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

Thrice fifteen thousand men, all stout of heart,
Who felt the Patriot's fire, glow in their breast,
And fed on freedom, round old Snowdon's base
Gather'd, when Cambria call'd them to the war.
In Dolbadarn, on Snowdon's misty brow,
Llewellyn placed a band, long tried in war;
And now the pride of hills, scarce cheer'd his sight,
As on he march'd, toward Conway, to resist
His mortal foe.

Lo! speeding o'er the hills
A man appears. One general impulse check'd
The anxious host. The tidings, all alike,
Waited impatient, but the prize he holds

With niggard jealousy, passing them all,
And hastens, panting, breathless, toward his Prince.
Him having reach'd, he cried. “Rhudland is fallen!
“And Mervyn and his gallant bands are slain!
“I only live to bear the deathful tale!”
“And where the foe?” Llewellyn cried aloud.
The ghastly man exclaim'd, “On all sides round!
“East! North! and South! and West! Before! Behind!”
“Stop!” cried Llewellyn. “Man, pursue thy course!
“Speed hence! Away! Conceal thy trembling frame
“In some earth covert, or 'mid crags on high.
“Thou dost not follow here. Thy heart is made
“Of a consistence, soft as yielding snow.
“Off! Parley not!” Scarce had Llewellyn said,
When, turning toward the south, the frighted man
Fled like the startled roe-buck, looking on,
With speed as of an arrow thro' the air.

Llewellyn, to his chieftains, thus replied.
“This coward, whom our Cambria scorns to own,
“We may not credit; thick confusion blinds
“His surcharged faculties.” Another man!
Speeding from Powis! “Urban! Well brave friend,
(Llewellyn spake, impatient of his words)
“What tidings bring'st thou?” Urban thus replied,
“Thy friends, in Dinevawr, are overpower'd!
“Warwick, the Saxon Earl, bears all things down!
“That fertile realm he devastates; lays waste
“Our stoutest castles. Streams of human gore
“On all sides flow, and now toward Powis-land
“He hastes, triumphant.” Loud, Llewellyn cried

“Storm follows storm, yet, darker days than these
“Have lower'd o'er Cambria, and her might call'd forth.
“Soon, the portentous clouds, scatter'd appear'd,
“Whilst the fair sun threw his inspiring beams
“On valour, sporting o'er the mountain heath,
“After the toil of war. Chieftains renown'd,
“Matured in victory, bright hours remain,
“And feasts of joyance, but our strenuous arm
“Must fight to gain the banquet. Noble friend,
“Rhywaldon, hither haste!” The chief draws near.
Llewellyn spake. “Take with thee a fair force,
“And speed toward Powis. Meet the English Earl.
“And teach him, as thou canst, lesson austere.”

Rhywaldon cried. “Whate'er true zeal may do
“From me, O Prince, and courage, from the men
“Whom now I lead to scourge our country's foe,
“Thou must not doubt. Awhile, brave Prince, farewell!”
He said, and now a gallant company
Follows Rhywaldon, whilst Llewellyn turns
Toward Conway, to await the foe's advance.

In Conway, Vychan govern'd, one as bold
As ever led the fight, or from high tower,
Arrow, or javelin hurl'd. When war arose
Llewellyn cried. “Conway, shall Vychan own.
“All will he do that bravery can perform.”
When the third Henry pierced the Cambrian hills
He first inhaled th' inebriate breath of fame;
His name alone struck terror thro' the ranks

That dared oppose him, for when he drew nigh,
Tho' small his force, th' opposing army felt
Secret forebodings, doubting that the laws,
Common to man, in his peculiar case,
Might be dispensed with, and his energies
Force, with resistless fury, a new way
To pre-doom'd victory—such aspect high
Triumph, long known, assumes. In Conway's towers,
The key to Snowdon, (refuge ever found
In dark extremity, to Cambria's lords)
Vychan thus ruled. Hearing of Rhudland's fall,
He knew that ere the sun oft in the east
Illumed the firmament, before his gate,
Edward would stand. Firm in his native strength,
He knew and smiled.

