University of Virginia Library

BOOK XVII.

SCENE, The Druids' Circle, in the Forests of Mona.
The deed is done! Old Caradoc survives,
A wretched man, ordained to see his friends,
Kindred and brethren perish in one hour!
The deed is done! The evening closes fast
Upon a day, that, to the latest times,
Mercy shall execrate, drooping her head.
The Flemings, even the unhappy men
Who did the deed, whose solemn compact left
No option even with conscience, they themselves
Have dug the grave, and dew'd it with their tears—
The trench, long, wide and deep, that must intomb
The Bards of Mona. Lo! The earth receives
(Twilight around) the breathless sons of song.
No voice is heard. Slowly upon the sod
Their heads are placed, 'mid an unbroken pause,
Save when the stifled sigh, forcing its way,
Declared what anguish foes might feel for foes.
At this heart-searching moment, 'mid their tent,
Beneath the trees, Talbot and Venables
Feasted, and with carousings laugh'd aloud—
O'er the exploit, where Satan had turn'd pale.
Old Caradoc, upon the new-raised mound,
Stood, whelmed in grief, the tear fast rolling down.
A half extinguish'd torch one, near him, held,
Waving its sullen glare, or else, all forms,
Save the dark-sailing cloud, whether in Heaven,
Or Earth beneath, slept and were motionless.
Faint leaning on his harp, pendent, beside
He view'd the scene, whilst his distracted mind
Felt paralysed with anguish, and the flood
Of heart-consuming woe. He moves his brow.
The aged minstrel's eyes wake from a trance.
He grasps his harp. He pours the fervent song.
He ceas'd; yet ere he left the hallow'd spot,
One lingering look he cast, o'er the dear bed,
Whereon his brethren lay. Speechless he views;
His spirit labouring with despair; his hand,
Now rais'd, and his fix'd eye, straining toward Heaven.
While thus he stood, all eyes beholding him,
The moon o'er lofty trees, faintly shines forth;
The breeze of night subsides, and the full soul
Of bold-eyed warriors, long unused to tears,
Indulges ample grief, and sympathy
Feels with the scene around. Amid the pause,
So holy, and that reach'd the inmost heart,
Old Caradoc—once more serene and mild,
Slow from the mound descends, and passes on,
Lonely, thro' forest trees, secret and dark,
Smiting his breast, to his unknown abode.
What man is that—who, on the stony beach,
Wanders alone? By Menai's flood he stands,
With folded arms. Now, on the mighty deep,
Silent he gazes, now, with hurried step,
And hand uplifted, paces a brief way,
Then stands again! Rash and distracted man!
David is there! A boat is near the strand,
Moor'd to a rock. He seeks it, and forth sails,
Cross Menai's tide, toward Cambria's craggy shore.
Now to the midst he came. The gushing wave,
Crossing his prow, oppress'd him whilst his heart,
Roused to conviction of enormous crime,
Dissolved within him! Horror fill'd his soul!
He slacks the sail. The rudder, he swings round,
Rude, from his grasp, and, on the slender plank,
Sinks like a load of lead. What thoughts were thine,
What anguish, wretched Prince! When o'er the past
Thou dartedst a sad glance, felt conscience strike
Against thy breast, like the fierce lightning flash,
Scathing thy spirit! Past, and present, too,
And future, all is dark and mists obtuse.
The wave was near. He rises from his seat,
He pauses on the waters gliding on,
And thinks, how sweet a thing it were—to die!
To end his cares! To smother his last groan,
And be forgotten! Ah! He starts! He thinks
Upon a future world—where permanence
Of joy or sorrow waits, anguish untold,
Or bliss ineffable. Again, his mind,
(Soften'd by genial current from the heart)
Ponders upon his babes! Upon a wife
That loved him even to doating—all undone!
Wreck'd, and, like lumber, cast upon the world.
Once more his soul revolves, forced to the task,
On his own fame, with mildew and with blast,
Eternal, cover'd. In that searching hour,
He saw his country, once pre-eminent
In his affections, casting him aside,
Scornful, against whose breast, he thrust his spear.
