Part I, Madoc in Wales: VII

Now then to meet the war! Erillyab's call
Roused all her people to revenge their wrongs ;
And, at Lincoya's voice, the mountain tribes
Arose and broke their bondage. I, meantime,
Took council with Cadwallon and his sire,
And told them of the numbers we must meet,
And what advantage from the mountain straits
I thought, as in the Saxon wars, to win.
Thou sawest their weapons, then Cadwallon said ;
Are they like these rude works of ignorance,
Bone-headed shafts, and spears of wood, and shields
Strong only for such strife ?

We had to cope
With wiser enemies, and abler armed.
What for the sword they wielded was a staff
Set thick with stones across ; you would have judged
That uncouth shape was cumbrous; but a hand
Expert, and practised to its use, could drive
The heavy edge with deadly impulse down.
Their mail, if mail it may be called, was woven
Of vegetable down, like finest flax,
Bleached to the whiteness of the new-fallen snow,
To every bend and motion flexible,
Light as a warrior's summer-garb in peace;
Yet, in that lightest, softest, habergeon,
Harmless the sharp stone-arrow-head would hang.
Others, of higher office, were arrayed
In feathery breast-plates, of more gorgeous hue
Than the gay plumage of the mountain-cock,
Than the pheasant's glittering pride. But what were these,
Or what the thin gold hauberk, when opposed
To arms like ours in battle ? What the mail
Of wood fire-hardened, or the wooden helm,
Against the iron arrows of the South,
Against our northern spears, or battle-axe,
Or good sword, wielded by a British hand
Then, quoth Cadwallon, at the wooden helm,
Of these weak arms the weakest, let the sword
Hew, and the spear be thrust : the mountaineers,
So long inured to crouch beneath their yoke,
We will not trust in battle ; from the heights,
They, with their arrows, may annoy the foe ;
And, when our closer strife has won the fray,
Then let them loose for havoc.

Exclaimed the blind old man, thou counsellest ill !
Blood will have blood, revenge beget revenge,
Evil must come of evil! We shall win,
Certes, a cheap and easy victory
In the first field ; their arrows from our arms
Will fall, and, on the hauberk and the helm,
The stone-edge blunt break; while thro' their,
Naked, or vainly fenced, the griding steel
Shall sheer its mortal way. But what are we
Against a nation? Other hosts will rise
In endless warfare, with perpetual fights
Dwindling our all-too-few ; or multitudes
Will wear and weary us, till we sink subdued
By the very toil of conquest. Ye are brave ;
But he, who puts his trust in mortal strength,
Leans on a broken reed! First prove your power ;
Be in the battle terrible, but spare
The fallen, and follow not the flying foe ;
Then may ye win a nobler victory,
So dealing with the captives as to fill
Their hearts with wonder, gratitude, and awe,
That love shall mingle with their fear, and fear
Stablish the love, else wavering: let them see,
That as more pure and gentle is your faith,
Yourselves are gentler, purer. Ye shall be
As gods among them, if ye thus obey
God's precepts.

Soon the mountain-tribes, in arms,
Rose at Lincoya's call ; a numerous host,
More than in numbers, in the memory
Of long oppression, and revengeful hope,
A formidable foe. I stationed them
Where, at the entrance of the rocky straits,
Secure themselves, their arrows might command
The coming army. On the plain below
We took our stand, between the mountain base
And the green margin of the waters. Soon
Their long array came on. Oh what a pomp
And pride and pageantry of war was there !
Not half so gorgeous, for their May-day mirth
All wreathed and ribbanded, our youths and maids,
As these stern Aztecas in war attire !
The golden glitterance, and the feather-mail,
More than glittering gold ; and round the helm,
A coronal of high upstanding plumes,
Green as the spring grass in a sunny shower ;
Or scarlet-bright, as in the wintry wood
The clustered holly ; or of purple tint, ..
Whereto shall that be likened? to what gem
Indiademed, . . what flower, .. what insect's wing ?
With war-songs and wild music they came on,
We, the while, kneeling, raised with one accord
The hymn of supplication.

