The Fall of Cambria in Twenty-Four Books :: :: University of Virginia Library

Both knight and squire, matured in war and strife,
Of glory emulous, toward Chester's walls
Press'd earnest: every hour new warriors brought,
Who round their monarch stand, a buttress strong,
Each panting for the fight. Day after day
Pass'd on inactive. Edward strove to check
His spirit, thirsting for the great exploit.—
With cause undoubted, and, his foe, a man,
Darling of valour; with inspiring thoughts—
The hope of quenching strife, long-wasting wars,
And planting on the desolate wide heap
Of wasted nations, there ordain'd to thrive,
The fair luxuriant olive—who shall blame,

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If such high views Edward now call'd his own.
And what if other thoughts, inferior,
Too sway'd the Warrior in a warlike age—
The thirst of fame—Justice applauding near!
Who shall behold the Flower of England's Kings,
Thus, seeking conflict, and not check the curse,
The due of Conqu'rors, who, to lift their names
Amongst the Great Bad Men, drive their scyth'd cars,
Unshrinking, in their vehemence of rage,
O'er writhing myriads. Be the truth confess'd,
(All erring mortals!) Edward, propped of right,
And equity his guide, thought to eclipse,
In this fair contest, man opposed to man,
The feats by him display'd 'mid Palestine,
The matchless actions, which thro' Europe spread
His valourous might, and thro' the Panim ranks
Struck terror and amaze; but he, his soul,
Ardent, must curb. The Bishop linger'd yet.
He from the land of hills had not return'd,
And peace and war hung pendent in the scale.
He comes! His retinue, far o'er the Marsh,
Slowly draws near, which even the cloud outstripp'd,
The faint thin cloud, when scarce a breath of heaven
Disturbs the element. Now, he appears
Before the King, who, thus, the Sire address'd.

“Good Father! for the tidings thou dost bring
“Long have we waited, and unwillingly
“Repress'd our martial spirits. Forth declare!
“What says Llewellyn?” Thus the Bishop spake.

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“O King! for whom affection and true love,
“Faithful, I bear, attend me patiently.
“I now am old. A younger man, ere this,
“Might have returned, but thou wilt pardon me.
“At thy command, I to Llewellyn sped!
“I claim'd submission; even with such speech
“As simple truth required, and, fatherly,
“Gave my advice. I urged him, (by thee taught)
“For the wide common-wealth, to yield his crown,
“And, by a noble deed, dispassionate,
“Where reason triumph'd, offer at the shrine
“Of public good, his partial interests, small,
“So would posterity (these were my words,)
“So would posterity, heap on his name
“Eternal praises, whilst, in concord joined,
“England and Cambria, 'neath one common Prince,
“Edward, our Lord, would rise to strength and fame,
“(Their mutual interest this, their common weal,)
“And both exult in blessings new and great.
“O what a fearful and indignant flood
“Of spirit-bursting scorn, floow'd my words.
“He swore, to thy controul, never to yield.
“He spake of his progenitors and sires,
“With the enthusiast's ardour, and declared,
“With a solemnity which awed my soul—
“To Saxon yoke, he never would submit,
“But, in one hour, yea, not a point between,
“Resign his independence and his life.”

Edward exclaim'd aloud. “The die is cast!

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“Warriors! the prospect opens to our view!
“Bucklers, I see, must clash. Well Father, say
“What further spake this Prince, to fury wrought.
“It will amuse us ere the fight begin.”

The aged Sire replied. “I charged him full,
“With first provoking whom all Europe fear'd,
“Edward, our lord. I told him, he unsheathed,
“In luckless hour, the sword, and that a storm,
“O'erwhelming, on his unprotected head,
“Was then about to fall, death-fraught and fierce,
“Which nought but his submission could avert.
“He own'd that he the banner first unfurl'd
“And drove the hostile lance, but he declared,
“(With such apparent earnestness, and words
“So well adapted to the cause of truth,
“That strangers might have credited his speech
“And deem'd him half a martyr) he declared
“That peace was his delight; that grinding wrongs,
“Augmenting, as forbearance shew'd itself,
“Had left no option, but, reluctantly,
“Compell'd him to the war. Oft he declared
“The bane of Cambria was those holds accurs'd
“Where the March Lords, lawless, abode, and fill'd
“His land, with blood and violence. He said,
“The firm and inmost purpose of his soul,
“Was to maintain, truth and integrity,
“Both with his subjects and with England's King.
“He named, and I with sorrow heard the words,
“That ere he broke the laws of amity,

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“So late established 'tween your mutual realms,
“That he had sent, yea, once, and twice, and thrice,
“To thee, O King! moving Remonstrances,
“Wherein he told his great and many wrongs,
“With tone of injury felt, yet, as he thought,
“Respectful to a Prince, potent like thee.
“He named th' afflictions, under which his land
“Groan'd and mourn'd heavily. Shouldst thou remove
“These bitter grievances, hostile alike
“To right and treaties, he profess'd himself
“Ready to call thee friend. Pardon my words
“My language is no sycophant's. I speak
“Humbly, tho' with the words which truth directs.
“Llewellyn is a brave and noble man!
“I pitied him! Hypocrisy ne'er spake
“With voice like his, and with a countenance
“So guileless, of his heart a mirror true.
“He says if thou to his remonstrances,
“Still wilt incline, and deal with equity
“Toward his grieved subjects (who have countless wrongs
“Suffer'd from the Lord Marchers and their train,
“So he declares) that he will then return
“To amity, restore all spoils, and prove
“That Cambria's oath is sacred. Could I hope,
“Peace to restore, 'tween Edward, my liege Lord
“And Cambria's Prince, then had I seen enough;
“My head, in peace, down to the grave would go.”