O'erwhelm'd with woe, downward again he sinks!
Despair and horror hurried from his breast,
All thoughts, all cares, all fond solicitudes,
For mortal things, and in the drifting boat,
Senseless, he glides upon the smooth green sea!
Edwall, the young, the brave, when the news came,
That David had renounced Llewellyn's cause,
His force with Edward join'd, and pledg'd himself
Against his country—Nero-like, upraised
The murderous sword, with a remorseless heart,
To stab the breast that nurs'd him, yea disdain'd
Each partial feeling—to his house, his home,
Friend, kindred, all that savage man adores;
Edwall, the young, the brave, vow'd to explore,
Both sea and earth, 'till his upbraiding eyes
Lighted on one, whom he might yet reclaim,
And drag, indignant, from perdition's gulf.
Far were his wanderings. Ever where he came,
He ask'd for David, David his lost friend—
The traitor, David. Now oppress'd with care,
Disconsolate and hopeless, Edwall stood,
Amid a lonely and wild forest shade,
His course unknown, and buried in deep thought.
Plain things and obvious, before his gaze
Arose unnoticed, 'till, from dreams he woke,
Roused by the beauties of the circling scene.
Beside, a rock appeared, with here and there,
Amid some high recess, a starting tree,
With ivies of wild form. The sable Birds,
Unknown to change, tenants perpetual,
In many a graceful wheel, breasting the breeze,
Sailed slow around; or now, with sudden scream,
Burst from their airy perch, as it might seem,
From their strait course and nerve impetuous,
Resolved t' explore new scenes, and know what lands
The wide world call'd its own; then, of their homes,
Thinking, and, with impassion'd speed, once more
Returning to their rest—where they display,
Long lines of black upon the time-worn crags;
Save by themselves, spots only visited,
As ages roll along, by sun and shower.
Trees of stupendous frame veil'd half the sky,
Whilst a rough mountain brook, choked with grey stones,
Babbling roll'd on, (lost in the dell beneath)
With speed that dallies not with trifling things—
The tall flag waving, or the moss-grown oak,
(Long undermined, the pride of ages past,
Thrown in fantastic shape across the stream)
But with augmented ardour rolls along,
Impatient of its distant resting-place.
Even like the shepherd-boy, his fold secure,
(His shaggy, lank, half-famish'd dog behind)
Amid the trackless down in wintry hour,
Urging his way, when bleak the tempest roars,
And evening closes fast, and snows descend,
And the wide plain is dreary, desolate,—
Whilst he, head foremost, clothed in white appears
The ponderous mist, and eddying sleet around:
He stops not to admire the spotless robe,
Nature investing, or the silver flakes,
With all their fairy lines of loveliness—
Such thoughts escape the spirit, cold and sad,
He thinks upon his home and hurries on.
It was an hour of choicest influence,
Where all around breath'd fragrance to the soul.
In admiration wrapt, nor without thoughts,
(Mingled with praise,) of Him who made it all,
Edwall beheld. In silence as he stood,
He heard a voice, a solitary sound,
A warbling hymn, angelic symphony,
Come from the rock at hand. Within his heart
Rapture abode—to think that there was one—
One being, with himself, such glorious sights
To witness and the adoring anthem raise.
Not less it cheer'd his heart, than doth the path,
In unexpected moment, the bare line,
(Made by the oft-returning foot of man)
Amid the fields, to him who roams afar,
Unknowing where, yet, in his spirit, holds
Feelings that link him to his kind, and loves
Still the sweet footstep of Humanity.
Intent he look'd. Amid the thickest green,
Up 'mong the heights, at length he marked a cave,
And at its mouth with ivies matted round,
An aged hermit, with sweet melody,
Pouring his lonely song. Whilst Eve 'gan crowd,
In th' western sky, her floods of brilliancy,
Clear flows the strain.
