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Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey

Page 65

by Robert Southey


  Only that I might bid our brethren come,

  And share my exile; And he spurned my prayer!..

  Thou hast a gentle pleader at his court;

  She may prevail; till then, abide thou here,..

  But not in this, the garb of fear and guilt.

  Come thou to Dinevawr;.. assume thyself;..

  The good old Rhys will bid thee welcome there,

  And the Great Palace, like a sanctuary,

  Is safe. If then Queen Emma’s plea should fail,

  My timely bidding hence shall summon thee,

  When I shall spread the sail... Nay, hast thou learnt

  Suspicion;.. Rhys is noble, and no deed

  Of treachery ever sullied his fair fame.

  Madoc then led his brother to the hall

  Of Rhys. I bring to thee a supplicant,

  O King, he cried; thou wert my father’s friend!

  And, till our barks be ready in the spring,

  I know that here the persecuted son

  Of Owen will be safe.

  A welcome guest!

  The: old warrior cried; by his good father’s soul,

  He is a welcome guest at Dinevawr!

  And, rising as he spake, he pledged his hand

  In hospitality... How now! quoth he;

  This raiment ill beseems the princely son

  Of Owen!.. Ririd at his words was led

  Apart: they washed his feet; they gave to him

  Fine linen, as beseem’d his royal race,

  The tunic of soft texture woven well,

  The broider’d girdle, the broad mantle edged

  With fur and flowing low, the bonnet last,

  Form’d of some forest marten’s costly spoils.

  The Lord of Dinevawr sat at the dice

  With Madoc, when he saw him, thus array’d,

  Returning to the hall. Aye! this is well!

  The noble Chief exclaim’d; ’tis as of yore,

  When in Aberfraw, at his father’s board,

  We sat together, after we had won

  Peace and rejoicing, with our own right hands,

  By Corwen, where, commixt with Saxon blood,

  Along its rocky channel the dark Dee

  Roll’d darker waters... Would that all his house

  Had, in their day of trouble; thought of me,

  And honored me like this! David respects

  Deheubarth’s strength, nor would respect it less

  When such protection leagu’d its cause with Heaven.

  I had forgot his messenger! quoth he,

  Arising from the dice. Go, bid him here!

  He came this morning at an ill-starr’d hour,

  To Madoc he pursued; my lazy grooms

  Had let the hounds play havoc in my flock,

  And my old blood was chaf’d. I faith, the King

  Hath chosen well his messenger:.. he saw

  That, in such mood, I might have rendered him

  A hot and hasty answer, and hath waited,

  Perhaps to David’s service and to mine,

  My better leisure.

  Now the Messenger

  Entered the hall; Goagan of Powys-land,

  He of Caer-Einion was it, who was charg’d

  From Gwyneth to Deheubarth; a brave man,

  Of copious speech. He told the royal son

  Of Gryffidd, the descendant of the line

  Of Rhys-ab-Tudyr mawr, that he came there

  From David, son of Owen, of the stock

  Of kingly Cynan. I am sent, said he,

  With friendly greeting; and, as I receive

  Welcome and honour, so, in David’s name,

  Am I to thank the Lord of Dinevawr.

  Tell on, quoth Rhys, the purport and the cause

  Of this appeal?

  Of late, some fugitives

  Came from the South to Mona, whom the King

  Received with generous welcome. Some there were

  Who blamed his royal goodness; for they said,

  These were the subjects of a rival Prince,

  Who, peradventure, would with no such bounty

  Cherish a northern suppliant. This they urged,

  I know not if from memory of old feuds,

  Better forgotten, or in envy. Mov’d

  Hereby, King David swore he would not rest

  Till he had put the question to the proof,

  Whether with liberal honour the Lord Rhys

  Would greet his messenger; but none was found,

  Of all who had instill’d that evil doubt,

  Ready to bear the embassy: I heard it,

  And did my person tender,.. for I knew

  The nature of Lord Rhys of Dinevawr.

  Well! quoth the Chief, Goagan of Powys-land,

  This honourable welcome that thou seekest,

  Wherein may it consist?

  In giving me,

  Goagan of Powys-land replied, a horse,

  Better than mine, to bear me home, a suit

  Of seemly raiment, and ten marks in coin,

  With raiment and two marks to him who leads

  My horse’s bridle.

  For his sake, said Rhys,

  Who sent thee, thou shalt have the noblest steed

  In all my studs... I double thee the marks,

  And give the raiment threefold. More than this,..

  Say thou to David, that the guests who sit

  At board with me, and drink of my own cup,

  Are Madoc and Lord Ririd. Tell the King,

  That thus it is Lord Rhys of Dinevawr,

  Delighteth to do honour to the sons

  Of Owen, of his old and honoured friend.

  XIII.

  Farewell, my brother,” cried the Ocean Chief;

  A little while farewell! as through the gate

  Of Dinevawr he past, to pass again

  That hospitable threshold never more.

  And thou too, O thou good old man! true friend

  Of Owen, and of Owen’s house, farewell!

