Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey

by Robert Southey

  For who can bear his anger!

  While he spake,

  They stood with open mouth and motionless sight,

  Watching his countenance, as though the voice

  Were of a God; for sure it seem’d that less

  Than inspiration could not have infus’d

  That eloquent passion in a blind man’s face.

  And, when he ceas’d, all eyes at once were turn’d

  Upon the Pabas, waiting their reply,

  If that to that acknowledged argument

  Reply could be devised: but they themselves,

  Stricken by the truth, were silent; and they look’d

  Toward their chief and mouth-piece, the High Priest

  Tezozomoc: he, too, was pale and mute,

  And, when he gathered up his strength to speak,

  Speech failed him, his lip faltered, and his eye

  Fell utterly abashed, and put to shame.

  But in the Chiefs, and in the multitude,

  And in the King of Aztlan, better thoughts

  Were working; for the Spirit of the Lord

  That day was moving in the heart of man.

  Coanocotzin rose: Pabas and Chiefs,

  And men of Aztlan, ye have heard a talk

  Of peace and love, and there is no reply.

  Are ye content with what the Wise Man saith?

  And will ye worship God in that good way

  Which God himself ordains? If it be so,

  Together here will we in happy hour

  Bury the sword.

  Tezozomoc replied,

  This thing is new, and in the land till now

  Unheard: what marvel, therefore, if we find

  No ready answer? Let our Lord the King

  Do that which seemeth best.

  Yuhidthiton,

  Chief of the Chiefs of Aztlan, next arose.

  Of all her numerous sons, could Aztlan boast

  No mightier arm in battle, nor whose voice

  To more attentive silence hush’d the hall

  Of council. When the Wise Man spake, quoth he,

  I asked of mine own heart if it were so,

  And, as he said, the living instinct there

  Answer’d, and owned the truth. In happy hour,

  O King of Aztlan, did the Ocean Lord

  Through the great waters hither wend his way;

  For sure he is the friend of God and man!

  At that an uproar of assent arose

  From the whole people, a tumultuous shout

  Of universal joy and glad acclaim.

  But when Coanocotzin rais’d his hand,

  That he might speak, the clamor and the buzz

  Ceas’d, and the multitude, in tiptoe hope,

  Attent and still, await the final voice.

  Then said the Sovereign, Hear, O Aztecas,

  Your own united will! From this day forth

  No life upon the altar shall be shed,

  No blood shall flow in sacrifice; the rites

  Shall all be pure, such as the blind old man,

  Whom God hath taught, will teach. This ye have will’d;

  And therefore it shall be!

  The King hath said!

  Like thunder the collected voice replied:

  Let it be so!

  Lord of the Ocean, then

  Pursued the King of Aztlan, we will now

  Lay the war-weapon in the grave, and join

  In right-hand friendship. By our custom, blood

  Should sanctify and bind the solemn act

  But by what oath and ceremony thou

  Shalt proffer, by the same will Aztlan swear.

  Nor oath nor ceremony, I replied,

  O King, is needful. To his own good word

  The good and honourable man will act.

  Oaths will not curb the wicked. Here we stand

  In the broad daylight; the For-Ever One,

  The Every Where, beholds us. In his sight,

  We join our hands in peace: if e’er again

  Should these right hands be rais’d in enmity,

  Upon the offender will His judgment fall.

  The grave was dug; Coanocotzin laid

  His weapon in the earth; Erillyab’s son,

  Young Amalahta, for the Hoamen, laid

  His hatchet there; and there I laid the sword.

  Here let me end. What followed was the work

  Of peace, no theme for story; how we fix’d

  Our sojourn in the hills, and sow’d our fields,

  And, day by day, saw all things prospering.

  Thence have I sail’d, Goervyl, to announce

  The tidings of my happy enterprise;

  There I return, to take thee to our home.

  I love my native land; with as true love

  As ever yet did warm a British heart,

  Love I the green fields of the beautiful Isle,

  My father’s heritage! But far away,

  Where Nature’s booner hand has blest the earth,

  My heritage hath fallen; beyond the seas

  Madoc hath found his home; beyond the seas

  A country for his children hath he chosen,

  A land wherein their portion may be peace.

  IX.

  But, while Aberfraw echoed to the sounds

  Of merriment and music, Madoc’s heart

  Mourned for his brethren. Therefore, when no ear

  Was nigh, he sought the King, and said to him,

  To-morrow, I set forth for Mathraval;

  Longer I must not linger here, to pass

  The easy hours in feast and revelry,

  Forgetful of my people far away.

  I go to tell the tidings of success,

  And seek new comrades. What if it should chance,

  That, for this enterprise, our brethren,

  Foregoing all their hopes and fortunes here,

  Would join my banner?.. Let me send abroad

  That summons, O my brother! so secure,

  You may forgive the past, and once again

  Will peace and concord bless our father’s house.

