Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey

by Robert Southey

  The palace portal. Urien stopt, and said,

  The child should know your coming: it is long

  Since she hath heard a voice that to her heart

  Spake gladness,.. none but I must tell her this!

  So Urien sought Goervyl, whom he found

  Alone, and gazing on the moonlight sea.

  Oh, you are welcome, Urien!” cried the maid.

  There was a ship came sailing hitherward...

  I could not see his banner, for the night

  Clos’d in so fast around her; but my heart

  Indulged a foolish hope!

  The old man replied,

  With difficult effort keeping down his heart,

  God, in his goodness, may reserve for us

  That blessing yet! I have yet life enow

  To trust that I shall live to see the day,

  Albeit the number of my years well nigh

  Be full.

  Ill-judging kindness! said the maid.

  Have I not nursed, for two long, wretched years,

  That miserable hope, which every day

  Grew weaker, like a baby sick to death,

  Yet dearer for its weakness day by day!

  No, never shall we see his daring bark!

  I knew and felt it in the evil hour

  When forth she far’d! I felt it... his last kiss

  Was our death parting!

  And she paus’d to curb

  The agony: anon,.. But thou hast been

  To learn their tidings, Urien? He replied,

  In half-articulate voice,.. they said, my child,

  That Madoc lived... that soon he would be here.

  She had receiv’d the shock of happiness:

  Urien! she cried, thou art not mocking me!

  Nothing the old man spake, but spread his arms,

  Sobbing aloud. Goervyl from their hold

  Started, and sunk upon her brother’s breast.

  Recovering first, the aged Urien said,

  Enough of this:... there will be time for this,

  My children! better it behooves ye now

  To seek the King. And, Madoc, I beseech thee,

  Bear with thy brother! gently bear with him,

  My gentle prince! he is the headstrong slave

  Of passions unsubdu’d; he feels no tie

  Of kindly love or blood... provoke him not,

  Madoc!... It is his nature’s malady.

  Thou good old man! replied the prince, be sure

  I shall remember what to him is due,

  What to myself; for I was in my youth

  Wisely and well trained up, nor yet hath time

  Effaced the lore my foster-father taught.

  Haste, haste! exclaimed Goervyl;... and her heart

  Smote her, in sudden terror. at the thought

  Of Yorwerth, and of Owen’s broken house;..

  I dread his dark suspicions!

  Not for me

  Suffer that fear, my sister! quoth the prince.

  Safe is the straight and open way I tread!

  Nor hath God made the human heart so bad,

  That thou or I should have a danger there.

  So saying, they toward the palace-gate

  Went on, ere yet Aberfraw had received

  The tidings of her wanderer’s glad return.

  II.

  The guests were seated at the festal board;

  Green rushes strewed the floor; high in the hall

  Was David; Emma, in her bridal robe,

  In youth, in beauty, by her husband’s side

  Sate at the marriage feast. The monarch rais’d

  His eyes; he saw the mariner approach;

  Madoc! he cried; strong nature’s impulses

  Prevail’d, and with a holy joy he met

  His brother’s warm embrace.

  With that, what peals

  Of exultation shook Aberfraw’s tower!

  How then re-echoing rang the home of kings,

  When from subdued Ocean, from the World

  That he had first foreseen, he first had found,

  Came her triumphant child! The mariners,

  A happy band, enter the clamorous hall;

  Friend greets with friend, and all are friends; one joy

  Fills with one common feeling every heart,

  And strangers give and take the welcoming

  Of hand and voice and eye. That boisterous joy

  At length allayed, the board was spread anew,

  Anew the horn was brimm’d, the central hearth

  Built up anew for later revelries.

  Now to the ready feast! the seneschal

  Duly below the pillars ranged the crew;

  Toward the guest’s most honorable seat

  The king himself led his brave brother: then,

  Eying the lovely Saxon as he spake,

  Here, Madoc, see thy sister! thou hast been

  Long absent, and our house hath felt the while

  Sad diminution: but my arm at last

  Hath rooted out rebellion from the land;

  And I have stablished now our ancient house,

  Grafting a scion from the royal tree

  Of England on the sceptre: so shall peace

  Bless our dear country.

  Long and happy years

  Await my sovereigns! thus the chief replied,

  And long may our dear country rest in peace!

  Enough of sorrow hath our royal house

  Known in the field of battles,.. yet we reap’d

  The harvest of renown.

  Ay, many a day,

  David replied, together have we led

  The onset!.. Dost thou not remember, brother,

  How, in that hot and unexpected charge

  On Keiriog’s bank, we gave the enemy

  Their welcoming?

  And Berwyn’s after-strife!

  Quoth Madoc, as the. memory kindled him:

  The fool that day, who in his masque attire

  Sported before King Henry, wished in vain

  Fitlier habiliments of javelin-proof!

