Part I, Madoc in Wales: X

And now went Madoc forth for Mathraval ;
O'er Menai's ebbing tide, up mountain paths,
Beside grey mountain-stream, and lonely lake,
And through old Snowdon's forest solitude,
He held right on his solitary -way.
Nor paused he in that rocky vale, where oft
Up the familiar path, with gladder pace,
His steed had hastened to the well-known door, ..
That valley, o'er whose crags, and sprinkled trees,
And winding stream, so oft his eye had loved
To linger, gazing, as the eve grew dim,
From Dolwyddelan's Tower; .. alas! therefrom,
As from his brother's monument, he turned
A loathing eye, and through the rocky vale
Sped on. From morn till noon, from noon till eve,
He travelled on his way ; and when at morn
Again the Ocean Chief bestrode his steed,
The heights of Snowdon on his backward glance
Hung like a cloud in heaven. O'er heath and hill
And barren height he rode ; and darker now,
In loftier majesty thy mountain seat,
Star-loving Idris, rose. Nor turned he now
Beside Kregennan, where his infant feet
Had trod Ednywain's hall ; nor loitered he
In the green vales of Powys, till he came
Where Warnway rolls his waters underneath
The walls of Mathraval, old Mathraval,
Cyveilioc's princely and paternal seat.

But Madoc rushed not forward now to greet
The chief he loved, for from the hall was heard
The voice of harp and song. It was, that day,
The feast of victory at Mathraval ;
Around the Chieftain's board the warriors sate ;
The sword, and shield, and helmet, .on the wall,
And round the pillars, were in peace hung up;
And, as the flashes of the central fire
At fits arose, a dance of wavy light
Played o'er the reddening steel. The Chiefs, who late
So well had wielded, in the play of war,
Those weapons, sate around the board, to quaff
The beverage of the brave, and hear their fame.

Cyveilioc stood before them, .. in his pride
Stood up the Poet-Prince of Mathraval ;
His hands were on the harp, his eyes were closed,
His head, as if in reverence to receive
The inspiration, bent ; anon, he raised
His glowing countenance, and brighter eye,
And swept, with passionate hand, the ringing harp.

Fill high the Hirlas Horn! to Grufydd bear
Its frothy beverage, .. from his crimson lance
The invader fled ;.. fill high the gold-tipt Horn!
Heard ye in Maelor the step of war?..
The hastening shout ?.. the onset? .. Did ye hear
The clash and clang of arms ? . . the battle-din,
Loud as the roar of Ocean, when the Winds
At midnight are abroad ?.. the yell of wounds ?..
The rage?.. the agony ?... give to him the Horn
Whose spear was broken, and whose buckler pierced
With many a shaft, yet not the less he fought
And conquered ; . . therefore let Ednyved share
The generous draught ; give him the long blue Horn!
Pour out again, and fill again the spoil
Of the wild bull, with silver wrought of yore ;
Bear ye to Tudyr's hand the golden lip,
Eagle of battle! for Moreiddig fill
The honourable Hirlas! .. where are They ? ;
Where are the noble Brethren ? Wolves of war,
They kept their border well, they did their part,
Their fame is full, their lot is praise and song...
A mournful song to me, a song of woe! -
Brave Brethren ! for their honour brim the cup,
Which they shall quaff no more.

We drove away
The strangers from our land ; profuse of life,
Our warriors rushed to battle, and the Sun
Saw, from his noontide fields, their manly strife.
Pour thou the flowing mead ! Cup-bearer, fill
The Hirlas! for hadst thou beheld the day
Of Llidom, thou hadst known how well the Chiefs:
Deserve this honour now. Cyveilioc's shield
Were they in danger, when the Invader came ;
Be praise and liberty their lot on earth,
And joy be theirs in Heaven!

Here ceased the song. .
Then from the threshold on the rush-strewn floor
Madoc advanced. Cyveilioc's eye was now
To present forms awake, but, even as still
He felt his harp-chords throb with dying sounds,
The heat and stir and passion had not yet
Subsided in his soul. Again he struck
The loud-toned harp. ... Pour from the silver vase,
And brim the honourable Horn, and bear
The draught of joy to Madoc, . . he who first
Explored the desert ways of Ocean, first,
Through the wide waste of sea and sky, held on
Undaunted, till upon another World,
The Lord and Conqueror of the Elements,
He set his foot triumphant! Fill for him
The Hirlas! fill the honourable Horn!
This is a happy hour, for Madoc treads
The hall of Mathraval ; by every foe
Dreaded, by every friend beloved the best,
Madoc, the Briton Prince, the Ocean Lord,
Who never for injustice reared his arm.
Give him the Hirlas Horn! fill, till the draught
Of joy shall quiver o'er the golden brim!
In happy hour the hero hath returned !
In happy hour the friend, the brother, treads
Cyveilioc's floor !