Edward replied. “Father! thy words do strike
“Astonishment, into my very heart,

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“What catalogue of wrongs have I received?
“None! No remonstrance ever met these eyes,
“Of Cambrian injuries! Fable it is,
“And calumny, 'gainst justice and our land.”

Amid th' encircling champions, there was one,
A Norman Lord, De Frankton, who sustain'd,
Amid the nobles of King Edward's court
High influence At Tunis, he had waged,
Bravely the war, and oft in Palestine
'Mid Egypt's ranks and lordly Saracens,
Made terrible his name. When England's King,
Back to his native country urged his course,
De Frankton follow'd. His applauding Prince,
Own'd his deserts, and, with a heart oppress'd
With generous impulses, made him his Steward;
And post to post, still in a bright array,
Advanced him, till High Chancellor he stood.
Full many a man, native of England's clime,
Had better filled that office, and dispensed
Justice, more equal, but a subtile tongue,
A heart, time-serving, like the osier twig,
Bending with every breeze, maintain'd him still
His monarch's fav'rite. Frankton raised his head,
Over the boldest baron of the land,
With haughty sovereignty. The air he breath'd,
The ground on which he trod, for spirit fill'd,
Like his, with such ethereal particles,
Seem'd too abased, and with impurities
Too pregnant. Wrongs and injuries, full oft,

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Proud barons had sustain'd, striving to curb
Their rising spirits, whilst, at heart, they mourn'd
That their brave King, should deem each excellence
Comprised in valour, and, that who could wield
Bravely the sword, claim'd, by inheritance,
All virtues, and all qualities of state:
But, grateful to their souls, a threat'ning train
Now was prepared, needing one only spark,
To burst, up-pouring, from the troubled earth,
With a volcanic fury.

Whilst his tale,
The holy Sire preferred, Frankton betray'd
Strange gestures and a troubled mind. His cheek
Wore an unusual paleness. Now it flush'd,
Then white became; and as the King disclaim'd
All knowledge of the Cambrian grievances,
Slow, he retired. The Bishop, thus, his speech,
Pursued to Edward. “Sire! thy servant's age,
“With heart like thine, will plead apology
“For words, the fruit of deep experience.
“I must be heard! I must the truth declare!
“With all thy virtues, one thou yet dost need!—
“To elevated rank, like thine, supreme,
“A sovereign excellence!—even to know,
“Strictly, the form and character of things;—
“To view the structure of the state machine,
“Not with another's eye, but with thine own.
“Thou now art leading a vast army forth
“To whelm the man in misery, whose heart,

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“Knowing, e'en thou wouldst honor. Cambria's Prince,
“If there be truth below, hath suffer'd long,
“And grievously, and only grasp'd the sword,
“To speak, when other arguments were vain!”

Edward replied. “Bishop! thy words and voice,
“Had I not known thee, would have roused mine ire.
“Hear, reverend man! Justice, till this good hour,
“Have I beheld, with an adoring eye.
“My great ambition is, to please my God,
“To serve my country, and obtain the meed,
“Upon the valiant and the good bestow'd
“By high posterity. This do I swear.
“I know no wrongs and bitter grievances,
“Borne by Llewellyn. I have oft sustain'd
“Insults and wrongs from him, and now unsheath,
“Reluctantly, the sword. Whoe'er beheld
“Humble or bold ‘remonstrance’? These mine eyes,
“Neither hath reach'd.” The Bishop bent his head.
“Pardon my words,” he cried. “Treason is near!
“Thy chancellor De Frankton, search him well!
“Whilst Cambria's Prince rehears'd his many griefs
“And thy disdain of his remonstrances,
“Like lightning to my mind De Frankton came.
“He is the man on whom this wrong alights!”

Edward exclaim'd. “Where hath the fox retired?
“I see him not! Search! Vengeance is at hand!”

Throughout the hall the smile of ecstasy

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Sat on each brow. Baron to Baron spake.
“Our time is come,” they cried. “With glorious ray
“The sun now rises!” and at Edward's word,
Joy in their eye, full many a chieftain bold
Rush'd from the hall, impetuous as the storm.
De Frankton now arrives. Earl Mortimer,
Reluctant, led him in.

Edward thus spake—
“Frankton! Llewellyn, to our court hath sent,
“So he avers, Remonstrances of wrongs,
“And friendly admonitions, urging us
“His grievance to redress. Tidings most new.
“Answer, O man! know'st thou of what I say?”

Forcing the desperate smile of confidence,
“Yea!” answer'd Frankton. “Once and twice and thrice,
“As it became my office, to thine eye,
“I spread them, and thy sovereign word required.”
“Frankton!” The King exclaim'd. “These are wild dreams!
“Are thy full faculties awake?” He cried,
“Monarch! It is my very noon of thought.
“Perchance, thy recollection, like a flood,
“In unappointed moment and strange hour,
“May not return. It is the tide's low neap.
“Anon, thou wilt remember, and acquit
“De Frankton of all crime. Well dost thou know
“By intellects, acute and logical,
“My evidence is of the higher kind;

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“The positive is mine. I recollect,
“And thine, the negative. Thou merely feel'st,
“A passiveness. Thou but rememberest not
“To have remember'd, and, a fugitive,
“Our memory is at best. Doubt not my words!
“There lives not, in the air we breathe, than mine,
“More Roman-like and sterner rectitude.”