He ceased, when Edwall, mounting with hard toil,
Approach'd the cave. Before his crucifix,
Silent, the Hermit knelt. Edwall, awhile,
Paused, doubting if it were not leagued with sin,
To call the good man's spirit back to earth.
As thus he stood, Edwall the Hermit saw.
Slowly he rose, and with the influence
Of Heaven upon his countenance, approach'd,
And thus began.
“Welcome to this my cave!
“Such fare as I possess, Warrior, is thine.”
Edwall replied. “Father! thy song I heard.
“It hath aroused strange feelings in my mind.
“Hearing thy words, the world, from this my sight,
“Receded, and all things appeared a blank—
“Save, how to live that I might safely die.
“Thou hast sustain'd, no doubt, in this bad world
“Thy share of sorrow. If no violence,
“It do thy heart, tell me the circumstance
“Which forced thee from mankind, to scenes like these.”
The Hermit bow'd. Thus he began.
“My Son!
“I like thy mild address, and even will name,
“What once within my soul woke agony
“To think of, in the solitary hour.
“Its pungency is past. Hear me, my Son!
“There was a pleasant convent in a vale,
“Where pious men, far from a noisy world,
“Dwelt, and found happiness. This was my home.
“Its inmates had one heart; one faith; one aim—
“Glory to God. His praises morn and eve,
“Duly we chanted, and a Paradise
“It seem'd to be, a little heaven on earth,
“A sanctified and angel residence.
“Riches we had—enough, with gratitude,
“To fill the heart. What could we covet more
“Than raiment, and such food as He possess'd
“Who hunger knew; who, o'er the mountain, roam'd
“Oft thro' the night, in meditation lost,
“Pleading for Sinners; strengthening thus his soul
“For opening scenes, that he might cry, at last,
“Triumphant, ‘It is finished!’ and thus leave
“The World he saved, tho', in his sojourn here,
“He had no place, where he might lay his head!
“In th' midnight hour, each from his pallet starts!
“A noise is heard without! The Saxon there
“Breath'd threatnings! Trusting in th' Almighty's arm,
“Calmly, I sought the foe. Fierce Venables,
“(That was the man, the terror of our land)
“Ask'd of our wealth. I answered, ‘Poverty
“Had long in Lantredaff held her abode.’
“‘The Brand!’ aloud he cried. The brand was cast!
“The reeds upon our dwelling stream with fire.
“My Brethren fear'd the sword. They welcome gave
“Even to the flames which sent them to their rest!
“When now the fire prevail'd, and I had hoped
“The pang was past; even in that moment burst
“From out the flames such gusts of agony,
“Such fearful shrieks, such symbols of despair,
“Heart-shaking, that even Saxon Men look'd on,
“Ghastly and petrified. It dies away.
“The storm is hush'd. The crackling flame is heard
“Unbroken. Now we pause, waiting to hear
“The last groan of the dying. Ah! In vain!
“Each shook his head, and feebly cried ‘Tis o'er!’
“All perished utterly. In that dread hour
“Friends, Brethren, Fathers, took their flight, and left
“Me, aged, tottering 'neath the weight of years,
“Grey-headed, to find out a quiet spot,
“Where I might sit alone, and weep, and die!
“This solitude I found, at length, this cave.
“My dwelling it shall be, till I, my head
“Gently lay down in death; and I will sing
“Each morning, and each evening, the same song
“Thou heardest. It hath power to lull my heart.
“Full Faith in Heaven is the true antidote
“For sorrows such as mine. It lifts my soul
“Above earth's cares, and cheers me with that world
“Where the storm-beaten Traveller finds repose.”
Edwall, the tear upon his cheek, replied.
“Father! in other hour, and I would pour
“All solace to thy heart. Awhile, tho' hard,
“I must forget even thee, for now the Foe
“Traverses Cambria. With our noble Prince
“I wage the war. Little I dreamt, that one
“Like thee, allied to the Celestials,
“Here found a dwelling. Cheering to the heart
“It is to meet some unknown traveller,
“Bound to a better world—to feel the truth,
“That, far beyond the precincts where we dwell,
“Our little rounds, our atoms magnified,
“Goodness prevails, luxuriant, excellence,
“With virtue rare, held by the thread of life
“Alone, from mounting to its native skies.
