The poems of Madison Cawein

Not to that demon's son, whom Arthur erst,
For necromancy, at Caerleon, first
Graced greatly, Merlin,—not to him alone
Did those lost learnings of white magic, known
As sorcery and witchcraft, then belong.
Taliesin, now, hath told us in a song
Of one at Arvon, Math of Gwynedd; lord
Of some vague cantrevs of the North; whose sword
Beat back and slew a southern king, through wrath
And puissance of Gwydion, whose path
Thence on, with love, he honored.

Now this Math
Was learned in wondrous witchcraft: as he willed,
He wrought the invisible visible, and filled
The sight with seeming shapes, which it believed
Realities, nor knew it was deceived.

102

For, at his word, the winds were wan with tents,
And armies rose of airy elements;
And brassy blasts of war from bugles brayed,
And armored hosts in battle clanged and swayed,
And at a word were not. And at his nod,
Steeds, rich-accoutered, whinnying softly, trod
The dædal earth; and hounds, of greater worth,
And wirier, too, than dogs of mortal birth,
Rose up, like forest fungus, from the earth
Around th' astonished stag, or flying doe,
Let Math but wish it or his trumpet blow.
But only things that had their counterpart
On earth could he make real through his art.

Now, to his castle, Math, through Gwydion,—
The son of Don,—the daughter dark of Don,
The silver-circled Arianrod, had brought;
A southern rose of beauty, whom Math thought
To wed, in love and friendship, without blame,
And at Caer Dathyl. When the maiden came
Said Math, “Art thou a virgin?”—Like a flame
Mantling, her answer angered, “Verily,
I know not other, lord, than that I be!”—
So wrought he then through magic that the form
Of her boy baby seemed upon her arm,
White as a rose.
“A Mary!—Yea!” laughed Math;

103

“Forsooth, another Mary!” then in wrath
Laid harsh hands on the babe and fiercely flung
Far in the salt sea. But the strong winds clung
Fast to the Elfin and the lithe waves swept
Him safely shoreward dry; some fishers kept
Him thus unseaed and christened Dylan, fair
Son of the wave, and fostered him with care.
Nor was this really hers. But Gwydion,
Brother to Arianrod, before the sun
Had time to glimpse it with one golden glaive,
Swiftly,—as hoping the real babe to save,—
Some dim small body on the castle pave
In raven velvet seized; and, hiding, he
Stole this from court, to subtly raise to be
A comely youth. In time, to Arianrod
Came, swearing by the rood and blood of God
He brought her back her son.

Quoth she: “More shame
Dost thou disgrace thyself with, and more blame
Dost damn thyself with, thus to mix our name
With this dishonor, brother, than myself!”
Then, waxing wroth, cried Gwydion, “The Elf
Is thine then?—Tell me, wanton! is thy son
Dylan, the fisher, or this fair-haired one,
This youth?—God's curse!”—and daggered her with looks.

104

And she in turn waxed fiery, saying, “Books
Of magic I have read as well as Math!
And now I tell thee, keep from out my path!
Thou and thy bastard, he as well as thou!
Thou dog! And on thy folly, listen, now
I lay a threefold curse: behold! the first—
Until I name him, nameless be he! Cursed
Be they who give him arms!—the second:—nor
Shall he bear arms until I arm for war.
And, lastly, know, however high his birth,
He shall not wed a woman of the Earth!—
Malignity! to shame me with thy sin!”
Then passed into her tower and locked her in.

But Gwydion, departing with the youth,
Sware he would compass her; if not through truth,
Through wiles and learnéd magic. And he wrought
So that unbending Arianrod was brought
To name the lad. Again he managed that,
Though strange enchantments as of war, he gat
Her to give arms. But then, not for his life,
Howbeit, could he get the youth a wife.
Persisting, desperate, at last the thing
Wrought in him blusterous as a backward spring.
Now Llew the youth was named. And Gwydion

105

Made his complaint to Math, the mighty son
Of Mathonwy.

Said Math: “Despair not. We
With charms, illusions, and white sorcery
Will seek to make—for mine are wondrous powers—
A woman for him out of forest flowers.”

And so they toiled together one wan night,
When the full moon hung low, and watched, a white
Wild wisp-like face behind a mist. They took
Blossoms of briars, blooming by a brook
Shed from the April hills; and phantom blooms
Of yellow broom that filtered faint perfumes;
And primrose blossoms, frail, of rainy smell,
Weak pink, dim-clustered in a glow-worm dell;
Wild-apple sprigs, that tipsied bells of blaze,
And in far, haunted hollows made a haze
Of ghostly, fugitive fragrance; and the blue
Of hollow harebells, hoary with the dew;
The gold of kingcups, golden as low stars;
And white of lilies,—rolled in limpid bars,
Like sleepy foam,—that swayed aslant and spilled
Slim nectar-cups of musk the rain had filled;

106

And paly, wildwood wind-flowers; and the gloss
And glow of celandine; and bulbs that boss
And dot the oak-roots bulging up the moss;
Last, on the elfin uplands, pulled the buds,
That burn like spurts of moonlight when it suds
The showering clouds, of blossomed meadow-sweet,
And made a woman fair; from head to feet
Complete in beauty. One far lovelier
Than Branwen, daughter of the gray King Llyr;
Or that dark daughter of Leodegrance,
The stately Gwenhwyvar. And young romance
Dreamed in the open Bibles of her eyes:
Music her motion; and her speech, like sighs
Of roses swinging in the wind and rain,
And lilies dancing on the sunlit plain:
And in her eyes and face there bloomed again
The bluebell and the poppy; and fern and bud
Gave grace and glory to her maidenhood:
And all the attributes of all the flowers
Were in her body, that was not like ours
And yet was like: but in her brow and face
Was love alone and beauty, and no trace,
No least suggestion of an earthly pain,
Or hate, or sorrow, or of worldly stain;
But hope, high heart, and happiness of life.

107

And Blodeuwedd they named her; and, for wife—
Baptizing her with light and dawn and dew—
Gave, that next morning, to the happy Llew.

University of Virginia Library

BLODEUWEDD