Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey

by Robert Southey

  They saw my sports in childhood, they have seen

  My sorrows, they have sav’d me in the hour

  Of danger;.. I have vow’d, that, as they were

  My cradle, they shall be my monument!..

  But we shall meet again, and thou wilt find me

  When next thou visitest thy native Isle,

  King in Aberfraw!

  Never more, Llewelyn,

  Madoc replied, shall I behold the shores

  Of Britain; nor will ever tale of me

  Reach the Green Isle again. With fearful care

  I choose my little company, and leave

  No traces of our path, where Violence,

  And bloody Zeal, and bloodier Avarice,

  Might find their blasting way.

  If it be so,..

  And rightly thou hast judged, the youth replied,

  Thou wilt not know my fate;.. but this be sure,

  It shall not be inglorious. I have in me

  A hope from Heaven... Give me thy blessing, Uncle!

  Llewelyn, kneeling on the sand, embraced

  His knees, with lifted head and streaming eyes

  Listening. He rose, and fell on Madoc’s neck,

  And clasp’d him, with a silent agony,..

  Then launched his coracle, and took his way,

  A lonely traveller on the moonlight sea.

  XIV.

  Now hath Prince Madoc left the holy Isle,

  And homeward to Aberfraw, through the wilds

  Of Arvon, bent his course. A little way

  He turn’d aside, by natural impulse

  Mov’d, to behold Cadwallon’s lonely hut.

  That lonely dwelling stood among the hills,

  By a gray mountain-stream; just elevate

  Above the winter torrents did it stand,

  Upon a craggy bank; an orchard slope

  Arose behind, and joyous was the scene,

  In early summer, when those antic trees

  Shone with their blushing blossoms, and the flax

  Twinkled beneath the breeze its liveliest green.

  But, save the flax-field and that orchard slope,

  All else was desolate, and now it wore

  One sober hue; the narrow vale which wound

  Among the hills, was grey with rocks, that peer’d

  Above its shallow soil; the mountain side

  Was loose with stones bestrewn, which, oftentimes

  Clattered adown the steep, or huger cragd,

  Which, when the coming frost should loosen them,

  Would thunder down. All things assorted well

  With that grey mountain hue; the low stone lines,

  Which scarcely seem’d to be the work of man,

  The dwelling, rudely rear’d with stones unhewn,

  The stubble flax; the crooked apple-trees,

  Grey with their fleecy moss and mistletoe,

  The white-barked birch, now leafless, and the ash,

  Whose knotted roots were like the rifted rock,

  Thro’ which they forced their way. Adown the vale,

  Broken by stones, and o’er a stony bed,

  Rolled the loud mountain-stream.

  When Madoc came,

  A little child was sporting by the brook,

  Floating the fallen leaves, that he might see them

  Whirl in the eddy now, and now be driven

  Down the descent, now on the smoother stream

  Sail onward far away. But when he heard

  The horse’s tramp, he rais’d his head and watch’d

  The Prince, who now dismounted and drew nigh.

  The little boy still fix’d his eyes on him,

  His bright-blue eyes; the wind just moved the curls

  That cluster’d round his brow; and so he stood,

  His rosy cheeks still lifted up to gaze

  In innocent wonder. Madoc took his hand,

  And now had ask’d his name, and if he dwelt

  There in the hut, when from that cottage door

  A woman came, who, seeing Madoc, stopt

  With such a fear,... for she had cause for fear,...

  As when a bird, returning to her nest,

  Turns to a tree beside, if she behold

  Some prying boy too near the dear retreat.

  Howbeit, advancing soon, she now approach’d

  The approaching Prince, and timidly enquir’d,

  If, on his wayfare, he had lost the track,

  That thither he had strayed. Not so, replied

  The gentle Prince; but, having known this place,

  And its old habitants, I came once more

  To see the lonely hut among the hills.

  Hath it been long your dwelling?

  Some few years,

  Here we have dwelt, quoth she, my child and I.

  Will it please you enter, and partake such fare

  As we can give? Still timidly she spake,

  But gathering courage from the gentle mien

  Of him with whom she conversed. Madoc thank’d

  Her friendly proffer; and toward the hut

  They went, and in his arms he took the boy.

  Who is his father? said the Prince, but wish’d

  The word unutter’d; for thereat her cheek

  Was flushed with sudden heat and manifest pain;

  And she replied, He perished in the war.

  They entered now her home; she spread the board,

  Bringing fresh curds, and cheese like curd so white,

  The orchard fruits, and what sweet beverage

  Her bees, who now were slumbering in the hive,

  Had toil’d to purvey all the summer long.

  Three years,” said Madoc, have gone by, since here

  I found a timely welcome, overworn

  With toil and sorrow and sickness; ,, three long years!

  ’Twas when the battle had been waged hard by,

  Upon the plain of Arvon.

  She grew pale,

  Suddenly pale; and, seeing that he mark’d

  The change, she told him, with a feeble voice,

  That was the fatal fight which widow’d her.