“Doubtless in that dread hour, approaching fast,
“When all shall rise to judgment, multitudes
“Who here no eye attracted, who pursued
“The way of holiness, no trump before,
“Their witness God, tho' little known of man,
“Obscure, despised, will hear the voice, ‘Well done!’
“And shine like stars, in th' heavenly firmament,
“For ever and for ever!—Yet again
“I hope to meet thee, haply here below,
“If not, in th' world of blessedness above.
“Father! awhile farewell! Now must I find
“David, our Prince. He hath a traitor proved.
“Oh! I do wrong him! No! No traitor he!
“He must be faithful!” Rising from his seat,
With earnest aspect, thus the Hermit spake.
“Warrior! A roving man, at morning hour,
“Late, call'd me from my prayers, to ask what road
“Led to our Prince. Ere I could answer him,
“He cried, ‘I have a piteous tale, most sad,
“To bear Llewellyn. David, our rash Prince,
“Hath join'd the Saxons! From the green-wood shade,
“Out on yon shore, I watch'd him hoist his sail,
“And with a murderous band toward Mona speed.”
Edwall afflicted stood. Conviction now
Flash'd on his mind. He would have said, tho' faint,
“Old Man, adieu!” Vainly he utterance sought.
He smote his breast, and sighing turn'd away.
Whether the course of things, chance, accident,
Which sometimes draws to one converging point
Events unlook'd for; or, that Higher Powers,
Supreme of all; or Angel Ministers,
With delegated sway, roam thro' the earth,
And the ordained things bring into light,
By influence, subtile, as ethereal air,
(Save by one star amid the dark profound,)
Who shall affirm? but Edwall, at the hour,
While Cambria's traitor Prince from Mona sailed,
Wander'd on Menai's beach. He saw a boat
Far out, amid the tide. He mark'd a man,
Now rising up; now stretch'd, in sleeping form;
Now, pondering, with clasp'd hand, upon the wave,
As tho' he waited for some fresh resolve
Invoked with half the heart, deferr'd, not scorn'd,
To plunge into the tide and there to die.
Near to the Cambrian shore the boat now drew,
Distant from where he watch'd it. In the play
Of sportive fancy, to himself he cried,
“What if that man were David; my lost friend!”
His sober mind banish'd a thought so wild,
“Yet,” Edwall cried, “Yon stranger I will seek.
“Haply, some rumour may have reach'd his ear
“Of David. Friend or foe, I seek him out.”
With earnest speed, along the smooth white beach,
Edwall now pass'd. His footstep regular,
Far back, was manifest, denting the sand—
Refuse of rocks no more, and clifts august,
Once barrier to the ocean, now dissolved
By wind and beating surge, (haply in years
Before the flood) whilst, of their eminence,
Dust but remains!—So will the things of earth,
The monuments of proudest industry,
The forms, upon whose brow, Stability
Rested her foot, and laugh'd amid the storm,
Fall, in their destin'd hour, and, like the sand,
Circling the ocean, from the passing foot
Impress receive, toss'd on the gentlest wind.
Yea, all Earth's Family shall wane and waste
Like these austere, these adamantine crags,
Pre-eminent, which in their potency,
Once the fierce Main, defied, gazing sedate,
On the white multitude of armed waves,
That at their base, with each returning tide,
Fresh armed for war, spent their impetuous rage.
Solemn decree, and irreversible!—
Earth, fruitful in expedients, here beholds
Her inefficient might. No power hath she
To weave, secure, th' impenetrable web;—
No drug, or rare elixir, blazon'd forth,
The purchase of long centuries of toil,
Now, all we want, the antidote for Death;
Celestial armour none, to ward the fate,
Which sweeps the Generations of Mankind,
Into forgetfulness!—Rank follows rank
To th' Tomb's appointed precincts! to the Vale,
Upon whose clod, the mightiest rest themselves.
