should I ever lift
The spear against the Saxon, . . for old Rhys
Hath that within him yet, that could uplift
The Cimbric spear then shall wish his aid,
Who oft has conquered with me: when I kneel
In prayer to Heaven, an old man's prayer shall beg
A blessing on thee !

Madoc answered not,
But graspt his hand in silence, then sprang up,
And spurred his courser on. A weary way,
Through forest and o'er fell, Prince Madoc rode.
And now he skirts the bay whose reckless waves
Roll o'er the plain of Gwaelod : fair fields,
And busy towns, and happy villages,
They overwhelmed in one disastrous day ;
For they, by their eternal siege, had sapped
The bulwark of the land, while Seithenyn
Took of his charge no thought, till, in his sloth
And riotous cups surprised, he saw the sea
Roll like an army o'er the levelled mound.
A supplicant in other courts, he mourned
His crime and ruin; in another's court
The kingly harp of Garanhir was heard,
Wailing his kingdom wrecked ; and many a Prince,
Warned by the visitation, sought and gained
A saintly crown, Tyneio, Merini,
Boda and Brenda and Aelgyvarch,
Gwynon and Celynin and Gwynodyl.

To Bardsey was the Lord of Ocean bound ;
Bardsey, the holy Islet, in whose soil
Did many a Chief and many a Saint repose,
His great progenitors. He mounts the skiff;
Her canvass swells before the breeze; the sea
Sings round her sparkling keel, and soon the Lord
Of Ocean treads the venerable shore.

There was not, on that day, a speck to stain
The azure heaven ; the blessed Sun, alone,
In unapproachable divinity,
Careered, rejoicing in his fields of light.
How beautiful, beneath the bright blue sky,
The billows heave ! one glowing green expanse,
Save where along the bending line of shore
Such hue is thrown, as when the peacock's neck
Assumes its proudest tint of amethyst,
Embathed in emerald glory. All the flocks
Of Ocean are abroad : like floating foam,
The sea-gulls rise and fall upon the waves ;
With long protruded neck the cormorants
Wing their far flight aloft, and round and round
The plovers wheel, and give their note of joy.
It was a day that sent into the heart
A summer feeling: even the insect swarms
From their dark nooks and coverts issued forth,
For one day of existence more, and joy ;
The solitary primrose, on the bank,
Seemed now as though it had no cause to mourn
Its bleak autumnal birth ; the Rocks, and Shores,
And everlasting Mountains, had put on
The smile of that glad sunshine, .. they partook
The universal blessing.

To this Isle,
Where his forefathers were consigned to dust,
Did Madoc come in natural piety;
And therefore had he made his coming known,
Ordering a solemn service for their souls.
Therefore for this the Church that day was dressed
For this the Abbot, in his alb arrayed,
At the high altar stood ; for this infused,
Sweet incense from the waving thuribule
Rose like a mist, and the grey brotherhood
Chaunted the solemn mass. And now on high
The mighty Mystery had been elevate,
And now around the graves the bretheren
In long array proceed ; each in his hand,
Tall as the staff of some wayfaring man,
Bears the brown taper, with their daylight flame
Dimming the chearful day. Before the train
The Cross is borne, where, fashioned to the life,
In shape, and size, and ghastly colouring,
The aweful Image hangs. Next, in its shrine
Of gold and crystal, by the Abbot held,
The mighty Mystery came ; on either hand
Three Priests uphold above, on silver wands,
The purple pall. With holy water next
A father went, therewith, from hyssop branch,
Sprinkling the graves ; the while, with one accord,
The solemn psalm of mercy all intoned.

Pure was the faith of Madoc, though his mind
To all this pomp and solemn circumstance
Yielded a willing homage. But the place
Was holy ;.. the dead air, that underneath
Those arches never felt the healthy sun,
Nor the free motion of the elements,
Chilly and damp, infused associate awe :
The sacred odours of the incense still
Floated ; the daylight and the taper-flames
Commingled, dimming each, and each bedimmed ;
And as the slow procession paced along,
Still to their hymn, as if in symphony,
The regular foot-fall sounded ; swelling now,
Their voices in one chorus, loud and deep,
Rung o'er the echoing aisle ; and when it ceased,
The silence of that huge and sacred pile
Came on the heart. What wonder if the Prince
Yielded his homage now ? the influences
Of that sweet autumn day made every sense
Alive to every impulse, .. and he stood
On his forefathers' dust. Father! quoth he,
When now the rites were ended, far away
It hath been Madoc's lot to pitch his tent
On other shores ; there, in a foreign land,
Far from my fathers' burial place, must I
Be laid to rest; yet would I have my name
Be held with theirs in memory. I beseech you,
Have this a yearly rite for evermore,
As I will leave endowment for the same ;
And let me be remembered in the prayer.
The day shall be a holy day with me,
While I do live ; they who come after me
Will hold it holy ; it will be a bond
Of love and brotherhood, when all beside
Hath been dissolved ; and though wide ocean rolls
Between my people and their mother Isle,
This shall be their communion : They shall send,
In the same language, the same prayer to Heaven,
And, each remembering each in piety,
Pray for the others welfare.

