The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
LLWHEN AND GWYNETH. |
| III. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
22
LLWHEN AND GWYNETH.
“When will my troubled soul have rest?”
The blue-eyed Llwhen cried;
As thro' the murky shade of night
With frantic step she hied.
The blue-eyed Llwhen cried;
As thro' the murky shade of night
With frantic step she hied.
“When shall those eyes my Gwyneth's face,
My Gwyneth's form survey?
When shall those longing eyes again
Behold the dawn of day?
My Gwyneth's form survey?
When shall those longing eyes again
Behold the dawn of day?
23
“Cold are the dews that wet my cheek,
The night-mist damps the ground;
Appalling echoes strike mine ear,
And spectres gleam around.
The night-mist damps the ground;
Appalling echoes strike mine ear,
And spectres gleam around.
“The vivid lightning's transient rays
Around my temples play;
'Tis all the light my fate affords
To mark my thorny way.
Around my temples play;
'Tis all the light my fate affords
To mark my thorny way.
“From the black mountain's awful height,
Where Llathryth's turrets rise,
The dark owl screams a direful song,
And warns me as she flies.
Where Llathryth's turrets rise,
The dark owl screams a direful song,
And warns me as she flies.
“The chilling blast, the whistling winds,
The mould'ring ramparts shake;
The hungry tenants of the wood
Their cavern'd haunts forsake.
The mould'ring ramparts shake;
The hungry tenants of the wood
Their cavern'd haunts forsake.
“My trembling limbs, unus'd to stray
Beyond a father's door,
Full many a mile have journeyed forth,
Each footstep mark'd with gore.
Beyond a father's door,
Full many a mile have journeyed forth,
Each footstep mark'd with gore.
24
“No costly sandals deck my feet,
By thorns and briars torn;
The cold rain chills my rosy cheek,
Whose freshness sham'd the morn.
By thorns and briars torn;
The cold rain chills my rosy cheek,
Whose freshness sham'd the morn.
“Slow steals the life-stream at my heart,
Dark clouds o'ershade my eyes;
Foreboding sorrow tells my soul
My captive Hero dies.
Dark clouds o'ershade my eyes;
Foreboding sorrow tells my soul
My captive Hero dies.
“Yet if one gentle ray of hope
Can sooth the soul to rest,
Oh! may it pierce yon flinty tow'r,
And warm my Gwyneth's breast.
Can sooth the soul to rest,
Oh! may it pierce yon flinty tow'r,
And warm my Gwyneth's breast.
“And if soft pity's tearful eye
A Tyrant's heart can move,
Ill-fated Llwhen yet may live
To clasp her vanquished Love.
A Tyrant's heart can move,
Ill-fated Llwhen yet may live
To clasp her vanquished Love.
“And tho' stern war with bonds of steel
His graceful form shall bind,
No earthly spell has pow'r to hold
The freedom of his mind.
His graceful form shall bind,
No earthly spell has pow'r to hold
The freedom of his mind.
25
“And tho' his warm and gallant heart
Now yields to fate's decree,
Its feelings spurn the base constraint,
And fly to love and me!
Now yields to fate's decree,
Its feelings spurn the base constraint,
And fly to love and me!
“Then, Banworth, Lion of the field!
O, hear a maiden plead;
Sheath not thy sword in Gwyneth's breast,
Or too, let Llwhen bleed!
O, hear a maiden plead;
Sheath not thy sword in Gwyneth's breast,
Or too, let Llwhen bleed!
“To valiant feats of arms renown'd
Shall earthly praise be giv'n;
But deeds of mercy, mighty Chief,
Are register'd in Heav'n!
Shall earthly praise be giv'n;
But deeds of mercy, mighty Chief,
Are register'd in Heav'n!
“The minstrels' song of praise shall fill
The Palace of thy foe;
While down the joyful Llwhen's cheek
The grateful tear shall flow.
The Palace of thy foe;
While down the joyful Llwhen's cheek
The grateful tear shall flow.
“And sure the tear that Virtue sheds
Some rapture can impart;
What gem can deck a victor's throne
Like incense from the heart?”
Some rapture can impart;
What gem can deck a victor's throne
Like incense from the heart?”
26
Now the grey Morning's silv'ry light,
Dawn'd in the eastern skies,
When at the lofty lattice grate
Her Lover's form she spies.
Dawn'd in the eastern skies,
When at the lofty lattice grate
Her Lover's form she spies.
“He lives!” she cried, “My Gwyneth lives!
Youth of the crimson shield!
The graceful Hero of my heart,
The glory of the field!