  ‘Twill not be told me, Rhys, when thy gray hairs

  Are to the grave gone down; but oftentimes

  In the distant world I shall remember thee,

  And think that, come thy summons when it may,

  Thou wilt not leave a braver man behind....

  Now God be with thee, Rhys!

  The old Chief paus’d

  A moment ere he answer’d, as for pain;

  Then, shaking his hoar head, I never yet

  Gave thee this hand unwillingly before!

  When for a guest I spread the board, my heart

  Will think on him, whom ever with most joy

  It leapt to welcome: should I lift

  The spear against the Saxon,.. for old Rhys

  Hath that within him yet, that could uplift

  The Cimbric spear,.. I then shall wish his aid,

  Who oft has conquer’d with me: when I kneel

  In prayer to Heaven, an old man’s prayer shall beg

  A blessing on thee!

  Madoc answered not,

  But graspt his hand in silence, then sprang up

  And spurr’d his courser on. A weary way,

  Through forest and o’er fell, Prince Madoc rode.

  And now he skirts the bay whose reckless waves

  Roll o’er the plain of Gwaelod: fair fields,

  And busy towns, and happy villages,

  They overwhelm’d in one disastrous day;

  For they, by their eternal siege had sapp’d

  The bulwark of the land, while Seithenyn

  Took of his charge no thought, till, in his sloth

  And riotous cups surpris’d, he saw the sea

  Roll like an army o’er the levell’d mound.

  A supplicant in other courts, he mourn’d

  His crime and ruin; in another’s court

  The kingly harp of Garanhir was heard,

  Wailing his kingdom wreck’d; and many a Prince,

>   Warn’d by the visitation, sought and gain’d

  A saintly crown, - Tyneio, Merini,

  Boda and Brenda and Ailgyvarch,

  Gwynon and Celynin and Gwynodyl.

  To Bardsey was the Lord of Ocean bound;

  Bardsey, the holy Islet, in whose soil

  Did many a Chief and many a Saint repose,

  His great progenitors. He mounts the skiff;

  Her canvas swells before the breeze; the sea

  Sings round her sparkling keel, and soon the Lord

  Of Ocean treads the venerable shore.

  There was not, on that day, a speck to stain

  The azure heaven; the blessed Sun alone,

  In unapproachable divinity,

  Careered, rejoicing in his fields of light.

  How beautiful, beneath the bright blue sky,

  The billows heave! one glowing green expanse,

  Save where along the bending line of shore

  Such hue is thrown, as when the peacock’s neck

  Assumes its proudest tint of amethyst,

  Embathed in emerald glory. All the flocks

  Of Ocean are abroad; like floating foam,

  The sea-gulls rise and fall upon the waves;

  With long protruded neck the cormorants

  Wing their far flight aloft; and round and round

  The plovers wheel, and give their note of joy.

  It was a day that sent into the heart

  A summer feeling: even the insect swarms

  From their dark nooks and coverts issued forth,

  To sport thro’ one day of existence more;

  The solitary primrose on the bank,

  Seem’d now as though it had no cause to mourn

  Its bleak autumnal birth; the Rocks and Shores,

  The Forest, and the everlasting Hills,

  Smiled in that joyful sunshine,.. they partook

  The universal blessing.

  To this Isle,

  Where his forefathers were consign’d to dust,

  Did Madoc come for natural piety,

  Ordering a solemn service for their souls.

  Therefore for this the Church that day was dress’d;

  For this the Abbot, in his alb array’d,

  At the high altar stood;.for this, infus’d,

  Sweet incense from the waving thuribule

  Rose like a mist, and the grey brotherhood

  Chaunted the solemn mass. And now on high

  The mighty Mystery had been elevate,

  And now around the graves the brethren

  In long array proceed: each in his hand,

  Tall as the staff of some wayfaring man,

  Bears the brown taper, with their daylight flames

  Dimming the cheerful day. Before the train

  The Cross is borne, where, fashion’d to the life

  In shape, and size, and ghastly coloring,

  The awful Image hangs. Next, in its shrine

  Of gold and crystal, by the Abbot held,

  The mighty Mystery came; on either hand

  Three Priests uphold above, on silver wands,

  The purple pall. With holy water next

  A father went, therewith, from hyssop branch

  Sprinkling the graves; the while, with one accord,

  The solemn psalm of mercy all inton’d.

  Pure was the faith of Madoc, though his mind

  To all this pomp and solemn circumstance

  Yielded a willing homage. But the place

  Was holy;.. the dead air, which underneath

  Those arches never felt the healthy sun

  Nor the free motion of the elements,

  Chilly and damp, infus’d associate awe:

  The sacred odours of the incense still

  Floated; the daylight and the taper-flames

  Commingled, dimming each, and each bedimm’d;

  And, as the slow procession paced along,

  Still to their hymn, as if in symphony,

  The regular foot-fall sounded: swelling now,

  Their voices, in one chorus, loud and deep,

  Rung through the echoing aisles; and when it ceas’d,

  The silence of that. huge and sacred pile

  Came on the heart. What wonder if the Prince

  Yielded his homage now? the influences

  Of that sweet autumn day made every sense

  Alive to every impulse;.. and beneath

  The stones whereon he stood, his ancestors

  Were mouldering, dust to dust. Father! quoth he,

  When now the rites were ended,.. far away

  It hath been Madoc’s lot to pitch his tent

  On other shores; there, in a foreign land,

  Far from my father’s burial place, must I

  Be laid to rest; yet would I have my name

  Be held with theirs in memory. I beseech you,

  Have this a yearly rite for evermore,

  As I will leave endowment for the same;

  And let me be remember’d in the prayer.

  The day shall be a holy day with me,

  While I do live; they who come after me

  Will hold it holy; it will be a bond

  Of love and brotherhood, when all beside

  Hath been dissolv’d; and, though wide ocean rolls

  Between my people and their mother Isle,

  This shall be their communion: they shall send,

  Link’d in one sacred feeling at one hour,

  In the same language, the same prayer to Heaven,

  And, each remembering each in piety,

  Pray for the other’s welfare.

  The old man

  Partook that feeling, and some pious tears

  Fell down his aged cheek. Kinsman and son,

  It shall be so! said he; and thou shalt be

  Remember’d in the prayer: nor then alone;

  But till my sinking sands be quite run out,

  This feeble voice shall, from its solitude,

  Go up for thee to Heaven!

  And now the bell

  Rung out its cheerful summons; to the hall,

  In seemly order, pass the brotherhood:

  The serving-men wait with the ready ewer;

  The place of honor to the Prince is given,

  The Abbot’s right hand guest; the viands smoke,

  The horn of ale goes round; and now, the cates

  Remov’d, for days of festival reserv’d

  Comes choicer beverage, clary, hippocras,

  And mead mature, that to the goblet’s brim

  Sparkles and sings and smiles. It was a day

  Of that allowable and temperate mirth

  Which leaves a joy for memory. Madoc told

  His tale; and thus, with question and reply

  And cheerful intercourse, from noon till nones

  The brethren sate, and, when the quire was done,

  Renew’d their converse, till the vesper bell.

  But then the Porter called Prince Madoc out,

  To speak with one, he said, who from the land

  Had sought him, and requir’d his private ear.

  Madoc in the moonlight met him: in his hand

  The stripling held an oar; and on his back,

  Like a broad shield, the coracle was hung.

  Uncle! he cried, and, with a gush of tears,

  Sprung to the glad embrace.

  O my brave boy!

  Llewelyn! my dear boy! with stifled voice,

  And interrupted utterance, Madoc cried,

  And many times he claspt him to his breast,

  And many times drew back, and gaz’d upon him,

  Wiping the tears away which dimm’d the sight,

  And told him how his heart had yearn’d for him

  As with a father’s love, and bade him now

  Forsake his lonely haunts, and come with him,

  And sail beyond the seas, and share his fate.

  No! by my God! the high-hearted youth
replied,

  It never shall be said Llewelyn left

  His father’s murderer on his father’s throne!

  I am the rightful king of this poor land...

  Go thou, and wisely go! but I must stay,

  That I may save my people. Tell me, Uncle,

  The story of thy fortunes; I can hear it

  Here in this lonely Isle, and at this hour,

  Securely.

  Nay, quoth Madoc, tell me first

  Where are thy haunts and coverts, and what hope

  Thou hast to bear thee up? Why goest thou not

  To Mathraval? there would Cyveilioc give

  A kinsman’s welcome; or at Dinevawr,

  The guest of honor shouldst thou be with Rhys;

  And he, belike, from David might obtain

  Some recompense, though poor.

  What recompense?

  Exclaimed Llewelyn: what hath he to give,

  But life for life? and what have I to claim

  But vengeance, and my father Yorwerth’s throne?

  If with aught short of this my soul could rest,

  Would I not through the wide world follow thee,

  Dear Uncle! and fare with thee, well or ill,

  And show to thine old age the tenderness

  My childhood found from thee!.. What hopes I have

  Let time display: Have thou no fear for me!

  My bed is made within the ocean caves,

  Of sea-weeds bleach’d by many a sun and shower;

  I know the mountain dens, and every hold

  And fastness of the forest; and I know,...

  What troubles him by day and in his dreams,...

  There’s many an honest heart in Gwyneth yet!

  But tell me thine adventure; that will be

  A joy to think of in long winter nights,

  When stormy billows make my lullaby.

  So, as they walk’d along the moonlight shore,

  Did Madoc tell him all; and still he strove,

  By dwelling on that noble end and aim,

  That of his actions was the heart and life,

  To win him to his wish. It touch’d the youth;

  And, when the Prince had ceas’d, he heav’d a sigh,

  Long-drawn and deep, as if regret were there.

  No, no! he cried, it must not be! lo yonder

  My native mountains, and how beautiful

  They rest in the moonlight! I was nursed among them;

 

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