Nor in unguarded hour, less vigilant,
Doth our Great Foe ere intermit his march,
Eternal as the round of day and night,
Onward he goes, 'neath cypress canopy,
With all his ministers, a haggard train,
Bearing their victims to sepulchral gloom,
Their last abode, 'till th' Heavens be no more!—
Ah, what are all the transitory points
Of man's desire!—Fame, and precedency
Most scrupulous, required by worm of worm!
Which rouse, thro' earth, th' unceasing hurricane,
Inflame the eye and agitate the heart,
Conferring on the moment, what alone,
Is due, to ages, to eternity!
Thy loftiest sons, O Earth! the great, the vain,
Men bloated with ambition, treading down
All obstacles which cross their purposes,
With an herculean strength, stop not to think
How soon their race must terminate,—to view
Their mansion with the worms,—the narrow spot,
Sole residue of all their wide domains,
Soon to receive them. Startling to their ear
Who would extend their domination proud,
Beyond the span of time, still look beneath,
And be, not less than Monarchs in the Grave,
On the same level all erelong will lie!
The lonely Prisoners, weeping o'er their chains,
And shrinking from the blast, thro' matted grate
Forcing bleak way and whistling shrill around,
With those who bask beneath their gorgeous thrones,
World-shaking Potentates! after brief hour
Of storm or sunshine, must renounce their state,
Feel the heart cankerworm, and to the earth,
At length, descend; leaving no trace behind;
Like the proud billow, that one moment lifts
His head in scorn, and then for ever flies!
Thrice bless'd are they who have a better Home,
More pure, more permanent, and who can call
Their God their Father, and their Judge their Friend!
While thus, with earnest step, Edwall pass'd on,
He mark'd the boat, rest on the neighbouring beach.
As the keel grated o'er the yellow sand,
The motion, into David's heart, convey'd
Sudden distraction. Waking from a dream,
He knew, that now, on Cambria's shore he stood.
Congeal'd and dead, his heart within him sank.
Life scarce remain'd. His elbows on his knee
Rested, and, in his open palms, his face,
Pallid, seeks refuge. Edwall toward him came,
With cautious step, gazing with earnestness,
On the regardless man: now on this side,
Again on that. “'Tis he!” Aloud he cried.
David look'd up as from a sudden trance.
At length, his eye-balls from their socket strained,
Edwall he saw! His cheek, with crimson dyed,
Once more seeks refuge in his shrouding hands,
The gentle breeze, rustling the green sedge near,
Distinct was heard. Edwall approach'd and said.
“David! my friend!” David, as statue still,
Heeded him not. Edwall still nearer came,
“My Friend!” he said, “Whence lonely and thus sad.”
Three waves along the beach roll'd up and down,
Ere David moved, when, with a languid eye,
That glanc'd, not look'd, at Edwall pausing near,
He raised his head, and from the full-charged breast,
Pour'd the deep sigh. “Leave me with night,” he said.
“Here let me perish, silent and alone!”
Edwall exclaim'd, ‘My friend! art thou not such?
“I will not leave thee! Tho' the sun retires;
“Tho' ocean here retreats; tho' day-light flies,
“I will be faithful!” David, on his arm—
On Edwall's arm, once his firm resting place,
Lean'd, but he spake not, whilst the evening gale
Came hollow from the wave. At length he cried,
In trembling tone, “I have deserved thy hate!
“Thy execration! Thy devoutest scorn!
“I have my brother wrong'd; my country pierced;
“My fame consumed! Now what remains for me,
“But death and all that makes death terrible!
“Leave me! E'en thou art monstrous to my sight!”
“I will not leave thee, David! Still my friend,”
Edwall replied, “tho' it, alas, is true—
“Thou hast Llewellyn wrong'd, thy country pierc'd,
“Thy fame consumed.—Cease that deep-rending sigh!
“My brother, weep not! Tho' my spirit vow'd,
“Whene'er I met thee, with a flood of wrath,
“And words of biting taunt, to deluge thee;
“Yet thy compunction, and the ampleness
“Of thy remorse and self-accusing spirit,
“Have melted my stout heart down to a babe's.
