Classic Poem

Then on the morrow, at the festal board,
The Lord of Ocean thus began his tale: —
My heart beat high, when, with the favoring wind,
We sail'd away; Aberfraw! when thy towers,
And the huge headland of my mother isle,
Shrunk and were gone.
But, Madoc, I would learn,
Quoth David, how this enterprise arose,
And the wild hope of worlds beyond the sea;
For at thine outset being in the war,
I did not hear from vague and common fame
The moving cause. Sprung it from bardic lore,
The hidden wisdom of the years of old,
Forgotten long? or did it visit thee
In dreams that come from Heaven?
The Prince replied,
Thou shalt hear all; — but if, amid the tale,
Strictly sincere, I haply should rehearse
Aught to the King ungrateful, let my brother
Be patient with the involuntary fault.

I was the guest of Rhys at Dinevawr,
And there the tidings found me, that our sire
Was gather'd to his fathers: — not alone
The sorrow came; the same ill messenger
Told of the strife that shook our royal house,
When Hoel, proud of prowess, seized the throne
Which you, for elder claim and lawful birth,
Challenged in arms. With all a brother's love,
I on the instant hurried to prevent
The impious battle: — all the day I sped;
Night did not stay me on my eager way —
Where'er I pass'd, new rumor raised new fear —
Midnight, and morn, and noon, I hurried on,
And the late eve was darkening when I reach'd
Arvon, the fatal field. — The sight, the sounds,
Live in my memory now, — for all was done!
For horse and horseman, side by side in death,
Lay on the bloody plain; — a host of men,
And not one living soul, — and not one sound,
One human sound; — only the raven's wing,
Which rose before my coming, and the neigh
Of wounded horses, wandering o'er the plain.

Night now was coming on; a man approach'd
And bade me to his dwelling nigh at hand.
Thither I turn'd, too weak to travel more;
For I was overspent with weariness,
And, having now no hope to bear me up,
Trouble and bodily labor master'd me.
I ask'd him of the battle: — who had fallen
He knew not, nor to whom the lot of war
Had given my father's sceptre. Here, said he,
I came to seek if haply I might find
Some wounded wretch, abandon'd else to death.
My search was vain; the sword of civil war
Had bit too deeply.
Soon we reach'd his home,
A lone and lowly dwelling in the hills,
By a gray mountain stream. Beside the hearth
There sat an old blind man; his head was raised
As he were listening to the coming sounds,
And in the fire-light shone his silver locks.
Father, said he who guided me, I bring
A guest to our poor hospitality;
And then he brought me water from the brook,
And homely fare, and I was satisfied:
That done, he piled the hearth, and spread around
The rushes of repose. I laid me down;
But worn with toil, and full of many fears,
Sleep did not visit me: the quiet sounds
Of nature troubled my distemper'd sense;
My ear was busy with the stirring gale,
The moving leaves, the brook's perpetual flow.

So on the morrow languidly I rose,
And faint with fever; but a restless wish
Was working in me, and I said, My host,
Wilt thou go with me to the battle-field,
That I may search the slain? for in the fray
My brethren fought; and though with all my speed
I strove to reach them ere the strife began,
Alas, I sped too slow!
Grievest thou for that?
He answer'd; grievest thou that thou art spared
The shame and guilt of that unhappy strife,
Briton with Briton in unnatural war?
Nay, I replied, mistake me not! I came
To reconcile the chiefs; they might have heard
Their brother's voice.
Their brother's voice? said he,
Was it not so? — And thou, too, art the son
Of Owen! — Yesternight I did not know
The cause there is to pity thee. Alas,
Two brethren thou wilt lose when one shall fall! —
Lament not him whom death may save from guilt;
For all too surely in the conqueror
Thou wilt find one whom his own fears henceforth
Must make to all his kin a perilous foe.

I felt as though he wrong'd my father's sons,
And raised an angry eye, and answer'd him —
My brethren love me.
Then the old man cried,
Oh, what is Princes' love? what are the ties
Of blood, the affections growing as we grow,
If but ambition come? — Thou deemest sure
Thy brethren love thee; — ye have play'd together
In childhood, shared your riper hopes and fears,
Fought side by side in battle: — they may be
Brave, generous, all that once their father was,
Whom ye, I ween, call virtuous.
At the name,
With pious warmth I cried, Yes, he was good,
And great, and glorious! Gwyneth's ancient annals
Boast not a name more noble. In the war
Fearless he was, — the Saxon found him so.
Wise was his counsel; and no supplicant
For justice ever from his palace-gate
Unrighted turned away. King Owen's name
Shall live to after-times without a blot!

There were two brethren once of kingly line,
The old man replied; they loved each other well;
And when the one was at his dying hour,
It then was comfort to him that he left
So dear a brother, who would duly pay
A father's duties to his orphan boy.
And sure he loved the orphan, and the boy
With all a child's sincerity loved him,
And learnt to call him father: so the years
Went on, till when the orphan gain'd the age
Of manhood, to the throne his uncle came.
The young man claim'd a fair inheritance,
His father's lands; and — mark what follows, Prince! —
At midnight he was seized, and to his eyes
The brazen plate was held — He cried aloud;
He look'd around for help; — he only saw
His Uncle's ministers, prepared to do
Their wicked work, who to the red-hot brass
Forced his poor eyes, and held the open lids,
Till the long agony consumed the sense;
And when their hold relax'd, it had been worth
The wealth of worlds if he could then have seen,
Dreadful to him and hideous as they were,
Their ruffian faces! — I am blind, young Prince,
And I can tell how sweet a thing it is
To see the blessed light!
Must more be told?
What further agonies he yet endured?
Or hast thou known the consummated crime,
And heard Cynetha's fate?
A painful glow
Inflamed my cheek, and for my father's crime
I felt the shame of guilt. The dark-brow'd man
Beheld the burning flush, the uneasy eye,
That knew not where to rest. Come! we will search
The slain, arising from his seat, he said;
I follow'd; to the field of fight we went,
And over steeds, and arms, and men, we held
Our way in silence. Here it was, quoth he,
The fiercest war was waged; lo! in what heaps
Man upon man fell slaughter'd! Then my heart
Smote me, and my knees shook; for I beheld
Where, on his conquer'd foemen, Hoel lay.

He paused; his heart was full; and on his tongue
The imperfect utterance died; a general gloom
Sadden'd the hall, and David's cheek grew pale.
Commanding first his feelings, Madoc broke
The oppressive silence.
Then Cadwallon took
My hand, and, pointing to his dwelling, cried,
Prince, go and rest thee there, for thou hast need
Of rest; — the care of sepulture be mine.
Nor did I then comply, refusing rest,
Till I had seen in holy ground inearth'd
My poor, lost brother. Wherefore, he exclaim'd,
(And I was awed by his severer eye,)
Wouldst thou be pampering thy distempered mind?
Affliction is not sent in vain, young man,
From that good God, who chastens whom he loves.
Oh! there is healing in the bitter cup!
Go yonder, and before the unerring will
Bow, and have comfort! To the hut I went,
And there, beside the lonely mountain-stream,
I veil'd my head, and brooded on the past.

He tarried long; I felt the hours pass by,
As in a dream of morning, when the mind,
Half to reality awaken'd, blends
With airy visions and vague phantasies
Her dim perception; till at length his step
Aroused me, and he came. I question'd him,
Where is the body? hast thou bade the priests.
Perform due masses for his soul's repose?

He answer'd me — The rain and dew of hear
Will fall upon the turf that covers him,
And greener grass will flourish on his grave:
But rouse thee, Prince! there will be hours enough
For mournful memory; — it befits thee now
Take counsel for thyself; — the son of Owen
Lives not in safety here.
I bow'd my head,
Oppress'd by heavy thoughts; all wretchedness
The present; darkness on the future lay;
Fearful and gloomy both. I answer'd not.

Hath power seduced thy wishes? he pursued
And wouldst thou seize upon thy father's throne
Now God forbid! quoth I. Now God forbid!
Quoth he; — but thou art dangerous, Prince! and what
Shall shield thee from the jealous arm of power
Think of Cynetha! — the unsleeping eye
Of justice hath not closed upon his wrongs,
At length the avenging arm is gone abroad, —
One woe is past, — woe after woe comes on, — ,
There is no safety here, — here thou must be
The victim of the murderer! Does thy heart
Shrink from the alternative? — look round behold
What shelter, — whither wouldst thou fly for peace
What if the asylum of the Church were safe,
Were there no better purposes ordain'd
For that young arm, that heart of noble hopes.
Son of our kings, — of old Cassibelan,
Great Caratach, immortal Arthur's line, —
Oh, shall the blood of that heroic race
Stagnate in cloister-sloth? — Or wouldst thou lead
Thy native isle, and beg, in awkward phrase,
Some foreign sovereign's charitable grace, —
The Saxon or the Frank, — and earn his gold,
The hireling in a war whose cause thou know'st not
Whose end concerns not thee?
I sat and gazed
Following his eye with wonder, as he paded,
Before me to and fro, and listening still,
Though now he paced in silence. But anon,
The old man's voice and step awakened us,
Each from his thought; I will come out, said he
That I may sit beside the brook, and feel
The comfortable sun. As forth he came,
I could not choose but look upon his face:
Gently on him had gentle nature laid
The weight of years; all passions that disturb
Were past away; the stronger lines of grief
Softened and settled, till they told of grief
By patient hope and piety subdued:
His eyes, which had their hue and brightness left,
Fix'd lifelessly, or objectless they roll'd,
Nor moved by sense, nor animate with thought.
On a smooth stone beside the stream he took
His wonted seat in the sunshine. Thou hast lost
A brother, Prince, he said — or the dull ear
Of age deceived me. Peace be with his soul!
And may the curse that lies upon the house
Of Owen turn away! Wilt thou come hither,
And let me feel thy face? — I wondered at him:
Yet while his hand perused my lineaments,
Deep awe and reverence fill'd me. O my God,
Bless this young man! he cried; a perilous state
Is his; — but let not thou his father's sins
Be visited on him!
I raised my eyes,
Inquiring, to Cadwallon; Nay, young Prince,
Despise not thou the blind man's prayer! he cried;
It might have given thy father's dying hour
A hope, that sure he needed — for, know thou,
It is the victim of thy father's crime,
Who asks a blessing on thee!
At his feet
I fell, and clasp'd his knees: he raised me up; —
Blind as I was, a mutilated wretch,
A thing that nature owns not, I survived,
Loathing existence, and with impious voice
Accused the will of Heaven, and groan'd for death.
Years pass'd away; this universal blank
Became familiar, and my soul reposed
On God, and I had comfort in my prayers.
But there were blessings for me yet in store
Thy father knew not, when his bloody fear
All hope of an avenger had cut off,
How, there existed then an unborn babe,
Child of my lawless love. Year after year
I lived a lonely and forgotten wretch,
Before Cadwallon knew his father's fate,
Long years and years before I knew my son;
For never, till his mother's dying hour,
Learnt he his dangerous birth. He sought me then;
He woke my soul once more to human ties; —
I hope he hath not wean'd my heart from Heaven,
Life is so precious now! —
Dear, good old man!
And lives he still? Goervyl ask'd, in tears;
Madoc replied, I scarce can hope to find
A father's welcome at my distant home.
I left him full of days, and ripe for death;
And the last prayer Cynetha breathed upon me
Went like a death-bed blessing to my heart!

When evening came, toward the echoing shore
I and Cadwallon walk'd together forth:
Bright with dilated glory shone the west;
But brighter lay the ocean-flood below,
The burnish'd silver sea, that heaved and flash'd
Its restless rays, intolerably bright.
Prince, quoth Cadwallon, thou hast rode the waves
In triumph, when the invaders felt thine arm.
Oh, what a nobler conquest might be won,
There, — upon that wide field! — What meanest thou?
I cried. — That yonder waters are not spread
A boundless waste, a bourne impassable! —
That man should rule the Elements! — that there
Might manly courage, manly wisdom find
Some happy isle, some undiscovered shore,
Some resting-place for peace. — Oh that my soul
Could seize the wings of Morning! soon would I
Behold that other world, where yonder sun
Speeds now, to dawn in glory!
As he spake,
Conviction came upon my startled mind,
Like lightning on the midnight traveller.
I caught his hand; — Kinsman, and guide, and friend,
Yea, let us go together! — Down we sat,
Full of the vision, on the echoing shore;
One only object fill'd ear, eye, and thought:
We gazed upon the awful world of waves,
And talk'd and dreamt of years that were to come.