Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey

by Robert Southey

  “Riding through Abergwilly, we saw several of these phenomena resting with their bottoms upwards against the houses, and resembling the shells of so many enormous turtles; and indeed a traveller, at the first view of a coracle on the shoulders of a fisherman, might fancy he saw a tortoise walking on his hinder legs.” — Windham.

  The Saxon pirates ventured to sea in vessels of basketwork covered with skins: they were also used by the ancient Spaniards. Perhaps the Coracle succeeded the canoe, implying more skill than is necessary to scoop out a tree, or hollow it with fire, and less than is required to build a boat. The boats of bark, which the savages of Canada use, are equally ingenious, and possess the same advantages.

  Prince Hoel’s lay of love. — XIV. p. 136.

  Eight poems by Prince Hoel are preserved; they are here given in Mr. Owen’s translation. My choice is a lady, elegant, slender, and fair, whose lengthened white form is seen through the thin blue veil; and my choicest faculty is to muse on superior female excellence, when she with diffidence utters the becoming sentiment; and my choicest participation is to become united with the maid, and to share mutual confidence as to thoughts and fortune. I chuse the bright hue of the spreading wave, thou who art the most discreet in the country, with thy pure Welsh speech, chosen by me art thou: what am I with thee? how! dost thou refrain from speaking? ah! thy silence even is fair! I have chosen a maid, so that with me there should be no hesitation; it is right to choose the choicest, fair one; choose, fair maid! I love the white glittering walls on the side of the bank, clothed in fresh verdancy...

  cloathed in fresh verdancy, where bashfulness love, to observe the modest sea men’s course; it would be my delight, though I have met with no great return of love in my much desired visit on the sleek white steed, to behold my sister of flippant smile; to t.alk of love since it has come to my lot; to restore my ease of mind,. and to renew her slighted troth with the nymph as fair as the hue of the shore beating wave.

  From her country who is bright as the coldly-drifted snow upon the lofty hill, a censure has corne to us, that I should he so treated with disdain in the Hall of Ogyrvan.

  Playful, from her promise was new-born expectation;.. she is gone with my soul away: I am made wretched!.. Am I not become for love like Garwy Hir to the fair one of whom I am debarred in the Hall of Ogyrvan! I love the castle of proud workmanship in the Cyvylei, where my own assuming form is wont to intrude; the high of renown, in full bustle, seek admittance there, and by it speaks the mad resounding wave.

  It is the chosen place of a luminary of splendid qualities, and fair; glorious her rising from the verge of the torrent, and the fair one shines upon the now progressive year in the wild of Arvon, in the Snowdonian hills.

  The tent does not attract; the glossy silk is not looked on by her I love, with passing tenderness: if her conquest could be wrought by the muse’s aid, ere the night that comes, I should next to her be found. 4.

  I have harnessed thee to-day, my steed of shining gray; I will traverse on thee the fair region of Cynlas; and I will hold a hard dispute before death shalll cut me off in obstructing sleep, and thus obstructing health; and on me it has been a a sign, no longer being the honoured youth, the complexion is like the pale blue waves.

  Oppressed with longing is my memory in society; regret for her by whom I am hated! whilst I confer on the maid the honoured eulogy; she, to prosper pain, deigns not to return the consolation of the slightest grace

  Broken is my heart! my portion is regret, caused by the form of a slender lady, with a girdle of ruddy gold; my treatment is not deserved, she is not this day where my appointed place was fixed. Son of the God of Heaven! if before a promise of forbearance she goes away, woe to me that I am not slain. When the ravens rejoice, when blood is hastening, when the gore runs bubbling, when the war doth rage, when the houses redden in Ruzlan, when the red hall is burning, when we glow with wrath; the ruddy flame it blazes up to heaven; our abode affords no shelter; and plainly is the bright conflagration seen from the white walls upon the shore of Menai.

  They perished on the third day of May, three hundred ships of a fleet roving the ocean; and ten hundred times the number the sword would put to flight, leaving not a single beard on Menai 6.