A herald hastens near.
Aloud he cries. “Spread wide your massy gates!
“Cambria's high Lord advances!” Hastening on
The Prince appears, and with him a vast host;
The flower of warriors. As the towers they spy,
Their resting-place, their step new ardour feels.
So on Arabia's sands, at closing eve,
The coursers, when they spy the goal in sight,
Tho' breathless, sinking, panting, call afresh
Upon their native vigour, and put forth
The furious effort, sending from their heels
Mists stretching far their dripping flanks the while,
Like blossoms, scattering foam upon the wind:
Thus as they fly, their outstretch'd nostrils pour

Torrents impetuous, whilst their eyes of fire,
Flashing, precede the thunder of their tread.
Llewellyn now, amid the general shout,
Passes the gate, the bridge. Vychan the brave,
With reverence, bending low, as he approach'd,
Waited his coming. With the courteous smile
Llewellyn Vychan hail'd. Thus he began,
“Thou seest me Vychan, at unlook'd-for hour.
“Th' unfolding circumstance calls us to act,
“Oft, wider from the path, fancy prescribed,
“Than east from west. Edward, thro' this our land,
“So rumour tells, advances, once again
“Striving to gain the fortune he has lost,—
“Haply to shroud his spiring head in shame.
“Declare, brave man, what know'st thou of the war?”

Vychan, low bending, thus his answer framed.
“The news hath reach'd, that Mervyn is no more;
“That Rhudland's castle, Edward hath subdued;
“That hosts of gallant men, in the hard fight,
“There perish'd, whilst the victor hastens on,
“With shout exultant, e'en to Conway's towers.”

“Llewellyn cried. Doth he defy our power?
“He, of defeat and shame, still emulous,
“Hastes to sustain th' o'erwhelming thunderbolt
“Of Cambria's ire. Let him advance! Our sword,
“And spear, oft warm'd in slaughter, once again
“Shall teach him to respect vengeance like ours.”

One to Llewellyn speeds, breathless and faint.
Thus he began. “Our forests and tall trees,
“Beneath the hostile axe, now prostrate groan.
“Earl Mortimer, with a remorseless rage,
“Wars on the woodlands. Sylvan haunts and sweet,
“The Cambrians' joy, barren and bare now stand,
“Their glory gone, whilst he who views the waste,
“(Remembering the tall tree and stately grove,
“Inviting late the thoughtful to their shade)
“Glances and turns to weep. Yea, to this spot,
“If thou oppose him not, soon will he haste,
“And cleanse his red spear in old Conway's tide.”
Scarce had he ceas'd, when to the spot drew nigh,
A posting man, who cried. “Diserth is fallen!

“That tower, so long the butt invincible
“Of storms and wars, is fall'n! Edward our foe,
“With an o'erwhelming force, drew near and laid
“His hand on that stout fortress. On he hastes.
“I scarce precede him.” With unbending brow,
Llewellyn cried.

“This is a glorious day.
“Dangers I love. The thicker, more they cheer
“My bounding spirit. Subjects, hear your Prince!
“Now do I see that the decisive hour
“Hastens indeed. This is a deeper plan,
“A more profound adjustment of dark ways,
“To rob us of our homes and liberties,
“Than Britons yet have known. All former skies
“Merely have lower'd, but now, a fearful cloud,
“Black, as the midnight storm, hangs over us.
“The rain descends! The tempest raves in air!
“Our valour, that naught human yet could tame,
“These perils and thick dangers shall disperse,
‘With as much ease, as when emerging fresh
“From the cool stream, 'mid burning suns and sands,
“The lion, reeking, shakes his shaggy mane,
“And, lo, the drops are scatter'd.” Heart-oppress'd,
Now, thinking of the Bishop, who had vow'd
To use kind offices, Llewellyn sigh'd.
In bitterness he uttered.