  O Christ! cried Madoc, ’tis a grief to think

  How many a gallant Briton died that day,

  In that accursed strife! I trod the field

  When all was over,.. I beheld them heap’d,..

  Aye, like ripe corn within the reaper’s reach,

  Strewn round the bloody spot where Hoel lay;

  Brave as he was, himself cut down at last,

  Oppressed by numbers, gash’d with wounds, yet still

  Clinching, in his dead hand, the broken sword!..

  But you are mov’d;.. you weep at what I tell.

  Forgive me, that, renewing my own grief,

  I should have waken’d yours! Did you then know

  Prince Hoel?

  She replied, Oh, no! my lot

  Was humble, and my loss a humble one;

  Yet was it all to me! They say, quoth she,...

  And, as she spake, she struggled to bring forth,

  With painful voice, the interrupted words,...

  They say Prince Hoel’s body was not found;

  But you, who saw him dead, perchance can tell

  Where he was laid, and by what friendly hand.

  Even where he fell, said Madoc, is his grave;

  For he who buried him was one whose faith

  Recked not of boughten prayers nor passing bell.

  There is a hawthorn grows beside the place,

  A solitary tree, nipt by the winds,

  That it doth seem a fitting monument

  For one untimely slain... But wherefore dwell we

  On this ungrateful theme?

  He took a harp

  Which stood beside, and, passing o’er its chords,

  Made music. At the touch, the child drew nigh,

  Pleas’d by the sounds and leant on Madoc’s knee,

&nbs
p; And bade him play again: So Madoc play’d,

  For he had skill in minstrelsy, and rais’d

  His voice, and sung Prince Hoel’s lay of love.

  I have harnessed thee, my Steed of shining grey,

  And thou shalt bear me to the dear white walls.

  I love the white walls by the verdant bank,

  That glitter in the sun, where Bashfulness

  Watches the silver sea-mew sail along.

  I love that glittering dwelling, where we hear

  The ever-sounding waves; for there she dwells,

  The shapely Maid, fair as the ocean spray,

  Her cheek as lovely as the apple-flower,

  Or summer evening’s glow. I pine for her;

  In crowded halls my spirit is with her;

  Through the long, sleepless night I think on her;

  And happiness is gone, and health is lost,

  And fled the flush of youth, and I am pale

  As the pale ocean on a sunless morn.

  I pine away for her, yet pity her,

  That she should spurn so true a love as mine.

  He ceas’d, and laid his hand upon the child,..

  And didst thou like the song? The child replied,..

  Oh, yes! it is a song my mother loves,

  And so I love it too. He stoopt and kiss’d

  The boy, who still was leaning on his knee,

  Already grown familiar. I should like

  To take thee with me, quoth the Ocean Lord,

  Over the seas.

  Thou art Prince Madoc, then!...

  The mother cried;... thou art indeed the Prince!

  That song... that look... and at his feet she fell,

  Crying, Oh, take him, Madoc! save the child!

  Thy brother Hoel’s orphan!

  Long it was

  Ere that in either agitated heart

  The tumult could subside. One while the Prince

  Gaz’d on the child, tracing intently there

  His brother’s lines; and now he caught him up,

  And kissed his cheek, and gaz’d again, till all

  Was dim and dizzy,.. then blest God, and vow’d

  That he should never need a father’s love.

  At length, when copious tears had now reliev’d

  Her burthen’d heart, and many a broken speech

  In tears had died away, O Prince, she cried,

  Long hath it been my dearest prayer to heaven,

  That I might see thee once, and to thy love

  Commit this friendless boy! For many a time,

  In phrase so fond did Hoel tell thy worth,

  That it hath waken’d misery in me

  To think, I could not as a sister claim

  Thy love! and therefore was it that till now

  Thou knew’st me not; for I intreated him,

  That he would never let thy virtuous eye

  Look on my guilt, and make me feel my shame.

  Madoc, I did not dare to see thee then,..

  Thou wilt not scorn me now,.. for I have now

  Forgiven myself; and, while I here perform’d

  A mother’s duties in this solitude,

  Have felt myself forgiven.

  With that, she clasp’d

  His hand, and bent her face on it, and wept.

  Anon collecting, she pursued,.. My name

  Is Llaian: by the chance of war I fell

  Into his power, when all my family

  Had been cut off, all in one hour of blood.

  He saved me from the ruffian’s hand; he sooth’d,

  With tenderest care, my sorrow...You can tell

  How gentle he could be, and how his eyes,

  So full of life and kindliness, could win

  All hearts to love him. Madoc, I was young;

  I had no living friend;.. and when I gave

  This infant to his arms, when with such joy

  He viewed it o’er and o’er again, and press’d

  A father’s kiss upon its cheek, and turn’d

  To me, and made me feel more deeply yet

  A mother’s deep delight,.. oh! I was proud

  To think my child in after years should say,

  Prince Hoel was his father!