  Five evening tides were celebrated when Frence was saved, when barbarian chiefs were made to fly, when there was pressure round the steel-clad bodies; should a weapon yet be brandished round the beard, a public triumph would my wrath produce, scouring the bounds of Lorgyr, and on her habitation hurling ruin; there should be the hand of the hastening host upon the cross, the keen edge slaughtering, the blade recking with blood, the blood hue over the abject throng, a blood veil hiding its place of falling, and a plain of blood, and a cheek suffused with gore. I love the time of summer; then the gladly-exulting steed of the warrior prances before a gallant chief; the wave it crowned with foam; the limb of the active more quickly moves; the apple tree has arrayed itself in another livery; bordered with white is my shield on my shoulder, prepared for violence I have loved, with ardency of desire, the object which I have not attained.

  Ceridwen, fair and tall, of slowly languid gait, her complexion vies with the warm dawn in the evening hour, of a splendid delicate form, beautifully mild and white hued presence! in stepping over a rush nearly falling seems the little tiny fair one; gentle in her air, she appears but scarcely older than a tenth year infant. Young, shapely, and full of gracefulness, it were a congenial virtue that she should freely give; but the youthful female does more embarrass good fortune by a smile, than an expression from her lips checks impertinence. A worshipping pilgrim she will send me to the celestial presence; how long shall I worship thee? stop and think of thine office! If I am unskilful, through the dotage of love, Jesus, the well-informed will not rebuke me. Fair foam-crowned wave, spraying over the sacred tomb of Ruvon the knave, the chief of princes, behold this day I love the utmost hate of England, a flat and unergetic land, with a race involved in every wile. I love the spot that gave rne the much desired gift of mead, where the seas extend a tedious conflict. I love the society and thick inhabitants therein, ard which, obedient to its lod, directs its view to peace. I love its sea-coast and its mountains, its city bordering on its forest, its fair landscape, its dales, its water and its vales, its white sea-mews and its beauteous women. I love its warriors and its wll-trained steeds, its woods, its strongholds, and its social domicil. I love its fields clothed with tender trefoil, where I had the glory of a mighty triumph. I love its cultivated regions, the prerogative of heroism, and its far extended wild, and its sports of the chase, which, Son of God! have been great and wonderful: how sleek the melodious deer, and in what plenty found! I atchieved by the push of a spear an excellent deed between the chief of Powys and happy Gwynez, and upon the pale hued element of ever-struggling motion, may I accomplish a liberation from exile. I will not take breath until my party comes; a dream declares it, and God wills it to be so, fair foam-crowned wave spraying over the grave.

  Fair foam-crowned wave, impetuous in thy course, like in colour to the hoar when it accumulates; I love the sea coast in Meirionyz, where I have had a white arm for a pillow. I love the nightingale upon the privet-brake in Cymmer Denzur, a celebrated vale. Lord of heaven and earth, the glory of the blest, though so far it is frorn Ceri to Caerliwelyz, I mounted the yellow steed, and from Maelienyz reached the land of Reged between the night and day. Before I am in the grave, may I enjoy a new blessing from the land of Tegyngyl of fairest aspect! Since I am a love-wight, one inured to wander, may God direct my fate! fair foam-crowned wave of impetuous course.

  I will implore the divine Supreme, the wonderful in subjugating to his will, as king, to create an excelling muse for a song of praise to the women, such as Merzin sung, who have claimed my bardic lore so long, who, are so tardy in dispensing grace. The most eminent in all the west I name, from the gates of Chester to the port of Ysgewin: The first is the nymph who will be the subject of universal praise, Gwenliant, whose com
plexion is like the summer’s day. The second is another of high state, far from my embrace, adorned with golden necklace, fair Gweirvyl from whom not token nor confidence have I obtained, nor has any of my race; though I might be slain by two edged blades, she whose foster brother was a King, should be my theme; and next for the handsome Gwladys, the young and modest virgin, the idol of the multitude, I utter the secret sigh; I will worship her with the yellow blossoms of the furze. Soon may I see my vigour rouse to combat, and in my band my blade, bright Leucu, my companion, laughing, and whose husband laughs not from anxiety. Great anxiety oppresses me, makes me sad; and longing, alas! is habitual for fair Nest, for her who is like the apple-tree blossom; and for Perwewr, the centre of my disire; for Generys the chaste, who grants not a smile for me: may continuance not overcome her! for Hunyz, whose fame will last till the day of doom; for Hawis, who claims my choicest eulogy. On a memorable day I had a nymph; I had a second, more be their praise; I had a third and a fourth with prosperity; I had a fifth, of those with a skin white and delicate; I had a sixth, bright and fair, avoiding not the temptation, above the white walls did she arrest me; I had a seventh, and this was satiety of love; I had an eighth in recompence for a little of the praise which I sang: but the teeth must opportunity bar the tongue.

