 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
THE VISIT OF LLEWELLYN.
A WELSH LEGEND.
[_]
The English peasant, with simple frankness, speaks of “the fairies”; but those of Keltic origin treat such supernatural beings with more respect. The Irish style them Daoine Maith—“the good people,” and the Welsh, y Tylwyth Teg—“the fair folk.” The Welsh fairies differ from those of the Irish, and are in greater variety. At times, they array themselves gorgeously and admit mortals to their revels. But the man who gets into the charmed circle finds it difficult to escape, unless he be expelled by some fault, as in the legend, which is didactic as well as fantastic, and teaches an obvious lesson. This legend, it will be seen, is a variant of “Fionn and the Fairies,” but the Welsh ending is gloomier than the Irish.
Llewellyn stood on Frennisach
Upon a summer day,
And raised his eyes to Frennifawr,
That mountain bare and grey;
And there upon the summit saw,
Within the noonday light,
Dancing like spattering water-drops,
Some pigmy creatures bright—
“Y Tylwyth Teg!” he murmured low,
Astounded at the sight.
Upon a summer day,
And raised his eyes to Frennifawr,
That mountain bare and grey;
And there upon the summit saw,
Within the noonday light,
Dancing like spattering water-drops,
Some pigmy creatures bright—
“Y Tylwyth Teg!” he murmured low,
Astounded at the sight.
He slowly climbed the mountain-side
And gained the circle where
Moved merrily a thousand elves,
And each seemed young and fair;
He saw them turn and leap and prance,
And yet no music sweet
Smote on his ear with melody,
Though they, with tiny feet,
Moved in the windings of the dance
As though to measured beat.
And gained the circle where
Moved merrily a thousand elves,
And each seemed young and fair;
He saw them turn and leap and prance,
And yet no music sweet
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Though they, with tiny feet,
Moved in the windings of the dance
As though to measured beat.
Soon losing all the hesitance
That filled his heart at first,
He stepped within the ring, and lo!
What music on him burst—
The harmony of fairy harps
That thrilled his spirit through;
While round him crowded eagerly
The joyous elfin crew,
Some clad in robes of linen white,
And some in red or blue.
That filled his heart at first,
He stepped within the ring, and lo!
What music on him burst—
The harmony of fairy harps
That thrilled his spirit through;
While round him crowded eagerly
The joyous elfin crew,
Some clad in robes of linen white,
And some in red or blue.
They clung to and caressed him much,
They welcomed him with joy,
With every blandishment that love
And kindness could employ.
They led him to a palace hall
Bedecked with pearls and gold,
Lined on all sides with malachite
And silks in heavy fold,
With sapphires studded overhead,
And diamonds untold.
They welcomed him with joy,
With every blandishment that love
And kindness could employ.
They led him to a palace hall
Bedecked with pearls and gold,
Lined on all sides with malachite
And silks in heavy fold,
With sapphires studded overhead,
And diamonds untold.
And there he saw, upon his throne,
Crowned with a laurel wreath,
His golden scepter in his hand,
The potent Gwin ap Neeth,
Who towered, in all his majesty,
His pigmy subjects o'er;
For none of these were three feet six,
While he was over four;
And well both height and kingly state
The gentle monarch bore.
Crowned with a laurel wreath,
His golden scepter in his hand,
The potent Gwin ap Neeth,
Who towered, in all his majesty,
His pigmy subjects o'er;
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While he was over four;
And well both height and kingly state
The gentle monarch bore.
“Llewellyn, free thou art,” he said,
“To roam our realm at will;
With every joy our vassals know
Thy every sense to thrill.
One thing alone forbidden. Mark!
The fountain in yon square,
Which throws aloft its glittering jet
That breaks to gems in air,
Drink not from that; thrust not thy hand
Within the water there.”
“To roam our realm at will;
With every joy our vassals know
Thy every sense to thrill.
One thing alone forbidden. Mark!
The fountain in yon square,
Which throws aloft its glittering jet
That breaks to gems in air,
Drink not from that; thrust not thy hand
Within the water there.”
Naught cared Llewellyn for such drink,
While for his thirst they brought
The rarest wines in golden cups,
With curious work enwrought.
What was a water draught to him
Who had such precious wine?
Who longs for coarse and homely fare
When fed on dainties fine?