  Thus I dwelt,

  In the white dwelling by the verdant bank,..

  Though not without my melancholy hours,..

  Happy. The joy it was when I beheld

  His steed of shining grey come hastening on,

  Across the yellow sand!.. Alas! ere long,

  King Owen died. I need not tell thee, Madoc,

  With what a deadly and forefeeling fear

  I heard how Hoel seiz’d his father’s throne,

  Nor with what ominous woe I welcom’d him,

  In that last, little, miserable hour

  Ambition gave to love. I think his heart,

  Brave as it was, misgave him. When I spake

  Of David and my fears, he smiled upon me;

  But ’twas a smile that came not from the heart,..

  A most ill-boding smile!.. O Madoc! Madoc!

  You know not with what misery I saw

  His parting steps,.. with what a dreadful hope

  I watched for tidings!.. And at length it came,..

  Came like a thunderbolt!.. I sought the field:

  O Madoc, there were many widows there,

  But none with grief like mine! I looked around;

  I dragged aside the bodies of the dead,

  To search for him, in vain;.. and then a hope

  Seized me, which it was agony to lose!

  Night came. I did not heed the storm of night!

  But, for the sake of this dear babe, I sought

  Shelter in this lone hut: ’twas desolate;

  And, when my reason had return’d, I thought,

  That here the child of Hoel might be safe,

  Till we could claim thy care. But thou, meantime,

  Didst go to roam the Ocean; so I learnt

  To bound my wishes here. The carkanet,

  The embroidered girdle, and what other gauds

  Were once my vain adornments, soon were changed

  For things of profit, goats and bees, and this,

  The tuneful solace of my solitude.

  Madoc, the harp is as a friend to me;

  I sing to it the songs which Hoel lov’d,

  And Hoel’s own sweet lays; it comforts me,

  And gives me joy in grief.

  Often I griev’d

  To think the son of Hoel should grow up

  In this unworthy state of poverty;

  Till Time, who softens all regrets, had worn

  That vain regret away, and I became

  Humbly resign’d to God’s unerring will.

  To him I look’d for healing, and he pour’d

  His balm into my wounds. I never form’d

  A prayer for more,.. and, lo! the happiness

  Which he hath, of his mercy, sent me now!

  XV.

  On Madoc’s docile courser Llaian sits,

  Holding her joyful boy; the Chief beside

  Paces afoot, and, like a gentle Squire,

  Leads her loose bridle; from the saddle-bow

  His shield and helmet hang, and with the lance,

  Staff-like, he stay’d his steps. Before the sun

  Had climb’d his southern eminence, they left

  The mountain-feet; and hard by Bangor now,

  Travelling the plain before them they espy

  A lordly cavalcade, for so it seem’d

  Of knights, with hawk in hand and hounds in leash,

  Squires, pages, serving-men, and armed grooms,

  And many a sumpter-beast and laden wain,

  Far following in their rear. The bravery

  Of glittering bauldricks and of high-plumed crests,

  Embroider’d surcoats and emblazon’d shields,

  And lances, whose long streamers play’d aloft,

&
nbsp; Made a rare pageant, as with sound of trump,

  Tambour and cittern, proudly they went on;

  And ever, at the foot-fall of their steeds,

  The tinkling horse-bells, in rude symphony,

  Accorded with the joy.

  What have we here?

  Quoth Madoc then, to one who stood beside

  The threshold of his ozier-woven hut.

  ’Tis the great Saxon Prelate, he returned,

  Come hither for some end, I wis not what,

  Only be sure no good! “.. How stands the tide?

  Said Madoc; can we pass? ,, ’Tis even at flood,

  The man made answer, and the Monastery

  Will have no hospitality to spare

  For one of Wales to-day. Be ye content

  To guest with us.

  He took the Prince’s sword:

  The daughter of the house brought water then,

  And washed the stranger’s feet; the board was spread,

  And o’er the bowl they commun’d of the days

  Ere ever Saxon set his hateful foot

  Upon the beautiful Isle.

  As so they sate,

  The bells of the Cathedral rung abroad

  Unusual summons. What is this? exclaim’d

  Prince Madoc: let us go!.. Forthwith they went,

  He and his host, their way. They found the rites

  Begun: the mitred Baldwin, in his hand

  Holding a taper, at the altar stood.

  Let him be cursed!.. were the words which first

  Assailed their ears,.. living and dead, in limb

  And life, in soul and body, be he curst

  Here and hereafter! Let him feel the curse

  At every moment and in every act,

  By night and day, in waking and in sleep!

  We cut him off from Christian fellowship;

  Of Christian sacraments we deprive his soul;

  Of Christian burial we deprive his corpse;

  And, when that carrion to the Fiends is left

  In unprotected earth, thus let his soul

  Be quenched in hell!

  He dashed upon the floor

  His taper down, and all the ministering Priests

  Extinguish’d each his light, to consummate

  The imprecation.

  Whom is it ye curse,

  Cried Madoc, with these horrors? They replied,