  And yet not more precipitate that fool

  Dropped his mock weapons, than the archers cast,

  Desperate their bows and quivers full away,

  When we leapt on, and in the mire and blood

  Trampled their banner!

  That,” exclaim’d the king,

  That was a day indeed, that I may still

  Proudly remember, prov’d as I have been

  In conflicts of such perilous assay,

  That Saxon combat seemed like woman’s war.

  When with the traitor Hoel I did wage

  The deadly battle, then was I in truth

  Put to the proof; no vantage-ground was there,

  Nor famine, nor disease, nor storms to aid,

  But equal, hard, close battle, man to man,

  Briton to Briton. By my soul! pursued

  The’ tyrant, heedless how from Madoc’s eye

  Flashed the quick wrath like lightning,.. though I knew

  The rebel’s worth, his prowess then excited

  Unwelcome wonder! even at the last,

  When stiff with toil and faint with wounds, he rais’d

  Feebly his broken sword....

  Then Madoc’s grief

  Found utterance; Wherefore, David, dost thou rouse

  The memory now of that unhappy day,

  That thou shouldst wish to hide from earth and heaven?

  Not in Aberfraw,.. not to me this tale!

  Tell it the Saxon!.. he will join thy triumph,..

  He hates the race of Owen!.. But I lov’d

  My brother Hoel,.. lov’d him,.. that ye knew!

  I was to him the dearest of his kin,

  And he my own heart’s brother.

  David’s cheek

  Grew pale and dark; he bent his broad, black brow

  Full upon Madoc’s glowing countenance;

  Art thou
returned to brave me? to my teeth

  To praise the rebel bastard? to insult

  The royal Saxon, my affianced friend?

  I hate the Saxon!” Madoc cried; not yet

  Have I forgotten how, from Keiriog’s shame

  Flying, the coward wreaked his cruelty

  On our poor brethren!... David, seest thou never

  Those eyeless spectres by thy bridal bed?

  Forget that horror?.. may the fire of God

  Blast my right hand, or ever it be link’d

  With that accurst Plantagenet!

  The while,

  Impatience struggled in the heaving breast

  Of David; every agitated limb

  Shook with ungovernable wrath; the page,

  Who chaf’d his feet, in fear suspends his task,

  In fear the guests gaze on him silently;

  His eyeballs flashed; strong anger chok’d his voice,

  He started up... Him Emma, by the hand

  Gently retaining, held, with gentle words

  Calming his rage; Goervyl, too, in tears

  Besought her generous brother: he had met

  Emma’s reproaching glance, and self-reprov’d,

  While the warm blood flush’d deeper o’er his cheek,

  Thus he replied: I pray you pardon me,

  My sister queen! nay, you will learn to love

  This high affection for the race of Owen,

  Yourself the daughter of his royal house,

  By better ties than blood.

  Grateful the queen

  Replied, by winning smile and eloquent eye

  Thanking the gentle prince: a moment’s pause

  Ensued: Goervyl, then, with timely speech

  Thus to the wanderer of the waters spake:

  Madoc, thou hast not told us of the world

  Beyond the ocean and the paths of man;

  A lovely land it needs must be, my brother,

  Or sure you had not sojourned there so long,

  Of me forgetful, and my heavy hours

  Of grief and solitude and wretched hope.

  Where is Cadwallon? for one bark alone

  I saw come sailing here.

  The tale you ask

  Is long, Goervyl, said the mariner,

  And I in truth am weary. Many moons

  Have wax’d and wan’d, since from the distant world,

  The country of my dreams and hope and faith,

  We spread the homeward sail: a goodly world,

  My sister! thou wilt see its goodliness,

  And greet Cadwallon there;... But this shall be

  To-morrow’s tale:... indulge we now the feast!..

  You know not with what joy we mariners

  Behold a sight like this.

  Smiling he spake,

  And, turning, from the sewer’s hand he took

  The flowing mead. David, the while, reliev’d

  From rising jealousies, with better eye

  Regards his venturous brother. Let the bard,

  Exclaim’d the king, give his accustomed lay;

  For sweet, I know, to Madoc is the song

  He lov’d in earlier years.

  Then, strong of voice,

  The officer proclaimed the sovereign will,

  Bidding the hall be silent; loud he spake,

  And smote the sounding pillar with his wand,

  And hushed the banqueters. The chief of Bards

  Then raised the ancient lay.

  Thee, Lord! he sung,

  Father! he eternal One, whose wisdom, power,

  And love... all love, all power, all wisdom, Thou!

  Nor tongue cannot utter, nor can heart conceive.

  He in the lowest depth of Being fram’d

  The imperishable mind; in every change,

  Through the great circle of progressive life,

  He guides and guards, till evil shall be known,

  And, being known as evil, cease to be;

  And the pure soul, emancipate by Death

  The Enlarger, shall attain its end predoom’d,

  The eternal newness of eternal joy.

