Classic Poem

AFTER L LYWARCH Hen .

I.—T HE B IER .

Look forth, young maids, Cyndylan's lands afire!
O'er Pengwern's palace-court the flames leap higher:
Woe for his youth, young maids, and youth's desire!

The tendril loved the tree that stood alone:
The tendril still is left; the tree is gone:
And He who willed it so,—His will be done!

Cyndylan's heart to-night has felt the frost:
Here, thro' his head, see where the boar spear thrust!
The ale of Tren's spilt in a crimson dust.

All Powys knew thy purple courtesy:
But now, Cyndylan, all is cast from thee!
Tren, Tren lies waste: and fallen is the tree.

Ha, Lion-heart! Heart of the hound and hawk
Cyndrwyn's cub! When, when the carnage broke—
To save the town of Tren, thy shield took every stroke!

Now sick at heart, to-night, we sadly place
Together the black planks above thy face
And thy fair flesh, Cyndylan; God have grace!

II.—T HE H ALL IN D ARKNESS .

The Hall of Cyndylan's dark to-night:
The hearth is cold that burnt so bright:
My tears fall down in the ashes white.

The Hall of Cyndylan is dark to-night:
Without cheer of fire or candlelight;
None there, save God! Lord keep me aright!

Dark, dark to-night is Cyndylan's hall,
Where once the red fire light cheered the wall:
The silence creeps and spreads o'er all.

The door of Cyndylan swings wide to-night
In the wind, on Carreg Hetwyth's height:
Its guests are gone, in its dark despite.

The Hall of Cyndylan is bitter chill:
Where my harp had honour, the wind is shrill,
Where the guests once gathered on Hetwyth hill.

Ah, Hall of Cyndylan, it pierces me,
Where once was thy hearth's warm courtesy,
To-night thy sombre walls to see.

III.—T HE E AGLES .

I .

The Eagle of Æli keeps the seas:
He will not fish in the salmonries:
Let him cry for blood! The feast is his!

The Eagle of Æli is up and abroad,
At dawn he will feast in the breast of the wood:
And his feast shall be on my new-slain lord.

The Eagle of Æli is up and abroad,
He lifts his beak from Cyndylan's blood;
To-night, his eyrie's in Brochwael's wood.

II .

The Eagle of Pengwern, with gray horn-beak!
He cries defiance; his wrath he will wreak!
On the flesh of Cyndylan his rage shall break.

The Eagle of Pengwern with grey horn-beak,
From afar he comes, his prey to seek!
On the flesh of my lord his rage he will wreak.

The Eagle of Pengwern: afar let him call
To-night, from Tren to Cyndylan's Hall:
And Tren, like Troy, mid its fires shall fall.

IV.—T HE W HITE T OWN .

The White Town lies in the dip of the wood,
The green grass near is stained with the blood,
That has ever been shed of its lustihood.

The White Town, famed in the countryside,
For its grey still days, and its warlike pride,
Saw through the red blood, its warriors ride.

The White Town, halfway between Tren
And Trodwyd, shall not see again
The kine at eve, for the blood of the slain.

The White Town, still it gleams through the bough
Twixt Tren and Traval; but its fallow now
Is red with blood where travelled the plough.

V.—T HE C HURCHES OF B ASSA .

The Churches of Bassa their graveyards keep
To-night for my lord Cyndylan's sleep:
Oh, men of Argoed! Cyndylan weep.

The Churches of Bassa are lovely to-night:
The trefoils cover their graves from sight:
But the leaves are red in the faint starlight.

The Churches of Bassa are rich by the loss:
Their earth hides Cyndylan, beneath the cross:
But the trefoils are red, and crimson the moss.

The Churches of Bassa! their graves shall grow,
Till Cyndylan's kin to the long sleep go:
He that knoweth the heart, these things may know.