He sprung to greet his guest ;
The cordial grasp of fellowship was given ;
They gave the seat of honour, and they filled
For him the Hirlas Horn. ..So there was joy
In Mathraval. Cyveilioc and his Chiefs,
All eagerly, with wonder-waiting eyes,
Look to the Wanderer of the Waters' tale.
Nor mean the joy which kindled Madoc's brow,
Whenas he told of daring enterprise
Crowned with deserved success. Intent they heard
Of all the blessings of that happier clime ;
And when the adventurer spake of soon return,
Each on the other gazed, as if to say,
Methinks it were a goodly lot to dwell
In that fair land in peace.

Then said the Prince
Of Powys, Madoc, at an happy time
Thy feet have sought the house of Mathraval ;
For on the morrow, in the eye of light,
Our bards will hold their congress. Seekest thou
Comrades to share success ? proclaim abroad
Thine invitation there, and it shall spread
Far as our fathers ancient tongue is known.

The mantling mead went round at Mathraval ;..
That was a happy hour! Of other years
They talked, of common toils, and fields of war
When they fought side by side ; of Corwen's day
Of glory, and of comrades now no more:..
Themes of delight, and grief that brought its joy.

Thus they beguiled the pleasant hours, while night
Wained fast away ; then late they laid them down,
Each on his bed of rushes, stretched around
The central fire.

The Sun was newly risen
When Madoc joined his host, no longer now
Clad as the conquering chief of Maelor,
In princely arms, but in his nobler robe,
The sky-blue mantle of the bard, arrayed.
So for the place of meeting they set forth ;
And now they reached Melangell's lonely church.
Amid a grove of evergreens it stood,
A garden and a grove, where every grave
Was decked with flowers, or with unfading plants
O'ergrown, sad rue, and funeral rosemary.
Here Madoc paused. The morn is young, quoth he ;
A little while to old remembrance given
Will not belate us. .. Many a year hath fled,
Cyveilioc, since you led me here, and told
The legend of the Saint. Come!.. be not loath
We will not loiter long. .. So soon to mount
The bark, which will for ever bear me hence,
I would not willingly pass by one spot
That thus recals the thought of other times,
Without a pilgrim's visit.

Thus he spake,
And drew Cyveilioc through the church-yard porch,
To the rude image of Saint Monacel.
Dost thou remember, Owen, said the Prince,
When first I was thy guest in early youth,
That once, as we had wandered here at eve,
You told, how here a poor and hunted hare
Ran to the Virgin's feet, and looked to her
For life? .. I thought, when listening to the tale,
She had a merciful heart, and that her face
Must with a saintly gentleness have beamed,
When beasts could read its virtue. Here we sate,
Upon the jutting root of this old yeugh...
Dear friend! so pleasant didst thou make those days,
That in my heart, long as my heart shall beat,
Minutest recollections still will live,
Still be the source of joy.

As Madoc spake,
His glancing eye fell on a monument,
Around whose base the rosemary drooped down,
As yet not rooted well. Sculptured above,
A warrior lay ; the shield was on his arm ;
Madoc approached, and saw the blazonry.
A sudden chill ran through him, as he read,
Here Yorwerth lies ...it was his brother's grave.

Cyveilioc took him by the hand: For this,
Madoc, was I so loath to enter here !
He sought the sanctuary, but close upon him
The murderers followed, and by yonder copse
The stroke of death was given. All I could
Was done; .. I saw him here consigned to rest,
Daily due masses for his soul are sung,
And duly hath his grave been decked with flowers.
So saying, from the place of death he led
The silent prince. But lately, he pursued,
Llewelyn was my guest, thy favourite boy.
For thy sake and his own, it was my hope
That he would make his home at Mathraval :
He had not needed then a father's love.
But he, I know not on what enterprise,
Was brooding ever ; and these secret thoughts
Led him away. God prosper the brave boy !
It were a happy day for this poor land
If e'er Llewelyn mount his rightful throne.