  Hereafter will be time enow for this,

  The King replied: thy easy nature sees not,

  How, if the traitors for thy banner send

  Their bidding round, in open war against me

  Their own would soon be spread. I charge thee, Madoc,

  Neither to see nor aid these fugitives,

  The shame of Owen’s blood.

  Sullen he spake,

  And turned away; nor further commune now

  Did Madoc seek, nor had he more endur’d;

  For bitter thoughts were rising in his heart,

  And anguish, kindling anger. In such mood,

  He to his sister’s chamber took his way.

  She sate with Emma, with the gentle Queen;

  For Emma had already learnt to love

  The gentle maid. Goervyl saw what thoughts

  Troubled her brother’s brow. Madoc, she cried,

  “Thou hast been with the king, been rashly pleading

  For Ririd and for Rodri!”.. He repli’d,

  I did but ask him little,.. did but say,

  Belike our brethren would go forth with me,

  To voluntary exile; then, methought,

  His fear and jealousy might well have ceas’d,

  And all be safe.

  And did the King refuse?

  Quoth Emma: I will plead for them, quoth she,

  With dutiful warmth and zeal will plead for them;

  And surely David will not say me nay.

  O sister! cried Goervyl, tempt him not!

  Sister, you know him not! Alas! to touch

  That perilous theme is, even in Madoc here,

  A perilous folly... Sister tempt him not!

  You do not know the King!

  At that, a fear

  Fled to the cheek of Emma; and her eye,

  Quickening with wonder, turned tow
ard the Prince,

  As if expecting that his manly mind

  Would mould Goervyl’s meaning to a shape

  Less fearful, would interpret and amend

  The words she hoped she did not hear aright.

  Emma was young; she was a sacrifice

  To that cold king craft, which, in marriage vows

  Linking two hearts, unknowing each of each,

  Perverts the ordinance of God, and makes

  The holiest tie a mockery and a curse.

  Her eye was patient; and she spake in tones

  So sweet, and of so pensive gentleness,

  That the heart felt them. Madoc! she exclaim’d,

  Why dost thou hate the Saxons? O my brother,

  If I have heard aright, the hour will come

  When the Plantagenet shall wish herself

  Among her nobler, happier countrymen,

  From these unnatural enmities escap’d,

  And from the curse which they will call from heaven.

  Shame then suffused the Prince’s countenance,

  Mindful how, drunk in anger, he had given

  His hatred loose. My sister Queen, quoth he,

  Marvel not you that with my mother’s milk

  I sucked that hatred in. Have they not been

  The scourge and the devouring sword of God,

  The curse and pestilence that he hath sent

  To root us from the land? Alas, our crimes

  Have drawn this fearful visitation down!

  Our sun hath long been westering; and the night

  And darkness and extinction are at hand.

  We are a fallen people!.. From ourselves

  The desolation and the ruin come!

  In our own vitals doth the poison work...

  The House that is divided in itself,

  How should it stand?.. A blessing on you, Lady!

  But in this wretched family the strife

  Is rooted all too deep; it is an old

  And canker’d wound,.. an eating, killing sore,

  For which there is no healing!..If the King

  Should ever speak his fears,.. and sure to you

  All his most inward thoughts he will make known..

  Counsel him then to let his brethren share

  My enterprise, to send them forth with me

  To everlasting exile... She hath told you

  Too rudely of the King; I know him well;

  He hath a stormy nature; and what germs

  Of virtue would have budded in his heart,

  Cold winds have check’d, and blighting seasons nipt,

  Yet in his heart they live... A blessing on you.

  That you may see their blossom and their fruit!

  X.

  And now went Madoc forth for Mathraval;

  O’er Menai’s ebbing tide, up mountain-paths,

  Beside gray mountain-stream and lonely lake,

  And through old Snowdon’s forest-solitude,

  He held right on his solitary way.

  Nor paus’d he in that rocky vale, where oft.

  Up the familiar path, with gladder pace,

  His steed had hasten’d to the well-known door,..

  That valley, o’er whose crags, and sprinkled trees,

  And winding stream, so oft his eye had lov’d

  To linger, gazing, as the eve grew dim,

  From Dolwyddelan’s Tower;.. alas! from therefrom,

  As from his brother’s monument, he turn’d

  A loathing eye, and through the rocky vale

  Sped on. From morn till noon, from noon till eve,

  He travell’d 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 rush’d 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 clos’d,

  His head, as if in reverence to receive

  The inspiration, bent; anon, he rais’d

  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 conquer’d;.. 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 rush’d 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 belov’d the best,

  Madoc, the British Prince, the Ocean Lord,

  Who never for injustice rear’d 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 return’d!

  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 fill’d

  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,

  When as 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 gaz’d, 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.

  Thus mantling mead went round at Mathraval;..

  That was a happy hour! Of other years

  They talk’d; of common toils, and fields of war,

  Where they fought side by side; of Corwen’s day

  Of glory, and of comrades now no more:..

  Themes of delight, and grief which brought its joy.

  Thus they beguil’d the pleasant hours, while night

  Wan’d fast away; then late they laid them down,