“Aged Sire!
“Loved for thy virtues, venerable man,

“Of Prelates, first and brightest ornament,
“As I foreknew, with a conviction deep,
“I see that justice, reason, and thy voice,
“So powerful with the lenient and good heart,
“Have fail'd to move thy breast of adamant,
“O Edward! bane of freedom and all right!
“I knew thy tyger appetite of blood!
“I knew thy bitter and remorseless soul!
“Thy cravings for false fame, wading thro' streams,
“Yea, oceans of man's gore, if so it chanced,
“They cross'd the path that led to thy proud aims!
“Wherefore this momentary mist; my mind
“Shading with apprehension? Imp abhorr'd!
“Off! I abjure thee! Now, I feel myself.
“Subjects, regard your Prince!

“High joy is mine,
“That the good hour advances, when our swords
“With England's force shall strive, and manifest
“With whom dwell courage and superior might.
“For ages, these Plantagenets, these hordes
“From German wastes, and Norman, (of one kin,
“Differing in name, in nature both alike,
“Fierce, lawless, grasping at all rule and power,)
“With a relentless appetite, have striven
“To quench old Cambria. This sequester'd spot,
“(Where Freedom fled, from th' accursed chains
“And galling fetters, rude barbarians brought
“To our green island) long, dark jealousy
“Hath moved in England's veins. She look'd around,

“And Slavery saw, where'er the orb of heaven
“Scatter'd his beam, and cheering was the sight;
“Till with a scowling eye, o'er her own fields,
“Teeming, she look'd toward these our craggy hills,
“And, like another Haman, she exclaim'd,
“‘Be peace and happiness from this my heart
“Estranged, till the resister of my power,
“This Mordecai, hangs 'mid the cope of Heaven!’
“Each Saxon Potentate, age after age,
“Strove to subdue old Cambria, but our sires,
“Immersed in brav'ry, met them, 'mid these hills,
“Where now we stand, and sent, whom slaughter spared,
“Back to recount their deep discomfiture.
“His father might have told—Edward our foe,
“How vain the enterprise and hazardous,
“'Gainst rocks and freedom, but his father's lore
“He scorns; resolved to learn, whate'er it cost,
“The lesson we will teach. Howell, attend!

“This Mortimer, levelling our ancient woods,
“O Chief! Speed toward him! With thy gallant band,
“Scourge his temerity. Barrier so strong
“'Tween us and England, with strict vigilance,
“We must preserve. A service of high worth
“To this thy country.” Howell, lowly bent
Pressing his heart, and now he speeds to stem
The lofty and wood-warring Mortimer.

Llewellyn and brave Vychan now prepare,
With all the Patriot's zeal, firm, resolute,

To meet the fray. They knew that it drew near,
The war of heroes, fierce and deadly strife,
And each brow wore the smile of confidence.

One of the most affecting passages in Josephus, is where he briefly describes the desolate vicinity of Jerusalem, after Titus had cut down all the wood, for ninety furlongs round, to prepare machines and erect mounts with which to assault the city. “It was miserable,” says the Historian, “to behold that country and place, before, all beset with trees and fertile plants, now lie plain, like a desert, all cut down; neither was there any stranger that before time had seen Judea, and the beautiful suburbs of Jerusalem, who now beholding it, could abstain from tears.” The indirect way of displaying the devastations of war Josephus well knew to be the most effectually calculated to impress the mind. This principle he illustrated in another place, where he speaks of the enormous wickedness of the Jews, not by enumerating the disgusting and component parts of that wickedness, but by saying, “I will not cease to speak that which grief compelleth me. I verily think that had the Romans forborne to come against these Inhabitants, that either the earth would have swallowed the City up, or some deluge have drowned it, or the thunder and the lightning, which consumed Sodom, would have alighted upon it.”