“My anger is past by; my love remains.
“Forget the past! Think what may yet be done.
“Tho' long to reason lost, yet thou art now,
“A Patriot, roused from transient lethargy.
“Utter despair, banish from this thy breast!
“Thy country still remains, and thy fair fame,
“May bud afresh and with new verdure soar
“Far into heaven. Take courage. Yet pursue,
“Dauntless, the road to well-earn'd eminence.”
David replied. “Can one, so lost, aspire
“To aught refreshing to the noble mind?
“My moment is gone by. The glittering scene
“Which once illumed my fancy, hath expired
“In ten-fold night, and nothing now remains
“But shame eternal! I suspect my state!
“My memory! Some spirit not my own,
“Seems to have made my soul its vehicle
“For deeds, at which my better part recoils.
“Edwall! And didst thou dare to speak of fame,
“Budding afresh!—With permanence of scorn,
“Llewellyn thinks of David and his crimes.
“O Edwall! I have split upon a rock,
“That hath proved death to thousands. I have lean'd
“Against ambition, deeming him my friend,
“And he a secret dagger hath sent forth
“Into my vitals! I am fool'd at last!
“I am undone, most irretrievably.
“Tell me, and truly! Was Llewellyn roused,
“Up to tempestuous rage, when first he heard
“Of my defection? or with solemn brow,
“And cautious words did he regard my crime?
“All placidness!” Spake Edwall. “Free of wrath.
“Not e'en a transient ray illumed his eye.
“He knew thee rash, and that aspiring thoughts
“Had madden'd thee, yet, when the news arrived,
“That thou hadst join'd with Edward, our sworn foe,
“With countenance that told his feeling heart,
“He sigh'd and said, ‘my Brother!’ David spake.
“Then have I naught to hope. Like my own plans,
“Immoveable as earth, are his resolves
“Form'd in the secret regions of the heart.
“'Tis not the storm which penetrates! Enough!
“A quick resolve, kin to despair and death,
“Now rushes thro' my spirit. Lead me on!
“E'en to his presence! Let a brother's sword,
“With righteous wrath, send me to gaping Hell!
“I have deserved it! I will meet the blow,
“Unshrinking, uncomplaining, unappall'd!”
Edwall replied. “Most brave is this thy path.
“Llewellyn's heart is not inflexible.
“Believe me, earliest and heart-honor'd friend!
“He is as ready to swear amity,
“Thy pardon grant, burying the past in night,
“As is the sun to shine, when the dark cloud,
“Retires and gives Heaven's azure to our sight.
“Behind yon grassy brow, late I beheld
“A neat-herd's cot. If thou Llewellyn doubt,
“And seem thee meet, thither with me repair.
“Make that thy dwelling, till, to Aber's pile,
“Or Conway, or where'er the occasion lead,
“I hasten and inform our noble Prince,
“That thou art found; and smooth, no rugged road,
“David, to favour.” David cried, “my head
“Swims with strange mists. Thy words do cheer my heart
“With vision, indistinct, of future good,
“Yet, Edwall, know! Not to the humble cot
“David must haste, but—to Llewellyn's self!
“I must redeem the past—lose not an hour!
“O Edwall, my best friend! Balm of my life,
“How shall I thank thee! Now imperious calls
“Hang on each moment, but the hours will come
“When I may prove my gratitude—tho' great,
“Naught to the stable friendship thou hast shewn.
“We will speed on. Should Cambria's Prince confess,
“(Whom in the midst of words of scorn and hate,
“I still did love; I had no power to break
“The bond of nature,) should he still confess
“Kindred with David, if my country still
“Should own a son so vile, what scenes may rise.—
“O Edwall! What grand spectacle, august,
“Yet may appear—what tablet, where a heart,
“Contrite, may write its deathless penitence!
“We hasten! Time is short! Our work is great!”
To meet Llewellyn, with deep-pondering brow,
David and Edwall straight their course pursue.