All hands are raised. Edward, a deep long breath
Inhaled, and then indignantly exclaim'd,
“Frankton! thy hour is come! Thy end is near!
“Insultest thou thy Monarch, with vain words,
“And falsehoods, huge as the circumference
“Of vast Behemoth? By the stars on high,
“No sentence, no soft cadence, not the breath
“Of eve, slow whispering, when the summer sun
“Sinks tranquil, ever till this hour, hath reach'd
“Mine ear, of Cambria's wrongs. Oft hast thou told
“With all thy subtile wit and eloquence,
“Of ills, by England borne; and Cambrian faith,
“And Cambrian deeds, display'd with shades so dark,
“That he who had restrain'd the vehemence
“Of frantic anger, must have first renounced
“Man's feelings and have sunk to brutish sloth.
“Upon thine head, this war's stupendous guilt,
“Rests, and its weight shall crush thee to the earth!”

Turning to his brave Barons near, he cried,
“Lords! I have injured you. Your native rights
“Your Prince's confidence, I have withheld

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“Too often, and on Frankton lean'd my arm,
“Making a reed my staff. His character,
“Now blazes and extinguishes all doubt.
“Henceforth, till this good land, barren become
“Of every virtue, and her sons, so famed
“For intellect and eminence of soul,
“Relapse, and yield their high prerogative,
“Never will I, thrusting my friends aside,
“My subjects, my most natural supports,
“Hence, rest my confidence in Foreigner.
“Frankton, you heard! He with heroic words,
“Utter'd aloud, with bold unblushing face,
“Thought to expunge, from his poor monarch's mind,
“(Imbecile grown and tottering with old age)
“All recollection: by his confidence,
“Against conviction, to convince his King
“That he, till now, with specious semblances
“(Plunged in a long and a tumultuous trance)
“Had said and thought, and done, unwittingly,
“Things of first moment; where his life and death,
“Deeply involved, stood foremost. Had his crime
“Been of a mild, or less atrocious form,
“In his conceit there is such novelty
“That I had smiled, and sent him to rejoice,
“At his escape, in distant banishment.
“Barons! his guilt you see. What punishment
“Deserves the traitor?” “Death! Immediate death!”
All shouted, and with voice again refresh'd,
Re-answer'd, “Death!” “Death be thy instant lot!”
Edward exclaim'd. “Thy name shall hence descend

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“A traitor on time's flood, whilst lisping tongues,
“In after years, shall curse thee, and bequeath
“That curse to their successors, as they rise
“In endless generations. Bear him hence!
“Exalt him to mid air! Let the rough storm
“Bleach his dishonor'd carcass, and heaven's birds
“Feed nightly on him, till his bones fall down,
“And dogs devour th' unperish'd residue!”

De Frankton vainly strove to frame the speech,
Ready and eloquent, but mostly, prompt
And with persuasion fill'd, in error's cause,
And when the atmosphere around his heart
With falsehood lower'd. Edward repress'd his tongue,
Just speaking, with th' indignant look of scorn.
When with voice vehement. “Off!” he exclaim'd.
“Traitor, away!”

Upon a summer's morn,
The dozing ants, by some regardless foot,
Passing, disturb'd, throwing their cavern'd dome
Into confusion, less display the change
From rest to sudden tumult, than the hall
Wherein they stood. At Edward's word, the knight—
Earl and brave baron, from their list'ning state,
Rose suddenly. A complicated sound,
And active movements spread, when thronging near
They seize De Frankton. Lo! he hastes away!
The torrent bears him with resistless force!
The door is closed. Trembling the Bishop hastes.

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Kneeling, he cried. “Spare him, my Liege, tho' vile!”
Edward exclaim'd. “Bishop! there is a debt,
“Sacred, which justice claims. Thou plead'st in vain.”
Now on their ear the distant voice arose,
Confused, as of the midnight roaring wave.
Save that the Bishop sad and silent stood,
Edward, alone, paces the castle hall.
He starts! With lifted hand, pausing, he stands!
Heaven's concave seem'd dissever'd, at the shout,
Bursting around him! Now the door expands:
And all, with a tumultuous joy return!
The rippling wave, catching the radiant sun,
And sending forth its ever-changeful beam,
Less bright, than the exultant eyeballs round
Of the death-dealing concourse that now throng'd
Back to their King. “How died he?” Edward cried.
Earl Mortimer, bending with reverence due,
Thus answer made.

“My native land will thrive!
“Now will she lift her Heaven-aspiring head!
“Her henbane is no more! Our greatest foe
“Hath perish'd as he ought! Even now, O King!
“He, his green leaves of subtilty, put forth.
“And, to the last, proved his consistency.
“He spake with winning accent, and would fain,
“Have proved, by a deduction logical,
“Most clear and manifest, that, by thy words,
“Thou didst not mean his death. Most groundless thought!
“He said we were deceived, yea palpably;

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“That all thou said'st, by its true import meant,
“(If well interpreted by able minds,)
“His liberation. He, most earnestly,
“Urged us, as we were bound, to let him scape.
“He reason'd that the thing would pleasure thee,
“And told us, with solemnity of brow,
“If still we dared, thus to deprive of breath
“A man so free of guile! our forfeit lives,
“To vengeance due, would be the consequence;
“That thou his murderers wouldst pursue to death.
“We bade him count his beads, nor moments lose,
“So precious, when the last approach'd him fast.
“Now, straining tight the cord, he, satisfied,
“That hope had vanish'd, with a languid look,
“An inexpressive feebleness of gaze,
“When day had flown, and evening shades were nigh,
“Thus trembling spake.

“‘Too late, I own my crime.
“Perdition crowds upon my lagging feet!
“Hell is my portion! Let me hence, and know
“The worst—the wrath of an offended God!
“I have drunk deep of earthly eminence,
“And grasp'd each idle pageant with a zeal,
“An overwhelming vehemence of soul,
“Unfitting transient things, such as all seem,
“The fairest and the brightest, at this hour
“Of rigid scrutiny. My better part,
“The Deathful Spirit, how it looks upon me,
“And scares me with its abjectness!—no robe,

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“No costly ornament, with which to meet
“The morning of new life! O mark my words.
“I have a weight within! It must be told!
“The secret hear! Avarice hath been my bane!
“Llewellyn told his wrongs—there he did well—
“He only failed in the minuter thing,
“No Bribe he sent! Accumulated crimes,
“Upon my head, rest with a mountain weight,
“Of diverse kinds, probing my inmost soul!
“My days have been one life-extended sin!
“Now let me perish! Perish! Would I might
“Sink to oblivion! I shall never die!
“The Brute is my superior! envied lot!
“Secure he slumbers in forgetfulness,
“No more to wake at the appointed hour,
“And feel Heaven's vengeance! I shall never die!’
“His roused and tempest-beaten soul within,
“Over his rayless eyeballs cast a film
“Impenetrably dark. Estranged from earth,
“Tho' high we raised, amid the deafening shout,
“His noxious carcass, feeling he had none.
“The anguish of his spirit quench'd his pain.
“And now he hangs, amid the loftiest tree,
“Unpitied, still as is the slumbering leaf.”

Edward replied. “An antidote for sin
“Is, to behold the wicked in their death.
“Heaven grant us peace in that soul-probing hour.
“For this your zeal your debtor here I stand,
“Your country thanks you.” Nigh his Monarch's seat,

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The Bishop stood. His eyes upon the ground,
In meditation wrapt, devout he pray'd
That war might cease, and peace her olive wand
Spread o'er the nations. From his thoughts severe,
He woke; for Edward spake.

“Father, revered,
“And ye, brave men, the bulwark of our land,
“Hear me! Important thoughts oppress my mind.
“This serpent is no more. This asp, disguised,
“Hath paid the debt, due to his many crimes.
“Now it behoves us, promptly to project
“The path of wisdom. Tho' renown I seek
“And warfare prize, more than the bread I eat;
“Tho' I my very life would offer up,
“England to mould into one mighty state;
“Justice is still my altar, where I pay
“Due sacrifice. Llewellyn we have wrong'd.
“His fair complaints he to De Frankton sent,
“Where, in that dark receptacle, his mind,
“Dormant they lay. We saw the wanton sword
“Wielded by Cambria, and (with cause unknown)
“We judg'd him the aggressor, and thus bent
“Our arms against him. But for this sage man,
“A faithful friend and true, tender of heart,
“We had our swords, tarnish'd with innocence.
“Doubtless there have been wrongs which thus have roused
“Llewellyn's ire, and forced him to the field.”

The Bishop spake, low bending to the earth.

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“The greatest gift which Heaven bestows on man,
“Is, when he fills Earth's Rulers, with high thoughts
“Of right and equity, and prompts their hearts
“To generous deeds, brave and magnanimous.
“My spirit utters sounds. I love my King!
“I love my Country, but, still more than these,
“Truth, the rare gem, which e'en Omnipotence
“Wears in his crown—filling all Heaven with light.
“O Prince! a lengthen'd life of piety,
“And, many acts of faithfulness, perform'd
“From upright heart, is the security,
“That what I utter in this solemn hour
“Is both sincere and just. Hear me, my Lord!

“Llewellyn hath been wrong'd. Here do I stand
“No advocate but truth's. He covets not
“To call his own, and guide imperiously,
“The springs, which move the mighty men of earth,
“Wealth and dominion; he desires alone
“His father's patrimonial lands, the hills
“Where he was born, and where in infancy
“He felt the charms of being, the delight
“Of mountain air, health, peace and liberty.
“The holy teacher of mankind hath said,
“What ye desire from others, do the same.
“Wert thou a Prince o'er Cambria, wouldst thou see
“Unmoved thy country torn, by little kings,
“By shrimps of royalty, by men renown'd,
“Not for the noble deed, but pillage fierce,
“For ravenous appetite of spoil and blood.

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“Before this noble host, and thee, O King,
“Here do I charge, with these enormities,
“Unshrinking, the Lords Marchers. Of our land
“They are the shame. The dissolute and vile,
“From instinct, e'en the refuse of mankind,
“Crowd round their banner. Form'd for desperate deeds,
“Fearing, nor God, nor Satan, they are free
“From every tie which binds the wise and good,
“And on they laughing go, hell at their heels.
“Thou little knew'st these evils (Kings behold
“Through other mediums) or thy generous heart
“Had stemm'd corruption's flood. One, now no more,
“Batten'd on these disasters. He partook
“A sturdy portion of the blood-hound spoils.
“Pardon this tumult in an old man's veins!
“I may have gone too far, tho' not in truth,
“In prudence. As I feel, I speak. Again,
“Pardon whate'er irreverend seem to thee.”