Who sighs for berries wild, amid
The orange, fig and pine?
While for his thirst they brought
The rarest wines in golden cups,
With curious work enwrought.
What was a water draught to him
Who had such precious wine?
Who longs for coarse and homely fare
When fed on dainties fine?
Who sighs for berries wild, amid
The orange, fig and pine?
Served by the fairest demoiselles
Alive at beck and nod,
Accompanied by all respect
Whatever path he trod,
Llewellyn soon forgot his home,
The humble cot which lay
Down in the peaceful Pembroke dell
That seemed so far away—
Its slated roof, its casements low,
Its rough walls mossed and grey.
Alive at beck and nod,
Accompanied by all respect
Whatever path he trod,
Llewellyn soon forgot his home,
The humble cot which lay
Down in the peaceful Pembroke dell
That seemed so far away—
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Its rough walls mossed and grey.
His bounding goats, his lowing kine—
Why, what were these to him?
His wife, and children at their play—
A something vague and dim,
A mist that spread before his eyes
Below the enchanted heights;
And so he passed the pleasant days,
And slept refreshing nights,
To wake when rose each morning sun,
And bask in fresh delights.
Why, what were these to him?
His wife, and children at their play—
A something vague and dim,
A mist that spread before his eyes
Below the enchanted heights;
And so he passed the pleasant days,
And slept refreshing nights,
To wake when rose each morning sun,
And bask in fresh delights.
At last the pleasure wearied him;
He sighed for something more—
Men thus may tire of happiness
When once its flush is o'er.
He lingered at the fountain side,
And watched there, day by day,
The many-colored fishes that
Within the basin lay,
Or darted hither and thither in
Their wild and frolic play.
He sighed for something more—
Men thus may tire of happiness
When once its flush is o'er.
He lingered at the fountain side,
And watched there, day by day,
The many-colored fishes that
Within the basin lay,
Or darted hither and thither in
Their wild and frolic play.
At last a raging thirst he felt—
If he could only drink
A little of the limpid draught
There at the basin's brink!
His hand within the water clear
He thrust with eager haste;
The fishes vanished from his sight;
The elves his arm enlaced
With theirs and strove to draw it back,
And pleaded not to taste.
If he could only drink
A little of the limpid draught
There at the basin's brink!
His hand within the water clear
He thrust with eager haste;
The fishes vanished from his sight;
The elves his arm enlaced
With theirs and strove to draw it back,
And pleaded not to taste.
136
Too strong his thirst! He only plunged
His hand the further in,
And raised it to his lips. Arose
A wild and eldritch din.
He heeded not the uproar wild;
The phantoms strange and weird
That flitted near, and shrieked and cried,
He neither saw nor feared;
He drank. Elves, fountain, palace, all
Forever disappeared.
His hand the further in,
And raised it to his lips. Arose
A wild and eldritch din.
He heeded not the uproar wild;
The phantoms strange and weird
That flitted near, and shrieked and cried,
He neither saw nor feared;
He drank. Elves, fountain, palace, all
Forever disappeared.
On Frennisach and Frennifawr
The sun again grew bright;
Llewellyn, bent to earth with age,
Descended from the height;
He sought his home; the spot was changed,
Another look it bore;
Gone was his dwelling-place, whose porch
Green vines had clambered o'er;
And there a stately mansion stood,
Llewellyn's cot no more.
The sun again grew bright;
Llewellyn, bent to earth with age,
Descended from the height;
He sought his home; the spot was changed,
Another look it bore;
Gone was his dwelling-place, whose porch
Green vines had clambered o'er;
And there a stately mansion stood,
Llewellyn's cot no more.
He rapped. A lackey came. He asked:
“Llewellyn's cot stood here?”
“Why, yes,” the footman said, “it did,
But not for many a year.
Llewellyn, fifty years ago,
I 've heard old people tell,
Was by the fairies borne away;
His people left the dell—”
He shrank in dread. Llewellyn's form
Crumbled to dust, and fell.
“Llewellyn's cot stood here?”
“Why, yes,” the footman said, “it did,
But not for many a year.
Llewellyn, fifty years ago,
I 've heard old people tell,
Was by the fairies borne away;
His people left the dell—”
He shrank in dread. Llewellyn's form
Crumbled to dust, and fell.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |