Part I, Madoc in Wales: XIV

Now hath Prince Madoc left the holy Isle,
And homeward to Aberfraw, through the wilds
Of Arvon, bent his course. A little way
He turned aside, by natural impulses
Moved, to behold Cadwallon's lonely hut.
That lonely dwelling stood among the hills,
By a grey mountain-stream ; just elevate
Above the winter torrents did it stand,
Upon a craggy bank; an orchard slope
Arose behind, and joyous was the scene,
In early summer, when those antic trees
Shone with their blushing blossoms, and the flax
Twinkled beneath the breeze its liveliest green.
But, save the flax-field and that orchard slope,
All else was desolate, and now all wore
One sober hue; the narrow vale which wound
Among the hills, was grey with rocks, that peered
Above its shallow soil; the mountain side
Was with loose stones bestrewn, which, oftentimes
Sliding beneath the foot of straggling goat,
Clattered adown the steep, or huger crags,
Which, when the coming frost should loosen them,
Would thunder down. All things assorted well
With that grey mountain hue ; the low stone lines,
Which scarcely seemed to be the work of man,
The dwelling, rudely reared with stones unhewn,
The stubble flax, the crooked apple-trees,
Grey with their fleecy moss and misseltoe,
The white-barked birch, now leafless, and the ash,
Whose knotted roots were like the rifted rock,
Where they had forced their way. Adown the vale,
Broken by stones, and o'er a stoney bed,
Rolled the loud mountain-stream.

When Madoc came,
A little child was sporting by the brook,
Floating the fallen leaves, that he might see them.
Whirl in the eddy now, and now be driven
Down the descent, now on the smoother stream
Sail onward, far away. But when he heard
The horse's tramp, he raised his head, and watched
The Prince, who now dismounted and drew nigh.
The little boy still fixed his eyes on him,
His bright blue eyes ; the wind just moved the curls
That clustered round his brow ; and so he stood,
His rosy cheeks still lifted up to gaze,
In innocent wonder. Madoc took his hand,
And now had asked his name, and if he dwelt
There in the hut, when from that cottage door
A woman came, who, seeing Madoc, stopt
With such a fear, ... for she had cause for fear, ...
As when a bird, returning to her nest,
Turns to a tree beside, if she behold
Some prying boy too near the dear retreat.
Howbeit, advancing soon, she now approached
The approaching Prince, and timidly enquired,
If, on his wayfare, he had lost the track,
That thither he had strayed. Not so, replied
The gentle Prince ; but having known this place,
And its old habitants, I came once more
To view the lonely hut among the hills.
Hath it been long your dwelling ?

Some few years,
Here we have dwelt, quoth she, my child and I.

Will it please you enter, and partake such fare
As we can give ? Still timidly she spake,
But gathering courage from the gentle mien
Of him with whom she conversed. Madoc thanked
The friendly proffer, and toward the hut
They went, and in his arms he took the boy.
Who is his father? said the Prince, but wished
The word unuttered : for thereat her cheek
Was flushed with sudden heat, and manifest pain ;
And she replied, He perished in the war.

They entered now her home; she spread the board,
Bringing fresh curds, and cheese like curd so white,
The orchard fruits, and what sweet beverage
Her bees, who now were slumbering in the hive,
Had toiled to purvey all the summer long.
Three years, said Madoc, have gone by, since here
I found a timely welcome, overworn
With toil, and sorrow, and sickness: .. three long years!
T'was when the battle had been waged hard by,
Upon the plain of Arvon.

She grew pale,
Suddenly pale ; and seeing that he marked
The change, she told him, with a feeble voice,
That was the fatal fight which widowed me.

O Christ! cried Madoc, 'tis a grief to think
How many a gallant Briton died that day,
In that accursed strife ! I trod the field
When all was over, .. I beheld them heaped...
Aye, like ripe corn within the reaper's reach,
Strewn round the bloody spot where Hoel lay ;
Brave as he was, himself cut down at last,
Oppressed by numbers, gashed with wounds, yet still
Clenching, in his dead hand, the broken sword!..
But you are moved, .. you weep at what I tell.
Forgive me, that, renewing my own grief,
I should have wakened yours! Did you then know
Prince Hoel?

She replied, Oh no! my lot
Was humble, and my loss a humble one ;
Yet was it all to me! They say, quoth she, .
And, as she spake, she struggled to bring forth,
With painful voice, the interrupted words, . . .
They say Prince Hoel's body was not found ;
But you, who saw him dead, perchance can tell
Where he was laid, and by what friendly hand.

Even where he fell, said Madoc, is his grave ;
For he who buried him was one whose faith
Recked not of boughten prayers, nor passing bell.
There is a hawthorn grows beside the place,
A solitary tree, nipt by the winds,
That it doth seem a fitting monument
For one untimely slain. .. But wherefore dwell we
On this ungrateful theme ?

He took the harp
That stood beside, and, passing o'er its chords,
Made music. At the touch the child drew nigh,
Pleased by the sounds, and leant on Madoc's knee,
And bade him play again: So Madoc played,
For he had skill in minstrelsy, and raised
His voice, and sung Prince Hoel's lay of love.

I have harnessed thee, my Steed of shining grey,
And thou shalt bear me to the dear white walls.
I love the white walls by the verdant bank,
That glitter in the sun, where Bashfulness
Watches the silver sea-mew sail along.
I love the glittering dwelling, where we hear
The ever-sounding waves; for there she dwells,
The shapely Maid, fair as the ocean spray,
Her cheek as lovely as the apple flower,
Or evening's summer glow. I pine for her ;
In crowded halls my spirit is with her ;
Through the long sleepless night I think on her ;
And happiness is gone, and health is lost,
And fled the flush of youth, and I am pale
As the pale ocean on a sunless morn.
I pine away for her, yet pity her,
That she should spurn a love so true as mine.

He ceased, and laid his hand upon the child, ..
And didst thou like the song? The child replied,
Oh yes! it is a song my mother loves,
And so I love it too. He stoopt, and kissed
The boy, who still was leaning on his knee,
Already grown familiar. I should like
To take thee with me, quoth the Ocean Lord,
Over the seas.

Thou art Prince Madoc, then!...
The Mother cried, . . . thou art indeed the Prince!
That song... that look!...and at his feet she fell,
Panting. ..Oh take him, Madoc! save the child!
Thy brother Hoel's orphan !

Long it was
Ere that in either agitated heart
The tumult could subside. One while the Prince
Gazed on the child, tracing intently there
His brother's lines ; and now he caught him up,
And kissed his cheek, and gazed again, till all
Was dim and dizzy; then blest God, and vowed
That he should never need a father's love.

At length, when copious tears had now relieved
Her burthened heart, and many a broken speech
In tears had died away, O Prince, she cried,
Long hath it been my dearest prayer to heaven,
That I might see thee once, and to thy love
Commit this friendless boy! For many a time,
In phrase so fond did Hoel tell thy worth,
That it hath wakened misery in me
To think, I could not as a sister claim
Thy love! and therefore was it that till now
Thou knewest me not; for I intreated him,
That he would never let thy virtuous eye
Look on my guilt, and make me feel my shame.
Madoc, I did not dare to see thee then, . .
Thou wilt not scorn me now, .. for I have now
Forgiven myself ; and, while I here performed
A mother's duties in this solitude,
Have felt myself forgiven.

With that she clasped
His hand, and bent her face on it, and wept.
Anon collecting, she pursued, .. My name
Is Ts Liaian: by the chance of war I fell
Into his power, when all my family
Had been cut off, all in one hour of blood.
He saved me from the ruffian's hand, he soothed,
With tenderest care, my sorrow. .. You can tell
How gentle he could be, and how his eyes,
So full of life and kindliness, could win
All hearts to love him. Madoc, I was young ;
I had no living friend ; .. and when I gave
This infant to his arms, when with such joy
He viewed it o'er and o'er again, and pressed
A father's kiss upon its cheek, and turned
To me, and made me feel more deeply yet.
A mother's deep delight, .. oh ! I was proud
To think my child in after years should say,
Prince Hoel was his father

Thus I dwelt,
In the white dwelling by the verdant bank,..
Though not without my melancholy hours, . .
Happy. The joy it was when I beheld
His steed of shining grey come hastening on,
Across the yellow sand! .. Alas! ere long,
King Owen died. I need not tell thee, Madoc,
With what a deadly and forefeeling fear
I heard how Hoel seized his father's throne,
Nor with what ominous woe I welcomed him, .
In that last little miserable hour
Ambition gave to love. I think his heart,
Brave as it was, misgave him. When I spake
Of David and my fears, he smiled upon me ;
But 'twas a smile that came not from the heart, . .
A most ill-boding smile! ..O Madoc! Madoc

You know not with what misery I saw )
His parting steps, .. with what a dreadful hope
I watched for tidings! ... And at length it came,..
Came like a thunderbolt! .. I sought the field :
O Madoc, there were many widows there,
But none with grief like mine ! I looked around ;
I dragged aside the bodies of the dead,
To search for him, in vain; ..and then a hope
Seized me, that it was agony to lose!

Night came. I did not heed the storm of night ;
But for the sake of this dear babe, I sought
Shelter in this lone hut: 'twas desolate ;
And when my reason had returned, I thought,
That here the child of Hoel might be safe,
Till we could claim thy care. But thou, meantime,
Didst go to roam the ocean ; so I learnt
To bound my wishes here. The carkanet,
The embroidered girdle, and what other gauds
Were once my vain adornment, soon were changed
For things of profit, goats and bees, and this,
The tuneful solace of my solitude.
Madoc, the harp is as a friend to me ;
I sing to it the songs which Hoel loved,
And Hoel's own sweet lays ; it comforts me,
And gives me joy in grief.

Often I grieved,
To think the son of Hoel should grow up
Till Time, who softens all regrets, had worn
In this unworthy state of poverty ;

That vain regret away, and I became
Humbly resigned to God's unerring will.
To him I looked for healing, and he poured
His balm into my wounds. I never formed
A prayer for more, . . and lo! the happiness
That he hath, of his mercy, sent me now!