Some Marcher Lords, crowding around the King,
Thus heard the Bishop. Anger moved their hearts,
Fiercely they look'd, tho' not a word they spake.
Each wished himself endued with eloquence,
That he might pour rough torrents of reproach,
And fierce recriminations, on the man

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Who thus impeach'd them, but the tardy words
Kept down by conscience, in their sluggish fits
Rose not to war. Each Lord, himself, believed
Somewhat too harshly treated—much too harsh!—
Yea, with, most clear injustice! yet, confess'd,
Freely, it bore some faithful lineaments
To his near neighbour, but, all vow'd sincere,
In the ejaculation of the heart,
That none but Bishop had such words preferr'd,
And lived to glory in the morning light.

Undaunted, and with voice more confident,
Again to Edward, thus the Prelate spake.
“As now a spring of light bursts on thy mind,
“Pursue the stream. Let not the current glide,
“Out of thine eye, one moment: it will lead,
“Tho' intricate, up to the secret source.
“Believe me, O my Sovereign and liege Lord.—
“With that just equipoise of sentiment
“'Tween man and man, whate'er his name or clime,
“(When what is right, a welcome guest comes in)
“I heard Llewellyn. Piteous was his tale!
“If thou wilt do him justice and redress
“The heavy grievances, which he hath long
“Felt and bemoan'd, in him thou wilt behold,
“A friend immoveable. I promised him,
“(Heaven in my sight) to state to thee his ills,
“Plain and ungarnished. This have I perform'd,
“And he, the while, waits, with anxiety,
“The issue, and reposes patiently,

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“He and his men at arms, round Snowdon's base,
“And hopes, till hard necessity compel,
“No more to wield the sword, or hurl the lance.”

Edward replied, “Father thy pitying heart
“Hath been too freely wrought on. My March Lords,
“Are other than the miscreants, thou dost state.
“They are all true, and noble, and brave men;
“Tried oft, and ever found the same, sincere,
“Valiant and faithful. Still, I honor thee.
“Altho' thy words are bold, they spring from truth,
“Real, or so conceived, and thou hast still
“Thy monarch's confidence. Hear me yet more.
“Father, from what thou say'st of Cambria's Prince,
“His worth, and his desire, still to maintain
“Justice and concord, I will even check
“The wrathful impulse, which, till now, urged on
“My soul to war, and to its scabbard, safe
“Return the sword!”

The Bishop look'd to heaven.
The warriors paus'd, doubting of what they heard.
Edward continued. “Ere thy mortal hours
“Close on a life well spent, one virtue more
“Add to thy radiant catalogue. This day
“Thou and some trusty barons shall repair
“To Cambria's Prince, and there sign amity,
“Cordial and true, between our jarring realms!
“If wrongs, as thou hast said (some will arise
“Spite of our efforts) and not thirst of blood,

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“Nor hatred, nor ambition of new power,
“Llewellyn urged, with a remorseless hand,
“To pierce our frontiers, scattering wide dismay,
“If these his motives and he now desires,
“Concord, and will restore the spoils of war—
“Peace shall return! All these my warriors brave,
“My barons and bold knights, and potent earls,
“I at their head, will on a fresh crusade
“Like Richard, lion heart, that chief of men,
“Seek Palestine, and crush the Soldan's name.
“Warfare I love, but justice I adore!”

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O Peace! thou brightest jewel of the skies,
Which like eve's star, sometimes dost cheer the world
With thy mild beams, deserted else and dark,
How many clouds may rise and mists obtuse
To hide thy radiance! Now the prospect round,
The azure firmament and the green earth,
Lulls every soul, whilst permanence of joy
Seems dealt to mortals. Lo! an unseen spring,
The secret mover of the elements,
Works, and heaven's canopy, sudden is changed!
The winds are heard! Th' indignant tempest raves,
While deluged earth pauses and stands aghast!
Once more the shades disperse! Some rising breath
Scatters the sullen mists! The sun appears!
The fields are gay, and sylvan choristers
Break forth, rejoicing, while all nature smiles!
So are life's changes. Here tranquillity
Seems permanent, as th' everlasting hills,
When, in dark clouds, some sudden circumstance
Hangs heavy on th' horizon, till at length,
In frantic paroxism, bellowing War
Rouses the nations!—Here, th' effects we see;
When usher'd to the constellated thrones,
Beyond mortality, where seraphs dwell
And pour instruction on th' illumin'd eye,
The causes will be manifest. Till then,
Mortals must stoop and silently adore.

Whilst thus, around King Edward, Peace, her wand,
Seem'd stretching forth, sudden the storm descends!