  Ere ever Saxon set his hateful foot

  Upon the beautiful Isle. — XV. p. 148.

  “The three names of this island: the first, before it was inhabited, it was called the Water-guarded Green Spot; after it was inhabited, it was called the Honey Island; and after its subjection to Prydain, the son of Aedd Mawr, he gave it the name of the Isle of Prydain.” — Camblrian Register.

  “This name was appropriately given to it; for Ynys Prydain signifies the Beautiful Isle.” — Cambrian Biography. E. Williams.

  The contumnacious Prince of Mathraval. — XV. p. 144.

  “Oenum de Cevelioc, quia solus inter Walliae principes Archipraesuli cum populo suo non occurrerat, excommunicavimus. Oenus iste pra aliis Cambrim principibus, et lingnu dicacis extiterat, et in terrae sum moderamine ingenii perspicacis.” — Giraldus Cambrensis. Even as Owen in his deeds

  Disown’d the Church when living, even so

  The Church disowns him dead. — XV. p. 148.

  Owen Gwyneth was buried at Bangor. When Baldwin, Archbishop of Canterbury, coming to preach the crusade against the Saracens, saw his tomb, he charged the bishop to remove his body out of the Cathedral, when he could find a fit opportunity so to do; in regard that Archbishop Becket had excommunicated him heretofore, because he had married his first cousin, the daughter of Grono ab Edwyn, and that notwithstaiiding he had continued to live with her till she died. The bishop, in obedience to the charge, made a passage from the vault through the south wall of the church, under ground, and so secretly shoved the body into the churchyard. — Royal Tribes. From the Hengwrt MS.

  Winning slow Fanmine to their aid. — XVII. p. 162.

  I am much affected,” says old Fuller, “with. the ingenuity of an English nobleman, who, following the camp of King Henry III. in these parts (Caernarvonshire), wrote home to his friends, about the end of September, 1243, the naked truth indeed as followeth: ‘We lie in our tents, watching, fasting praying, and freezing: we watch for fear of the Welshmen who are wont to invade us in the night; we fast for want of meat, for the half-penny loaf is worth five-pence; we pray to God to send us home speedily; we freeze for want of winter garments, having nothing but thin linen betwixt us and the wind.,’” Be not thou

  As is the black and melancholy yew,

  That strikes into the grave its baleful roots,

  And prospers on the dead. — XVII. p. 163.

  Borrowed from an old play, by John Webster:

  Like the black and melancholic yew-tree,

  Dost think to root thyself in dead men’s graves,

  And yet to prosper?

  Webster’s White Devil, or Vittoria Corombona.

  Never shall her waking eye

  Behold them, till the hour of happiness,

  When death hath made her pure for pesfect bliss. — XVII. p. 168.

  “The three Restorations in the Circle of Happiness; Restoration of original genius and character; Restoration of all that was beloved; and the Restoration of Remembrance from the origin of all things; without these, perfect happiness cannot exist.” — Triads of Bardism, 32.

  I have thought it unnecessary to give a connected account of the Bardic system in these notes, as it has been so well done by my friend, Mr. Turner, in his Vindication of the Ancient British Poems.

  MADOC IN AZTLAN. PART II.

  I.

  Now go your way, ye gallant company!

  God and good Angels guard ye as ye go!

  Blow fairly, Winds of Heaven! Ye Ocean Waves,

  Swell not in anger to that fated fleet!

  For not of conquest greedy, nor of gold,

  Seek they the distant world...

  Blow fairly, Winds!

  Waft, Waves of Ocean, well your blessed load!

  Fair blew the Winds, and safely did the Waves

  Bear that beloved charge. It were a tale

  Would rouse adventurous courage in a boy,

  Making him long to be a mariner,

  That he might rove the main, if I should tell

  How pleasantly, for many a summer-day,

  Over the sunny sea, with wind at will,

  Prince Madoc sail’d; and of those happy Isles,

  Which, had he seen ere that appointed storm

  Drove southward his slope course, there he had pitch’d

  His tent, and blest his lot that it had fallen

  In land so fair; and human blood had reek’d

  Daily on Aztlan’s devilish altars still.

  But other doom was his, more arduous toil

  Yet to atchieve, worse danger to endure,

  Worse evil to be quell’d, and higher good,

  That passeth not away, educed from ill;

  Whereof all unforeseeing, yet for all

  Of ready heart, he over ocean sails,

  Wafted by gentle winds o’er gentle waves,

  As if the elements combin’d to serve

  The perfect Prince, by God and man belov’d.

  And now how joyfully he views the land,

  Skirting like morning-clouds the dusky sea;

  With what a searching eye recalls to mind

  Foreland, and creek, and cape; how happy now

  Up the great river bends at last his way!

  No watchman had been stationed on the height

  To seek his sails;.. for with Cadwallon’s hope

  Too much of doubt was blended, and of fear:

  Yet thitherward, whene’er he walk’d abroad,

  His face, as if instinctively, was turn’d;

  And duly, morn and eve, Lincoya there,

  As though religion led his duteous feet,

  Went up to gaze. He on a staff had scor’d

  The promis’d moons and days; and many a time

  Counting again its often-told account,

  So to beguile impatience, day by day

  Smooth’d off with more delight the daily notch

  But now that the appointed time was nigh,

  Did that perpetual presence of his hope

  Haunt him, and mingle with his sleep, and mar

  The natural rest, and trouble him by day,

  That all his pleasure was at earliest light

  To take his station, and at latest eve,

  If he might see the sails where, far away

  Through wide savannas roll’d the silver stream.

  Oh then with what a sudden start his blood

  Flow’d from its quicken’d spring, when far away

  He spied the glittering topsails! for a while

  Distrustful of that happy sight, till now

  Slowly he sees them rise, and wind along,

  Through wide savannas, up the silver stream.

  Then with a br
eathless speed he flies to spread

  The joy; and with Cadwallon now descends,

  And drives adown the tide the light canoe,

  And mounts the vessel-side, and once again

  Falls at the Ocean Lord’s beloved feet.

  First of the general weal did Madoc ask;

  Cadwallon answered, All, as yet, is well,

  And, by this seasonable aid secur’d,

  Will well remain... Thy father?.. quoth the Prince.

  Even so, replied Cadwallon, as that eye

  Of hesitation augurs,.. fallen asleep.

  The good old man remember’d thee in death,

  And blest thee ere he died.

  By this, the shores

  And heights were throng’d; from hill to hill, from rock

  To rock, the shouts of welcome rung around.

  Forward they press, to view the man belov’d,

  Britons and Hoamen with one common joy

  Hailing their common friend. Happy that day,

  Was he who heard his name from Madoc’s voice;

  Happy who met the greeting of his eye;

  Yea, happy he who shar’d his general smile,

  Amid the unacknowledged multitude.

  Caermadoc,.. by that name Caclwallon’s love

  Called it, in memory of the absent Prince,..

  Stood in a mountain vale, by rocks and heights,

  A natural bulwark, girt. A rocky stream,

  Which from the fells came down, there spread itself

  Into a quiet lake, to compass which

  Had been a two hours pleasurable toil;

  And he, who from a well-strung bow could send

  His shaft across, had needs a sinewy arm,

  And might from many an archer far and near

  Have borne away the bell. Here had the Chief

  Chosen his abiding-place, for strength preferr’d,

  Where vainly might an host in equal arms

  Attempt the difficult entrance; and for all