English

But when the Lord of Ocean from the stir
And tumult was retired, Cadwallon then
Thus render'd his account.
When we had quell'd
The strength of Aztlan, we should have thrown down
Her Altars, cast her Idols to the fire,
And on the ruins of her fanes accurs'd
Planted the Cross triumphant. Vain it is
To sow the seed where noxious weeds and briers
Must choke it in the growth.
Yet I had hope
The purer influence of exampled good
Might to the saving knowledge of the truth
Lead this bedarken'd race; and when thy ship

Now go your way, ye gallant company;
God and good Angels guard ye as ye go!
Blow fairly, Winds of Heaven! Ye Ocean Wave
Swell not in anger to that fated fleet!
For not of conquest greedy nor of gold,
Seek they the distant world. — Blow fairly, Wind
Waft, Waves of Ocean, well your blessed load.

Fair blew the Winds, and safely did the Waves
Bear that beloved charge. It were a tale
Would rouse adventurous courage in a boy;
Making him long to be a mariner,
That he might rove the main, if I should tell

Now hath the evening settled, the broad Moan
Rolls through the rifted clouds. With gentle
Slowly they glide along, when they behold
A boat with press of sail and stress of oar
Speed forward to the fleet; and now, arrived
Beside the Chieftain's vessel, one inquires
If Madoc be aboard. The answer given,
Swift he ascended up the lofty side.
With joyful wonder did the Ocean Lord
Again behold Llewelyn; but he gazed
Doubtfully on his comrade's countenance,
A meagre man, severe of brow, his eye

Winter hath pass'd away; the vernal storms
Have spent their rage, the ships are stored, and
To-morrow they depart. That day a Boy,
Weary and foot-sore, to Aberfraw came,
Who to Goervyl's chamber made his way,
And caught the hem of her garment, and claim'd,
A boon, — a boon, — dear Lady! Nor did he
Wait more reply than that encouragement,
Which her sweet eye and lovely smile bestow'd
I am a poor, unhappy, orphan boy,
Born to fair promises and better hopes,
But now forlorn. Take me to be your page

Now hath the Lord of Ocean once again
Set foot in Mona. Llaian there receives
Sisterly greeting from the royal maid,
Who, while she tempers to the public eye
Her welcome, safely to the boy indulged
In fond endearments of instinctive love.
When the first flow of joy was overpast,
How went the equipment on, the Prince inquired.
Nay, brother, quoth Goervyl, ask thou that
Of Urien; — it hath been his sole employ
Daily from cock-crow until even-song,
That he hath laid aside all other thoughts,

On Madoc's docile courser Llaian sits,
Holding her joyful boy; the Prince beside
Paces afoot, and, like a gentle Squire,
Leads her loose bridle; from the saddle-bow
His shield and helmet hang, and with the lance,
Staff-like, he stay'd his steps. Before the sun
Had climb'd his southern eminence, they left
The mountain-feet; and hard by Bangor now,
Travelling the plain before them they espy
A lordly cavalcade, for so it seem'd,
Of knights, with hawk in hand, and hounds in leash,
Squires, pages, serving-men, and armed grooms,

Now hath Prince Madoc left the holy Isle,
And homeward to Aberfraw, through the wilds
Of Arvon, bent his course. A little way
He turn'd aside, by natural impulses
Moved, to behold Cadwallon's lonely hut.
That lonely dwelling stood among the hills,
By a gray mountain-stream; just elevate
Above the winter torrents did it stand,
Upon a craggy bank; an orchard slope
Arose behind, and joyous was the scene
In early summer, when those antic trees
Shone with their blushing blossoms, and the flax

Farewell , my brother, cried the Ocean Chief;
A little while farewell! as through the gate
Of Dinevawr he pass'd, to pass again
That hospitable threshold never more.
And thou too, O thou good old man, true friend
Of Owen, and of Owen's house, farewell!
'Twill not be told me, Rhys, when thy gray hairs
Are to the grave gone down; but oftentimes
In the distant world I shall remember thee,
And think that, come thy summons when it may,
Thou wilt not leave a braver man behind.
Now God be with thee, Rhys!
The old Chief paused

So in the court of Powys pleasantly,
With hawk and hound afield, and harp in hall,
The days went by; till Madoc, for his heart
Was with Cadwallon, and in early spring
Must he set forth to join him over-sea,
Took his constrain'd farewell. To Dinevawr
He bent his way, whence many a time with Rhys
Had he gone forth to smite the Saxon foe.
The Son of Owen greets his father's friend
With reverential joy; nor did the Lord
Of Dinevawr with cold or deaden'd heart
Welcome the Prince he loved; though not with joy

The place of meeting was a high hill-top,
Nor bower'd with trees nor broken by the plough,
Remote from human dwellings and the stir
Of human life, and open to the breath
And to the eye of Heaven. In days of old,
There had the circling stones been planted; there,
From earliest ages, the primeval lore,
Through Bard to Bard with reverence handed down.
They whom to wonder, or the love of song,
Or reverence of their fathers' ancient rites,
Drew thither, stood without the ring of stones.
Cyveilioc entered to the initiate Bards,