191

A noise is heard, and the imperious shout
Of multitude at hand! The door thrown wide,
Earl Talbot enters in! His coat of mail,
Batter'd, he wears, still mark'd with many a stream
Of blood and vivid rust. His helmet off,
His shiver'd spear, firm in his sinewy grasp,
And his cheek batter'd: a wild spectacle,
He to the King draws near. Edward exclaim'd
“Thy name, O man! by holy Mary's self,
“Earl Talbot!” Talbot, bending, thus replied,
Whilst deep astonishment, sat on each brow.
“Heaven, for the brave, an unseen canopy,
“Spreads, and protects them 'mid the storm of death.
“Little I deem'd, when, in the furious fray,
“(With such repeated contact with men's skulls)
“I ground my sword, up to the very hilt,
“So soon to stand, safe, save this scar or two,
“Before my monarch.” “Tell thy tale, O Earl!”
Edward exclaim'd.” What tidings dost thou bear?
Talbot replied, “Llewellyn, our fierce foe,
“From Severn, southward, lays the country waste.
“Gloster is his—after as brave defence,
“As ever few, with myriads, dared maintain.”
“Gloster!” cried Edward, “buttress of our land!
“That hold, where valour on a bed of down,
“Lay languid, of itself impregnable,
“So I believed, till this disastrous hour.”
Upon the Bishop, a dark frown he cast,
Who, trembling, stood. “Tell me,” the Monarch cried,
“Talbot, declare! whence is thy castle fallen?”

192

The Earl thus answer'd. “Monarch, here I stand.
“If I disgrace upon thine arms have brought,
“Blot me from mortal sight. I ask not life.
“But if I have maintain'd my country's cause,
“And like a warrior, jealous of his fame,
“Fought manfully, yielding with struggle hard,
“Grant me thy pardon! Let me yet behold
“Thy smile and live.”

“Noble!” the King exclaim'd.
“I do regard thee still. Talbot speak on!
“I know thy valour.” Thus the Earl replied.
“With patience hear me. I, the circumstance,
“Full, must recount. My honor is at stake.
“My soul's best part. Silence would be unjust
“And the diminished word, iniquitous,
“Both to the men, whose courage none may doubt,
“And to myself.—

“When tidings of the war,
“Reach'd Gloster, and that Cambria's Prince in arms,
“Through Powis march'd, scattering on every side,
“Death and destruction, I, my castle wards
“Stored well with sustenance; burnish'd my arms;
“Inspired with confidence the gallant band
“Which call'd me leader, and like men we stood
“Defying all events. Each avenue
“That to the castle led, to all without
“Denied admittance. Whilst we thus remain'd,
“Alert and on the watch, most resolute,

193

“Tidings arrived, from our unsleeping spies,
“That Cambria thither sent her ravenous sons,
“Led by Llewellyn's self, to take our towers,
“E'en Gloster, by surprise. I laugh'd aloud.”
“Dost thou now laugh?” said Edward, whilst his brow
Stood darken'd with a frown. “Not now, my Liege,”
Answer'd the Earl. “I waited with firm front,
“The approach of those presumptuous visitants,
“Resolved on equal combat and fair fight.
“Far other views Llewellyn's heart sustain'd,
“Base-born assassin! He the conference sought,
“And, as I do suspect, meant, in the hour
“Of unsuspecting parley, to direct
“Towards me, the fatal dart. The brave naught dread.
“Treachery alone instructs in cowardice.
“I bade him bring his hordes, that dogs might feed.
“They came. And what a sight! not that I fear'd.
“Smiling, I scann'd them, tho' their multitude,
“Made e'en the herbaged heath, bladeless appear.
“Prepared for their bold enterprise, they brought
“All instruments of slaughter and offence.—
“I sorrow for the bravery now no more!
“Heroes and Demi-Gods, sleep, still, in death!
“They came, e'en all their myriads, with their boughs,
“A moving forest. Lo! our mote they reach!
“And tho' our archers and our javelin-men,
“Outstripp'd mortality in valourous deeds,
“They fill'd it, and now stood, breathing out death,
“Beneath our battlements. Then was the strife!
“With countless ladders they ascend the walls!

194

“We met them, and with pike and falchion true
“Hurl'd them, like emmets, for their multitude,
“Down to their graves below. In vain we strive!
“New ranks press onward, and, at length, O King,
“My gallant men, and braver never breath'd,
“Lay dead around me. I that day devour'd,
“With my resistless sword, three-score and three
“Wrathful assailants, but, in vain; they pour'd
“New torrents, and at length they scaled our walls.
“Now was the hotter fight! Our dwindled few,
“All heroes, in the outer court, then stood,
“Compact as adamant. O'erpower'd at length
“Each cried for quarter. Tho' my final lance
“Stood, shiver'd in my hand—Behold it here!
“My soul disdain'd the supplicating voice;
“When, with my wounds grown desp'rate, I espied
“Llewellyn near me, and that instant rush'd,
“E'en with my broken lance, to deal his fate.
“I wounded him! He fled! The shades of night
“Now gather'd, when beholding all things lost,
“I deem'd it no detraction from my fame,
“To save my life and liberty. With speed
“I hasten'd to the wall. Down in the moat,
“Head-long I plunged, thus iron'd as I was,
“And by the fortune which the brave attends,
“Mangled as thus thou seest, unhelm'd, unarm'd,
“Escaped miraculous. One thing I heard
“From that foul tiger of the Cambrian hills,
“Llewellyn, just when I forsook the fight,
“Exclaim'd ‘No quarter!’ and the piercing shrieks,

195

“The parting groans, of my poor countrymen,
“Just perishing, still sound in these mine ears.
“O Monarch, in that day, save me alone,
“Thy subjects were all murder'd!”

Edward cried.
“Now for the Hostages. To Ludlow speed!
“Not one shall live! Warren! my herald thou!
“Haste! and thy spirit from compassion steel!
“Drag them in fetters to thy Monarch's sight!
“Their heads and carcasses shall grace our towers;
“That be my consolation!” Warren turned,
Bending obedient at his Monarch's words,
And instant sought the death-doom'd Hostages.

Earl Talbot's tidings now again recurr'd.
The King and his bold Barons call'd to mind
Each circumstance. The vision of the fight,
With all its dread concomitants, appears
Before their mental gaze; and still they stand,
Vacant their eyes, their hands upon their swords,
Intent, on their presumed realities,
Till Edward cried, staying their airy flight,

“Talbot! thy hurricane intelligence
“O'erwhelms me. For the murder'd men I mourn.
“Peace, late, was my design, and amity

196

“With Cambria's Prince. The momentary guest
“Now do I spurn! The gory staff of war
“Edward shall now unfurl, and death alone,
“Or given, or received, inflexible,
“Conclude the contest waged by England's Lord!
“Mourn not thy fate, good Earl. I honor thee!
“Thou art unfortunate, tho' valourous still.
“Thou didst thy duty. Scenes will soon arise
“Where we shall need thy valour and advice.
“Be not dismay'd, Edward is still thy friend.
“But let me ask; these wounds upon thy cheek
“They seem not recent.” At the sudden words,
Unlook'd for, Talbot even blush'd. Alike,
At some peculiar season and apt hour,
Both shame and innocence one garb may wear.
Whilst his heart curs'd the axe of Warwick's Earl,
Prompt in reply, he answer'd.

“Know, O King!
“It is not my delight to talk of feats,
“And valourous deeds, by my own might achieved;
“Yet, I must tell thee, ere that fatal day,
“Which gave my home, my castle to the foe,
“A boar, from the Westphalian solitudes
“I had obtain'd, and eager for the chase,
“Appointed, with the neighbouring knights, a day
“To hunt the monster. English boars are tame.
“They give no scope for the intrepid lance.
“I sought some noble triumph, o'er a foe,
“Worthy of valour, and from German wilds

197

“Obtained a boar, fierce as the arctic bear,
“Whose tusks, like steeple pinnacles arose
“Palling the gazer. This was my delight.
“We let him loose. Safe, 'mid his kindred woods,
“He wander'd till the day of sport arrived.
“In that ill-fated hour, poor Lexington
“A valiant knight, perish'd, while by his side
“De Tracy lay and gallant Molineux,
“Two squires renown'd. The savage brute defied
“All power of steel, and he who dared approach
“Came to his death. Now is my time, I cried.
“At the first thrust, I pierced his iron flank.
“He slew my horse. I met him with my sword,
“Singly, I laid him breathless on the ground;
“But in the contest, with his monstrous fangs
“He scarr'd my cheek. Now mark me, noble King.
“This wound just healing, in the deathful fray,
“Held with Llewellyn, met unnumber'd blows,
“And gash'd and bare it lay. Nature howe'er
“Perform'd her healing energies, and now,
“Heedless of vanish'd scenes, I meet thy smile,
“And am prepared to seek new roads to fame.”

Edward replied. “Talbot, full well I know
“Thy prowess, and thy valour in the chase.
“To thee, I owe my life. Thou slew'st the boar
“Foaming with rage, when Edward vanquish'd lay.
“Thy crest henceforth, the rampant boar shall be.”

198

Talbot look'd up and meditated words
Denoting gratitude, when Edward cried,
“Now higher thoughts demand observances.
“Bishop! Attend!” The good Archbishop rais'd,
Languid, his eye, and met the anger-glance
Of Edward, piercing to his heart and reins.

“To doubt thy loyalty, that were unjust.
“Thro' all thy days, fidelity, I own,
“And wisdom, have been thine; but thou art made
“Of stuff too tender. Far from guile thy self,
“In this our world, so hollow and so false,
“Thou deal'st thy liberal charity around
“In full libations. Didst thou, Talbot, hear?
“Where is thy confidence, told with stout words?
“Where is Llewellyn now?—‘Round Snowdon's base,

199

“Waiting the issue of thy mission here,
“And seeking amity, yea, from his soul,
“Desiring only right!’ Thou didst believe
“Th' insidious Prince and I a convert stood
“By thy persuasion—even peace approved,
“With one who held the olive, budding fair,
“Extended from his hand, and at that hour,
“That moment, unsuspected, aimed the blow
“The dagger at my heart. Grey-headed man
“Prepare thine ear, for sounds of dissonance!
“Strengthen and fortify thy inmost soul,
“And stand unmoved at my heart-harrowing words.
“Llewellyn is my foe—eternally!
“On his devoted head, my wrath shall light.
“The moment is pass'd by, when, from my mind,
“I might have wrung forgetfulness and own'd
“Feelings of amity.—Friendship—avaunt!
“Now for the strife of men! Warriors, renown'd!
“Gird on your sword! Nerve with fresh confidence
“Your arm for slaughter! Vengeance be your cry!
“The current, for a moment held at bay
“Flows on with fiercer vehemence.—I swear
“To conquer Cambria!”

At the furious word,
The Bishop sighed, clasping his aged hands,
Whilst all the warriors round, in th' gust of wrath,
Shouted aloud, “Triumph, or death be ours!”
Earl Mortimer, advancing spake, “O King
“We hail thy high resolve. Cambria must fall.