The old man
Partook that feeling, and some pious tears
Fell down his aged cheek. Kinsman and son,
It shall be so! said he; and thou shalt be
Remembered in the prayer: nor then alone ;
But till my sinking sands be quite run out,
This feeble voice shall, from its solitude,
Go up for thee to Heaven !

And now the bell
Rung out its chearful summons; to the hall,
In seemly order, pass the brotherhood :
The serving-men wait with the ready ewer ;
The place of honour to the Prince is given,
The Abbot's right-hand guest: the viands smoke,
The horn of ale goes round ; and now, the cates
Removed, for days of festival reserved,
Comes choicer beverage, clary, hippocras,
And meed mature, that to the goblet's brim
Sparkles, and sings, and smiles. It was a day
Of that allowable and temperate mirth,
That leaves a joy for memory. Madoc told
His tale ; and thus, with question and reply,
And chearful intercourse, from noon till nones
The brethren sate ; and when the quire was done,
Renewed their converse, till the vesper bell.

And now the Porter called Prince Madoc out,
To speak with one, he said, who from the land
Had sought him, and required his private ear.
Madoc in the moonlight met him: in his hand
The stripling held an oar, and on his back,
Like a broad shield, the coracle was hung.
Uncle! he cried, and, with a gush of tears,
Sprung to the glad embrace.

O my brave boy!
Llewelyn ! my dear boy! with stifled voice,
And interrupted utterance, Madoc cried,
Llewelyn, come with me, and share my fate !

No! by my God ! the high-hearted youth exclaimed,
It never shall be said Llewelyn left
His father's murderer on his father's throne !
I am the rightful king of this poor land. ..
Go thou, and wisely go; but I must stay,
That I may save my people. Tell me, Uncle,
The story of thy fortunes ; I can hear it
Here in this lonely Isle, and at this hour,
Securely.

Nay, quoth Madoc, tell me first,
Where are thy haunts and coverts, and what hope
Thou hast to bear thee up? Why goest thou not.
To Mathraval ? there would Cyveilioc give
A kinsman's welcome ; or at Dinevawr,
The guest of honour shouldst thou be with Rhys :
And he, belike, from David might obtain
Some recompense, though poor.

What recompense ?
Exclaimed Llewelyn ; what hath he to give,
But life for life ? and what have I to claim
But vengeance, and my father Yorwerth's throne?
If with aught short of that my soul could rest,
Would I not through the wide world follow thee,
Dear Uncle! and fare with thee, well or ill,
And show to thine old age the tenderness
My childhood found from thee ! .. What hopes I have
Let time display : Have thou no fear for me!
My bed is made within the ocean-caves,
Of sea-weeds, bleached by many a sun and shower ;
I know the mountain dens, and every hold
And fastness of the forest; and I know, oe
What troubles him by day and in his dreams, . . .
There's many an honest heart in Gwyneth yet!..
But tell me thine adventure ; that will be
A joy to think of in long winter nights,
When stormy billows make my lullaby.

So, as they walked along the moonlight shore,
Did Madoc tell him all; and still he strove,
By dwelling on that noble end and aim,
That of his actions was the heart and life,
To win him to his wish. It touched the youth .
And when the Prince had ceased, he heaved a sigh,
Long-drawn and deep, as if regret were there.
No, no! he cried, that must not be! lo yonder
My native mountains, and how beautiful
They rest in the moonlight! I was nurst among them;
They saw my sports in childhood, they have seen
My sorrows, they have saved me in the hour
Of danger ; .. I have vowed, that as they were
My cradle, they shall be my monument!..
But we shall meet again, and thou wilt find me,
When next thou visitest thy native Isle,
King in Aberfraw !

Never more, Llewelyn,
Madoc replied, shall I behold the shores
Of Britain, nor will ever tale of me
Reach the Green Isle again. With fearful care
I chuse my little company, and leave .
No traces of our path, where Violence,
And bloody Zeal, and bloodier Avarice,
Might find their blasting way.

And so it should be, then the youth replied,
Thou wilt not know my fate;.. but this be sure,
It shall not be inglorious. I have in me
A hope from Heaven. . . Give me thy blessing, Uncle!

Llewelyn knelt upon the sand, and clasped
His knees, with lifted head and streaming eyes
Listening. He rose, and fell on Madoc's neck,
And clasped him, with a silent agony, ..
Then launched his coracle, and took his way,
A lonely traveller on the moonlight sea.