Front to front
And now the embattled armies stood : a band
Of priests, all sable-garmented, advanced ;
They piled a heap of sedge before our host,
And warned us, ..Sons of Ocean! from the land
Of Aztlan, while ye may, depart in peace !
Before the fire shall be extinguished, hence !
Or, even as yon dry sedge amid the flame,
So ye shall be consumed !... The arid heap
They kindled, and the rapid flame ran up,
And blazed, and died away. Then -from his bow,
With steady hand, their chosen archer loosed
The Arrow of the Omen. To its mark
The shaft of divination fled ; it smote
Cadwallon's plated breast ; the brittle point
Rebounded. He, contemptuous of their faith,
Stoopt for the shaft, and while with zealous speed
To the rescue they rushed onward, snapping it
Asunder, cast the fragments back in scorn.

Fierce was their onset ; never in the field
Encountered I with braver enemies.
Nor marvel ye, nor think it to their shame,
If soon they staggered, and gave way, and fled,
So many from so few ; they saw their darts
Recoil, their lances shiver, and their swords
Fall ineffectual, blunted with the blow.
Think ye no shame of Aztlan that they fled,
When the bowmen of Deheubarth plied so well
Their shafts, with fatal aim; through the thin gold,
Or feather-mail, while Gwyneth's deep-driven spears
Pierced to the bone and vitals ; when they saw
The falchion, flashing late so lightning like,
Quenched in their own life-blood. Our mountaineers
Showered from the heights, meantime, an arrowy storm,
Themselves secure ; and we who bore the brunt
Of battle, iron men, impassible,
Stood in our strength unbroken. Marvel not
If then the brave felt fear, already impressed
That day by ominous thoughts, to fear akin ;
For it so chanced, high heaven ordaining so,
The king, who should have led his people forth,
At the army head, as they began their march,
Was with sore sickness stricken; and the stroke
Came like the act and arm of very God,
So suddenly, and in that point of time.
A gallant man was he, who, in his stead,
That day commanded Aztlan ; his long hair,
Tufted with many a cotton lock, proclaimed
Of princely prowess many a feat atchieved,
In many a field of fame. Oft had he led
The Aztecas, with happy fortune, forth ;
Yet could not now Yuhidthiton inspire
His host with hope: he, not the less, that day,
True to his old renown, and in the hour
Sounded his signals shrill, and in the voice
Of rout and ruin, with collected mind,
Of loud reproach, and anger, and brave shame,
Called on the people. .. But when nought availed,
Seizing the standard from the timid hand
Which held it in dismay, alone he turned,
For honourable death resolved, and praise
That would not die. At that, the braver chiefs
Rallied, anew their signals rung around,
And Aztlan, seeing how we spared her flight,
Took heart, and rolled the tide of battle back.
But when Cadwallon from the chieftain's grasp
Had cut the standard-staff away, and stunned
And stretched him at his mercy on the field ;
Then fled the enemy in utter rout,
Broken, and quelled at heart. One chief alone
Bestrode the body of Yuhidthiton ;
Bareheaded did young Malinal bestride
His brother's body, wiping from his brow
With the shield-hand the blinding blood away,
And dealing franticly, with broken sword,
Obstinate wrath, the last resisting foe.
Him, in his own despite, we seized and saved.
Then, in the moment of our victory,
We purified our hands from blood, and knelt,
And poured to heaven the grateful prayer of praise,
And raised the choral psalm. Triumphant thus
To the hills we went our way ; the mountaineers
With joy, and dissonant song, and antic dance ;
The captives sullenly, deeming that they went
To meet the certain death of sacrifice,
Yet stern and undismayed. We bade them know,
Ours was a law of mercy and of love ;
We healed their wounds, and set the prisoners free.
Bear ye, quoth I, my bidding to your King!
Say to him, Did the Stranger speak to thee
The words of truth, and hath he proved his power ?
Thus saith the Lord of Ocean, in the name
Of God, Almighty, Universal God,
Thy Judge and mine, whose battles I have fought,
Whose bidding I obey, whose will I speak ;
Shed thou no more, in impious sacrifice,
The life of man ; restore unto the grave
The dead Tepollomi; set this people free,
And peace shall be between us.

On the morrow
Came messengers from Aztlan, in reply.

Coanocotzin with sore malady
Hath, by the Gods, been stricken. Will the Lord
Of Ocean visit his sick-bed ? . . he told
Of wrath, and as he said, the vengeance came.
Nat Let him bring healing now, and stablish peace.