200

“Her zenith is pass'd by. Her hour is come,
“Her doom is near, and when she perisheth,
“And then alone, England will lift her head,
“Concenter'd in herself, august, supreme,
“And bid defiance to a world in arms.”

Earl Pembroke spake, “O King! our hearts, our lives,
“All that we have lie prostrate at thy feet.
“Llewellyn, Prince by name, altho' in heart
“Base-born Plebeian, now, at length, shall know
“The wrath of England, her full blast of ire—
“When, rising in her lion majesty,
“She plunges on her prey.”

Edward exclaim'd,
“Prepare for war! Upon the coming morn,
“We will our passage force, and rest our spears,
“Dauntless, on Cambria.” As he spake, he turn'd—
He saw the Prelate. On his cheek, a tear
Glisten'd, as to the earth, mournful, he look'd.
Edward, the shooting pang of conscience felt,
When he beheld his hoary-headed friend,
Long known and faithful, his sage counsellor,
Sorrow oppress'd. Remembering the harsh words,
Just utter'd, in the gust of passion strong,
He felt remorse, anguish that touch'd his soul:
He could have wept, and now, with accent soft,
Thus to the Bishop spake.

“Thou art a friend,

201

“Believe me! whom I love. Hear thou thy Prince.
“Tho' thy advice I spurn, I spurn not thee:
“Thy one great crime is virtue in excess;—
“Trusting to one whose rooted perfidy
“None might suspect, the substance of whose heart,
“Is falsehood tangible. Few know to deal
“With that most treacherous and soul-wither'd man.
“Yet would my words, alone, be mild to thee.
“Thou totterest o'er the grave; before thou go'st
“To th' mansions of the blest, thy proper home,
“Even pardon me! Let us renew once more,
“Warm from the heart, friendship's old covenant.
“Should I defer, when next I seek for thee,
“The tear may tell that I have sought too late.”
The Bishop cried, “Heaven's blessing on thee rest!”
Edward, with ardour spake, “On thine own head
“Thy blessings are return'd. Thou good old man,
“Thy cautions and advice; thy love of peace;
“Thy maxims which refer t' a better world,
“Tho' dormant, are not lost. They may arise
“Hereafter, in the still and thoughtful hour
“When reason will be heard, and minister
“Choice consolations, of worth infinite,
“Which shall prepare me for that state, where thou,
“And all pure spirits, meet to part no more.”

The good old Prelate bow'd. “My Son!” he said,
“(Pardon thy servant's voice familiar,)
“If well to thee it seem, nor burdensome,
“With a few righteous men, faithful to me,

202

“I will attend thy course. It is my wish;
“My prayer most fervent.” Edward cried, “Till death.
“Refreshment in thy presence, best of men,
“Attend me, yea, be still my counsellor;
“With thee in sight, I shall feel confidence,
“The atmosphere thou breathest, must be fair.”

Several of the Lord Marchers of Wales had and enjoyed great franchises in their Seigneuries, and even a Regalitatem, a sort of a Royal Power. They had their Chancery, their Justiciers, and other great Officers, with an extensive jurisdiction, belonging to the chief court of their Honor.”—Madox's Baronia Anglica.

Richard I. displayed such marvellous instances of courage in the Holy Land, against the Saracens, as almost to equal the feats which the Bards ascribe to Arthur.

“Richard, at the head of only seventeen horsemen, and a small body of foot, being surrounded by the Sultan's army, they maintained their ground with such valour, that the Turks and Saracens quite astonished and discouraged could not be brought by their Leaders to renew the attack. Richard rode that day along the whole line of the enemy, and dared them all to a single combat. but not one of them would venture to come out against him.” —Lyttelton's Henry II.

A principle of equity and luminous arrangement has universally been ascribed to the jurisprudence established in this reign.

“King Edward the First was the first that settled the law and state, deserving the title of England's Justinian, and freed this Kingdom from the wardship of the Peers, shewing himself, in all his actions, capable to command, not this realm only but the whole world.” Weaver's Funeral Monuments.

“Edward I. proved himself to be a warlike, wise and victorious Prince, and may justly be stiled the best Lawgiver.” Harleian Miscellany.

“Edward I. was illustrious as a General, but more illustrious as a Legislator. In the former capacity he had many equals, in the latter he was excelled by none of the Kings of England.” —Henry.

Ludlow Castle in Shropshire. The residence of the Lords Presidents of the Marches, where they resided with the splendour of royalty.

The Arms of many persons, particularly in ancient times, were derived from some remarkable circumstance in their lives. Those who had killed, in foreign climes, a lion or a leopard or a boar, very naturally added (by especial permission) these charges to their paternal arms. The saltier and cross evidently refer to the crusades, to which were often superadded the escallop-shell, the humble cup of Crusaders, carried by them in their hats; with the various orders of roundlets, particularly the besant, (a gold coin of Constantinople, deriving its name from Byzantium, the name of the city before Constantine the Great removed the seat of empire there, and gave it his own name.) Those who had survived the wars in Africa and Palestine, and had been so happy as to kill a Moor or a Saracen, added their heads, as a trophy to their arms, to which in some instances were added a bloody hand. These emblems mark the inveterate spirit subsisting, in those days, between the Infidels and Christians. It might be suspected that the belligerents of our own island were not, on some occasions, much more placable, for we find that the arms of Ednyfed Vychen (the ancestor of Owen Tudor) were, gules, a cheveron, between three Englishmen's heads, proper couped.