Youth of the crimson shield!
The graceful Hero of my heart,
The glory of the field!
“Come down, my soul's delight!” she said,
“Thy blue-eyed Llwhen see;
Yrganvy's Daughter, thy true Love,
Who only breathes for thee:
“Thy blue-eyed Llwhen see;
Yrganvy's Daughter, thy true Love,
Who only breathes for thee:
“Then haste thee from thy prison house,
Ere yet the Foe doth rise!
Oh! haste ere yet the Morning Sun
Doth flame along the skies.
Ere yet the Foe doth rise!
Oh! haste ere yet the Morning Sun
Doth flame along the skies.
“Ah, speak! my heart is chill'd with fear,
My fault'ring voice doth fail;
Why are thy darling eyes so dim,
Thy cheeks so deathly pale?”
My fault'ring voice doth fail;
Why are thy darling eyes so dim,
Thy cheeks so deathly pale?”
27
“I am thy Gwyneth's Ghost, sweet maid,
Avoid the madd'ning sight;
Those eyes that doated on thy charms
Are clos'd in endless night.
Avoid the madd'ning sight;
Those eyes that doated on thy charms
Are clos'd in endless night.
“This loyal heart, which beat for thee,
Is rent with many a wound;
Cleft is my shield, my glitt'ring spear
Lies broke on Monia's ground.
Is rent with many a wound;
Cleft is my shield, my glitt'ring spear
Lies broke on Monia's ground.
“My bones the eagle hath convey'd
To feed her rav'nous brood;
The black-brow'd Banworth's savage hand
Hath spilt my purple blood.
To feed her rav'nous brood;
The black-brow'd Banworth's savage hand
Hath spilt my purple blood.
“Then hie thee hence, ill-fated maid,
Ere greater woes betide,
To where Teivi's silver streams
Along the vallies glide.
Ere greater woes betide,
To where Teivi's silver streams
Along the vallies glide.
“There, where the modest primrose blooms,
Pale as thy lover's shade,
My mangled relics shalt thou find
Upon the green turf laid.
Pale as thy lover's shade,
My mangled relics shalt thou find
Upon the green turf laid.
28
“Then hie thee hence, with holy hands
Build up a sacred shrine,
And oh! chaste maid, thy faith to prove,
Unite thy dust with mine!”
Build up a sacred shrine,
And oh! chaste maid, thy faith to prove,
Unite thy dust with mine!”
Ah! have you seen a mother's joy
In cherub sweetness dress'd,
Seiz'd by the numbing hand of death,
Expiring at her breast?
In cherub sweetness dress'd,
Seiz'd by the numbing hand of death,
Expiring at her breast?
Or the fond maid, whom morrow's dawn
Had hail'd a wedded fair,
Doom'd to behold her lover's corse
Scorch'd by the lightning's glare?
Had hail'd a wedded fair,
Doom'd to behold her lover's corse
Scorch'd by the lightning's glare?
So stood the hopeless, frantic maid,
Yrganvy's graceful child,
Cold was her cheek, her dove-like eyes
Fix'd in amazement wild!
Yrganvy's graceful child,
Cold was her cheek, her dove-like eyes
Fix'd in amazement wild!
“This panting heart,” at length she cried,
“A sharper pang doth feel
Than thine, brave youth, when rent in twain
By Banworth's poison'd steel.
“A sharper pang doth feel
Than thine, brave youth, when rent in twain
By Banworth's poison'd steel.
29
“No more these sad and weeping eyes
My father's house shall see;
To airy halls, from Mona's hill,
I haste to follow thee.
My father's house shall see;
To airy halls, from Mona's hill,
I haste to follow thee.
“Beside thy tomb the Chieftain's tear
Shall join the foamy surge;
And oft upon the desert heath
The Druid chaunt thy dirge.
Shall join the foamy surge;
And oft upon the desert heath
The Druid chaunt thy dirge.
“The weary Trav'ller, faint and sad,
Shall stay his steps awhile;
The memory of his own hard fate
Thy story shall beguile.
Shall stay his steps awhile;
The memory of his own hard fate
Thy story shall beguile.
“There, wet with many a holy tear,
The sweetest buds shall blow,
There Llwhen's ghost shall mark the shrine,
A monument of woe!”
The sweetest buds shall blow,
There Llwhen's ghost shall mark the shrine,
A monument of woe!”
Thrice did he ope the lattice grate,
And thrice he bade adieu;
When, lo! to join the parting shade,
The maiden's spirit flew!
And thrice he bade adieu;
When, lo! to join the parting shade,
The maiden's spirit flew!
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |