So hath it proved; and those accursed schemes
Of treachery, which that wretched boy reveal’d
Under the influence of thy potent drink,
Have ripen’d to effect. From what a snare
The timely warning saved me! for, be sure,
What I had seen I else should have believed,
In utter fear confounded. The Great Spirit,
Who taught thee to foresee the evil thing,
Will give thee power to quell it.
On they went
Toward the dell, where now the Idolaters
Had built their dedicated fire, and still
With feast, and fits of song, and violent dance,
Pursued their rites. When Neolin perceived
The Prince approach, fearlessly he came forth,
And raised his arm, and cried, Strangers, away!
Away, profane! hence to your mother-land!
Hence to your waters! for the God is here; —
He came for blood, and he shall have his fill!.
Impious, away!
Seize him! exclaimed the Prince;
Nor had he time for motion nor for flight,
So instantly was that command obey’d.
Hoamen, said Madoc, hear me! — I came here,
Stranger alike to Aztlan and to you;
I found ye an oppressed, wretched race,
Groaning beneath your chains; at your request,
For your deliverance I unsheath’d the sword,
Redeemed ye from your bondage, and preserv’d
Your children from the slaughter. With those foes,
Whose burden ye for forty years endur’d,
This traitor hath conspir’d, against yourselves,
Your Queen, and me, your friend; the solemn faith
Which in the face of yonder sun we pledged,
Each to the other, this accursed man
Hath broken, and hath stained his hands this day
With innocent blood. Life must atone for life:
Ere I destroy the Serpent, whom his wiles
Have train’d so well, last victim, he shall glut
The monster’s maw.
Strike, man! quoth Neolin:
This is my consummation, the reward
Of my true faith! the best that I could ask,
The best the God could give: — to rest in him,
Body with body be incorporate,
Soul into soul absorb’d, and I and he
One life, inseparable, for ever more.
Strike! I am weary of this mortal part;
Unite me to the God!
Triumphantly
He spake; the assembl’d people, at his words,
With rising awe gaz’d on the miscreant;
Madoc himself, when now he would have giv’n
The sign for death, in admiration paus’d;
Such power hath fortitude. And he perceiv’d
The auspicious moment, and set up his cry.
Forth, from the dark recesses of the cave,
The Serpent came: the Hoamen at the sight
Shouted; and they who held the Priest, appall’d,
Relax’d their hold. On came the mighty Snake,
And twin’d, in many a wreath, round Neolin,
Darting aright, aleft, his sinuous neck,
With searching eye, and lifted jaw, and tongue
Quivering, and hiss as of a heavy shower
Upon the summer woods. The Britons stood
Astounded at the powerful reptile’s bulk,
And that strange sight. His girth was as of man;
But easily could he have overtopp’d
Goliath’s helm’d head, or that huge King
Of Basan, hugest of the Anakim.
What then was human strength, if once involv’d
Within those dreadful coils? — The multitude
Fell prone, and worshipp’d; pale Erillyab grew,
And turn’d upon the Prince a doubtful eye; The
Britons too were pale, albeit they held
Their spears protended; and they also look’d
On Madoc, who the while stood silently,
Contemplating how wiseliest he might cope
With that surpassing strength.
But Neolin,
Well hoping now success, when he had aw’d
The general feeling thus, exclaim’d aloud,
Blood for the God! give him the Stranger’s blood!
Avenge him on his foes! and then, perchance,
Terror had urged them to some desperate deed,
Had Madoc ponder’d more, or paus’d in act
One moment. From the sacrificial flames
He snatch’d a firebrand, and with fire and sword
Rush’d at the monster; back the monster drew
His head upraised recoiling, and the Prince
Smote Neolin; all circled as he was,
And clipped in his false Deity’s embrace,
Smote he the accursed Priest; the avenging sword
Fell on his neck; through flesh and bone it drove
Deep in the chest: the wretched criminal
Tottered, and those huge rings a moment held
His bloody corpse upright, while Madoc struck
The Serpent: twice he struck him, and the sword
Glanced from the impenetrable scales; nor more
Availed its thrust, though driven by that strong arm;
For on the unyielding skin the temper’d blade
Bent. He sprung upward then, and in the eyes
Of the huge monster flash’d the fiery brand.
Impatient of the smoke and burning, back
The reptile wreath’d, and from his loosening clasp
Dropt the dead Neolin, and turn’d, and fled
To his dark den.
The Hoamen, at that sight,
Rais’d a loud wonder-cry with one accord,
Great is the Son of Ocean, and his God
Is mightiest! But Erillyab silently
Approach’d the great Deliverer: her whole frame
Trembled with strong emotion; and she took
His hand, and gazed a moment earnestly,
Having no power of speech, till with a gush
Of tears her utterance came, and she exclaim’d,
Blessed art thou, my brother! for the power
Of God is in thee! and she would have kiss’d
His hand in adoration; but he cried,
God is indeed with us, and in his name
Will we complete the work! — then to the cave
Advanced, and call’d for fire. Bring fire! quoth he;
By his own element this spawn of hell
Shall perish! and he entered to explore
The cavern depths. Cadwallon followed him,
Bearing in either hand a flaming brand;
For sword or spear avail’d not.
Far in the hill,
Cave within cave, the ample grotto pierced,
Three chambers in the rock. Fit vestibule
The first to that wild temple, long and low,
Shut out the outward day. The second vault
Had its own daylight from a central chasm
High in the hollow; here the Image stood,
Their rude idolatry, — a sculptured snake, —
If term of art may such misshapen form
Beseem, — around a human figure coil’d,
And all begrimed with blood. The inmost cell
Dark; and far up, within its blackest depth,
They saw the Serpent’s still small eye of fire.
Not if they thinn’d the forest for their pile,
Could they with flame or suffocating smoke
Destroy him there; for through the open roof
The clouds would pass away. They paus’d not long:
Drive him beneath the chasm, Cadwallon cried,
And hem him in with fire, and from above
We crush him.
Forth they went, and climbed the hill,
With all their people. Their united strength
Loosened the rocks, and ranged them round the brink,
Impending. With Cadwallon on the height
Ten Britons wait; ten with the Prince descend,
And, with a firebrand each in either hand,
Enter the outer cave. Madoc advanced;
And, at the entrance of the inner den,
He took his stand alone. A bow he bore,
And arrows round whose heads dry tow was twin’d,
In pine-gum dipped; he kindled these, and shot
The fiery shafts. Upon the mailed skin,
As on a rock, the bone-tipt arrows fell;
But, at their bright and blazing light effray’d,
Out rush’d the reptile. Madoc from his path
Retir’d against the side, and called his men;
And in they came, and circled round the Snake,
And, shaking all their flames, as with a wheel
Of fire they ring’d him in. From side to side
The monster turns; — where’er he turns, the flame
Flares in his nostrils and his blinking eyes;
Nor aught against the dreaded element
Did that brute force avail, which could have crush’d
Milo’s young limbs, or Theban Hercules,
Or old Manoah’s mightier son, ere yet
Shorn of his strength. They press him now, and now
Give back, here urging, and here yielding way,
Till right beneath the chasm they centre him.
At once the crags are loosed, and down they fall
Thundering. They fell like thunder; but the crash
Of scale and bone was heard. In agony
The Serpent writh’d beneath the blow; in vain
From under the incumbent load essay’d
To drag his mangled folds. One heavier stone
Fasten’d and flattened him; yet still, with tail
Ten cubits long, he lash’d the air, and foin’d
From side to side, and rais’d his raging head
Above the height of man, though half his length
Lay mutilate. Who then had felt the force
Of that wild fury, little had to him
Buckler or corselet profited, or mail,
Or might of human arm. The Britons shrunk
Beyond its arc of motion; but the Prince
Took a long spear, and, springing on the stone
Which fix’d the monster down, provok’d his rage.
Uplifts the Snake his head retorted, high
He lifts it over Madoc, then darts down
To seize his prey. The Prince, with foot advanced,
Inclines his body back, and points the spear
With sure and certain aim, then drives it up
Into his open jaws; two cubits deep
It pierced, the monster forcing on the wound.
He clos’d his teeth for anguish, and bit short
The ashen hilt. But not the rage which now
Clangs all his scales can from its seat dislodge
The barbed shaft; nor those contortions wild,
Nor those convulsive shudderings, nor the throes
Which shake his inmost entrails, as with the air
In suffocating gulps the monster now
Inhales his own life-blood. The Prince descends;
He lifts another lance; and now the Snake,
Gasping as if exhausted, on the ground
Reclines his head one moment. Madoc seiz’d
That moment, planted in his eye the spear;
Then, setting foot upon his neck, drove down
Through bone and brain and throat, and to the earth
Infix’d the mortal weapon. Yet once more
The Snake essayed to rise; his dying strength
Fail’d him, nor longer did those mighty folds
Obey the moving impulse, crush’d and scotch’d;
In every ring, through all his mangled length,
The shrinking muscles quivered, then collaps’d
In death.
Cadwallon and his comrades now
Enter the den; they roll away the crag
Which fix’d him down, pluck out the mortal spear,
Then drag him forth to day; the force conjoin’d
Of all the Britons difficulty drag
His lifeless bulk. But when the Hoamen saw
That form portentous trailing in its gore,
The jaws which in the morning they had seen
Purpled with: human blood, now in their own
Blackening, — aknee they fell before the Prince,
And, in adoring admiration rais’d
Their hands with one accord, and all in fear
Worshipped the mighty Deicide. But he,
Recoiling from those sinful honors, cried,
Drag out the Idol now, and heap the fire,
That all may be consum’d!
Forthwith they heaped
The sacrificial fire, and on the pile
The Serpent, and the Image and the corpse
Of Neolin were laid; with prompt supply
They feed the raging flames, hour after hour,
Till now the black and nauseous smoke is spent,
And, mingled with the ruins of the pile,
The undistinguishable ashes lay.
Go! cried Prince Madoc, cast them in the stream,
And scatter them upon the winds, that so
No relic of this foul idolatry
Pollute the land. To-morrow meet me here,
Hoamen, and I will purify yon den
Of your abominations. Come ye here
With humble hearts; for ye, too, in the sight.
Of the Great Spirit, the Beloved One,
Must be made pure, and cleans’d from your offence,
And take upon yourselves his holy law.
VIII.
How beautiful, O Sun, is thine uprise,
And on how fair a scene! Before the Cave
The Elders of the Hoamen wait the will
Of their Deliverer; ranged without their ring,
The tribe look on, thronging the narrow vale,
And what of gradual rise the shelving comb
Display’d, or steeper eminence of wood,
Broken with crags and sunny slope of green,
And grassy platform. With the Elders sate
The Queen and Prince, their rank’s prerogative,
Excluded else for sex unfit, and youth
For counsel immature. Before the arch,
To that rude fane, rude portal, stands the Cross,
By Madoc’s hand victorious planted there.
And, lo, Prince Madoc comes! no longer mail’d
In arms of mortal might; the spear and sword,
The hauberk and the helmet laid aside,
Gorget and gauntlet, greaves and shield, — he comes
In peaceful tunic clad, and mantle long;
His hyacinthine locks now shadowing
That face, which late, with iron overbrow’d,
Struck from within the aventayle such awe
And terror to the heart. Bareheaded he,
Following the servant of the altar, leads
The reverential train. Before them, rais’d
On high, the sacred images are borne;
There, in faint semblance, holiest Mary bends
In virgin beauty o’er her babe divine, —
A sight which almost to idolatry
Might win the soul by love. But who can gaze
Upon that other. form, which on the rood
In agony is stretch’d? — his hands transfix’d,
And lacerate with the body’s pendent weight;
The black and deadly paleness of his face,
Streak’d with the blood which from that crown of scorn
Hath ceas’d to flow; the side-wound streaming still;
> And open still those eyes, from which the look
Not yet hath passed away, that went to, Heaven,
When, in that hour, the Son of Man exclaim’d,
Forgive them, for they know not what they do!
And now, arrived before the cave, the train
Halt to the assembled elders, where they sate
Ranged in half-circle, Madoc then advanced,
And raised, as if in act to speak, his hand.
Thereat was every human sound suppress’d;
And every quickened ear and eager eye
Center’d on his lips.
The Prince began, —
Hoamen, friends, brethren, — friends we have been long,
And brethren shall be, ere the day go down, —
I come not here propounding doubtful things,
For counsel, and deliberate resolve
Of searching thought; but with authority
From Heaven, to give the law, and to enforce
Obedience. Ye shall worship God alone,
The One Eternal. That Beloved One
Ye shall not serve with offer’d fruits, or smoke
Of sacrificial fire, or blood, or life;
Far other sacrifice he claims, — a soul
Resign’d, a will subdued, a heart made clean
From all offence. Not for your lots on earth,
Menial or mighty, slave or highly-born,
For cunning in the chase, or strength in war,
Shall ye be judged hereafter; — as ye keep
The law of love, as ye shall tame your wrath,
Forego revenge, forgive your enemies,
Do good to them that wrong ye, ye will find
Your bliss or bale. This law came down from Heaven.
Lo, ye behold Him there by whom it came;
The Spirit was in Him, and for the sins
Of man He suffer’d thus, and by His death
Must all mankind be blest. Not knowing Him,
Ye wandered on in error; knowing now,
And not obeying, what was error once
Is guilt and wilful wrong. If ever more
Ye bow to your false deities the knee,
If ever more ye worship them with feast,
Or sacrifice or dance, whoso offends
Shall from among the people be cut off
Like a corrupted member, lest he taint
The whole with death. With what appointed rites
Your homage must be paid, ye shall be taught;
Your children, in the way that they shall go,
Train’d from childhood up. Make ye, meantime,
Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey Page 78