  He left this lofty theme; he struck the harp

  To Owen’s praise, swift in the course of wrath,

  Father of Heroes. That proud day he sung,

  When from green Erin came the insulting host,

  Lochlin’s long burdens of the flood, and they

  Who left their distant homes in evil hour,

  The death doom’d Normen. There was heaviest toil,

  There deeper tumult, where the dragon-race

  Of Mona trampled down the humbled head

  Of haughty power; the sword of slaughter carv’d

  Food for the yellow-footed fowl of heaven,

  And Menai’s waters, burst with plunge on plunge,

  Curling above their banks with tempest-swell,

  Their bloody billows heav’d.

  The long-past days

  Came on the mind of Madoc, as he heard

  That song of triumph; on his sun-burnt brow

  Sate exultation:.. Other thoughts arose,

  As on the fate of all his gallant house

  Mournful he mused; oppressive memory swell’d

  His bosom; over his fix’d eyeballs swam

  The tear’s dim lustre, and the loud-ton’d harp

  Rung on his ear in vain;.. its silence first

  Roused him from dreams of days that were no more.

  III.

  Then on the morrow, at the banquet board,

  The Lord of Ocean thus began his tale.

  My heart beat high, when, with the favoring wind,

  We sailed away, Aberfraw! when thy towers,

  And the huge headland of my mother isle,

  Shrunk and were gone.

  But, Madoc, I would learn,

  Quoth David, how this enterprise arose,

  And the wild hope of worlds beyond the sea;

  For, at thine outset, being in the war,

  I did not hear from vague and common fame

  The moving cause. Sprung it from bardic lore,

  The hidden wisdom of the years of old,

  Forgotten long? or did it visit thee

  In dreams that come from heaven?

  The prince replied,

  Thou shalt hear all;.. but if, amid the tale,

  Strictly sincere, I haply should rehearse

  Aught to the king ungrateful, let my brother

  Be patient with the involuntary fault.

  I was the guest of Rhys at Dinevawr,

  And there the tidings found. me, that our sire

  Was gathered to his fathers:.. Not alone

  The sorrow came; the same ill messenger

  Told of the strife that shook our royal house,

  When Hoel, proud of prowess, seiz’d the throne

  Which you, for elder claim and lawful birth,

  Challenged in arms. With all a brother’s love,

  I, on the instant hurried to prevent

  The impious battle:.. All the day I sped;

  Night did not stay me on my eager way...

  Where’er I pass’d, new rumor raised new fear...

  Midnight, and morn, and noon I hurried on;

  And the late eve was darkening when I reach’d

  Arvon, the fatal field... The sight, the sounds,

  Live in my memory now;.. for all was done!

  For horse and horseman, side by side in death,

  Lay on the bloody plain;.. a host of men,

  And not one living soul,.. and not one sound,

  One human sound,.. only the raven’s wing,

  Which rose before my coming, and the neigh

  Of wounded horses, wandering o’er the plain.

  Night now was coming in; a man approach’d,

  And bade me to his dwelling nigh at hand.

  Thither I turned, too weak to travel on;

  For I was overspent with weariness,

  And, hav
ing now no hope to bear me up,

  Trouble and bodily labor master’d me.

  I asked him of the battle:.. who had fall’n

  He knew not, nor to whom the lot of war

  Had given my father’s sceptre. Here, said he,

  I came to seek if haply I might find

  Some wounded wretch, abandon’d else to death.

  My search was vain: the sword of civil war

  Had bit too deeply.

  Soon we reach’d his home,

  A lone and lowly dwelling in the hills,

  By a gray mountain stream. Beside the hearth

  There sate an old blind man; his head was rais’d

  As he were listening to the coming sounds,

  And in the fire-light shone his silver locks.

  Father, said he who guided me, I bring

  A guest to our poor hospitality;

  And then he brought me water from the brook,

  And homely fare, and I was satisfied:

  That done, he pil’d the hearth, and spread around

  The rushes of repose. I laid me down;

  But, worn with toil and full of many fears,

  Sleep did not visit me: the quiet sounds

  Of nature troubled my distempered sense;

  My ear was busy with the stirring gale,

  The moving leaves, the brook’s perpetual flow.

  So on the morrow languidly I rose,

  And faint with fever; but a restless wish

  Was working in me, and I said, My host,

  Wilt thou go with me to the battle-field,

  That I may search the slain? for in the fray

  My brethren fought; vainly, with all my speed

  I strove to reach them ere the strife began,

  Alas, I sped too slow!

  Griev’st thou for that?

  He answer’d, grievest thou that thou art spar’d

  The shame and guilt of that unhappy strife,

  Briton with Briton in unnatural war?

  Nay, I replied, mistake me not! I came

  To reconcile the chiefs: they might have heard

  Their brother’s voice.

  Their brother’s voice? said he,

  Was it not so?... And thou, too, art the son

  Of Owen!... yesternight I did not know

  The cause there is to pity thee. Alas,

  Two brethren thou wilt lose when one shall fall!