Chapter VIII: Brave hearts! to Britain's pride

Once so faithful and so true,

On the deck of fame that died,--

With the gallant good Riou;

Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave!

While the billow mournful rolls,

And the mermaid's song condoles,

Singing glory to the souls

Of the brave!--

----T. Campbell.

THE WAR-SONG OF DINAS VAWR

|The mountain sheep are sweeter,

But the valley sheep are fatter;

We therefore deemed it meeter

To carry off the latter.

We made an expedition;

We met an host and quelled it;

We forced a strong position,

And killed the men who held it.

On Dyfed's richest valley,

Where herds of kine were browsing,

We made a mighty sally,

To furnish our carousing.

Fierce warriors rushed to meet us;

We met them, and o'erthrew them:

They struggled hard to beat us;

But we conquered them, and slew them.

As we drove our prize at leisure,

The king marched forth to catch us:

His rage surpassed all measure,

But his people could not match us.

He fled to his hall-pillars;

And, ere our force we led off,

Some sacked his house and cellars,

While others cut his head off.

We there, in strife bewildering,

Spilt blood enough to swim in:

We orphaned many children,

And widowed many women.

The eagles and the ravens

We glutted with our foemen;

The heroes and the cravens,

The spearmen and the bowmen.

We brought away from battle,

And much their land bemoaned them,

Two thousand head of cattle,

And the head of him who owned them:

Ednyfed, King of Dyfed,

His head was borne before us;

His wine and beasts supplied our feasts,

And his overthrow, our chorus.

----T. L. Peacock.

THE CAULDRON OF CERIDWEN

|The sage Ceridwen was the wife

Of Tegid Voël, of Pemble Mere:

Two children blest their wedded life,

Morvran and Creirwy, fair and dear:

Morvran, a son of peerless worth,

And Creirwy, loveliest nymph of earth:

But one more son Ceridwen bare,

As foul as they before were fair.

She strove to make Avagddu wise;

She knew he never could be fair:

And, studying magic mysteries,

She gathered plants of virtue rare:

She placed the gifted plants to steep

Within the magic cauldron deep,

Where they a year and day must boil,

Till three drops crown the matron's toil.

Nine damsels raised the mystic flame;

Gwion the Little near it stood:

The while for simples roved the dame

Through tangled dell and pathless wood;

And, when the year and day had past,

The dame within the cauldron cast

The consummating chaplet wild,

While Gwion held the hideous child.

But from the cauldron rose a smoke

That filled with darkness all the air:

When through its folds the torchlight broke,

Nor Gwion, nor the boy, was there.

The fire was dead, the cauldron cold,

And in it lay, in sleep unrolled,

Fair as the morning-star, a child,

That woke, and stretched its arms, and smiled.

What chanced her labours to destroy,

She never knew; and sought in vain

If Were her own misshapen boy,

Or little Gwion, born again:

And, vext with doubt, the babe she rolled

In cloth of purple and of gold,

And in a coracle consigned

Its fortunes to the sea and wind.

The summer night was still and bright,

The summer moon was large and clear,

The frail bark, on the springtide's height,

Was floated into Elphin's weir.

The baby in his arms he raised:

His lovely spouse stood by, and gazed,

And, blessing it with gentle vow,

Cried "Taliesin!" "Radiant brow!"

And I am he: and well I know

Ceridwen's power protects me still;

-And hence o er hill and vale I go,

And sing, unharmed, whate'er I will.

She has for me Time's veil withdrawn:

The images of things long gone,

The shadows of the coming days,

Are present to my visioned gaze.

And I have heard the words of power,

By Ceirion's solitary lake,

That bid, at midnight's thrilling hour,

Eryri's hundred echoes wake.

I to Diganwy's towers have sped,

And now Caer Lleon's halls I tread,

Demanding justice, now, as then,

From Maelgon, most unjust of men.

----T. L. Peacock.

LLYN-Y-DREIDDIAD-VRAWD

(The Pool of the Diving Friar.)

|Gwenwynwyn withdrew from the feasts of his hall;

He slept very little, he prayed not at all;

He pondered, and wandered, and studied alone;

And sought, night and day, the philosopher's stone.

He found it at length, and he made its first proof

By turning to gold all the lead of his roof:

Then he bought some magnanimous heroes, all fire,

Who lived but to smite and be smitten for hire.

With these, on the plains like a torrent he broke;

He filled the whole country with flame and with smoke;

He killed all the swine, and he broached all the wine;

He drove off the sheep, and the beeves, and the kine.

He took castles and towns; he cut short limbs and lives;

He made orphans and widows of children and wives:

This course many years he triumphantly ran,

And did mischief enough to be called a great man.

When, at last, he had gained all for which he had striven,

He bethought him of buying a passport to heaven;

Good and great as he was, yet he did not well know

How soon, or which way, his great spirit might go.

He sought the grey friars, who, beside a wild stream,

Refected their frames on a primitive scheme;

The gravest and wisest Gwenwynwyn found out,

All lonely and ghostly, and angling for trout.

Below the white dash of a mighty cascade,

Where a pool of the stream a deep resting-place made,

And rock-rooted oaks stretched their branches on high,

The friar stood musing and throwing his fly.

To him said Gwenwynwyn, "Hold, father, here's store,

For the good of the church, and the good of the poor;"

Then he gave him the stone; but, ere more he could speak,

Wrath came on the friar, so holy and meek.

He had stretched forth his hand to receive the red gold,

And he thought himself mocked by Gwenwynwyn the Bold;

And in scorn of the gift, and in rage at the giver,

He jerked it immediately into the river.

Gwenwynwyn, aghast, not a syllable spake;

The philosopher's stone made a duck and a drake;

Two systems of circles a moment were seen,

And the, stream smoothed them off, as they never had been.

Gwenwynwyn regained, and uplifted, his voice:

"Oh friar, grey friar, full rash was thy choice;

The stone, the good stone, which away thou hast thrown,

Was the stone of all stones, the philosopher's stone!"

The friar looked pale, when his error he knew;

The friar looked red, and the friar looked blue;

And heels over head, from the point of a rock,

He plunged, without stopping to pull off his frock.

He dived very deep, but he dived all in vain,

The prize he had slighted he found not again:

Many times did the friar his diving renew,

And deeper and deeper the river still grew.

Gwenwynwyn gazed long, of his senses in doubt,

To see the grey friar a diver so stout:

Then sadly and slowly his castle he sought,

And left the friar diving, like dabchick distraught.

Gwenwynwyn fell sick with alarm and despite,

Died, and went to the devil, the very same night:

The magnanimous heroes he held in his pay

Sacked his castle, and marched with the plunder away.

No knell on the silence of midnight was rolled,

For the flight of the soul of Gwenwynwyn the Bold:

The brethren, unfeed, let the mighty ghost pass,

Without praying a prayer, or intoning a mass.

The friar haunted ever beside the dark stream;

The philosopher's stone was his thought and his dream:

And day after day, ever head under heels

He dived all the time he could spare from his meals.

He dived, and he dived, to the end of his days,

As the peasants oft witnessed with fear and amaze:

The mad friar's diving-place long was their theme,

And no plummet can fathom that pool of the stream.

And still, when light clouds on the midnight winds ride,

If by moonlight you stray on the lone river-side,

The ghost of the friar may be seen diving there,

With head in the water, and heels in the air.

----T. L. Peacock.

WILLY AND HELEN

|Wharefore sou'd ye talk o' love,

Unless it be to pain us?

Wharefore sou'd ye talk o' love

Whan ye say the sea maun twain us?"

"It's no because my love is light,

Nor for your angry deddy,

It's a' to buy ye pearlins bright,

An' to busk ye like a leddy."

"O, Willy! I can caird an' spin,

Sae ne'er can want for deeding;

And, gin I ha'e my Willy's heart,

I ha'e a' the pearls I'm heedin'.

"Will it be time to praise this cheek,

Whan years an' tears ha'e blench'd it?

Will it be time to talk o' love

Whan cauld an' care ha'e quench'd it?"

He's laid ae han' aboot her waist,

The ither's held to heaven;

An' his luik was like the luik o' man

Wha's heart in twa is riven.

The auld laird o' Knockdon is dead,

There's few for him will sorrow;

For Willy's steppit in his stead,

But an' his comely marrow.

There's a cosy bield at yon burn fit,

Wi' a bourtree at the en' o't;

O, mony a day may it see yet

Ere care or canker ken o't!

The lily leans out owre the brae,

An' the rose leans owre the lily:

An' there the bonny twasome lay--

Fair Helen an' her Willy.

----Hew Ainslie.

SIR ARTHUR AND LADY ANN

|Sir Arthur's foot is on the sand,

His boat wears in the wind;

An' he's turned him to a fair foot page

Who was standing him behind.

"Gae hame, gae hame, my bonny boy,

An' glad your mither's e'e;

I hae left anew to weep an' rue,

Sae nane maun weep for thee.

"Take this unto my father's ha,

An' tell him I maun speed;

There's fifty men in chase o' me,

An' a price upon my head.

"An' bear this to Dunellie's towers,

Where my love Annie's gane;

It is a lock o' my brown hair,

Girt wi' the diamond Stane."

"Dunellie he has daughters five,

An' some o' them are fair,

Sae, how will I ken thy true love

Amang sae mony there?"

"Yell ken her by her stately step

As she gaes up the ha;

Yell ken her by the look o' love

That peers out owre them a';

"Yell ken her by the braid o' goud

That spreads owre her e'e bree;

Ye'll ken her by the red, red cheek

When ye name the name o' me.-

"That cheek should lain on this breast-bane,

Her hame should been my ha';

Our tree is bow'd--our flower is dow'd--

Sir Arthur's an outlaw!"

He sighed, an' turned him right about,

Where the sea lay braid an' wide:

It's no to see his boony boat,

But a watery cheek to hide.

The page has doffd his feather'd cap,

But an' his raven hair;

An' out there came the yellow locks,

Like swirls o' the goud en wair.

Syne he's undone his doublet clasp,

Was o' the grass-green hue,

When, like a lily frae its leaf,

A lady burst in view.

"Tell out thy errand now, Sir Knight,

Wi' thy love tokens a';

If I e'er rin against my will,

'Twill be at a lover's ca'!"

Sir Arthur's turned him round about,

E'en as the lady spak';

An' thrice he dighted his dim e'e,

An' thrice he steppit back.

But ae blink o' her bonny e'e,

Out spake his Lady Ann;

An' he's catch'd her by the waist sae sma

Wi' the grip o' a drowning man.

"O! Lady Ann, thy bed's been hard,

When I thought it the down;

O ! Lady Ann, thy love's been deep,

When I thought it was flown.

"I've met my love in the greenwood,

My foe on the brown hill;

But I ne'er met wi' aught before

I liked sae weel, an' ill.

"O I could make a Queen o' thee,

An' it would be my pride;

But, Lady Ann, it's no for thee

To be an outlaw's bride."

"Hae I left kith an' kin, Sir Knight,

To turn about and rue?

Hae I shar'd win' an' weet wi' thee,

That I should leave thee noo?

"There's gowd an' siller in this han'

Will buy us mony a rigg;

There's pearlings in the other han'

A stately tower to bigg.

"Tho' thou'rt an outlaw frae this Ian',

The warl's braid an' wide;

Make room, make room, my merry men,

For young Sir Arthur's bride!"

----Hew Ainslie.

THE FUGITIVES

I.

|The waters are flashing,

The white hail is dashing,

The lightnings are glancing,

The hoar-spray is dancing--

Away!

The whirlwind is rolling,

The thunder is tolling,

The forest is swinging,

The minster bells ringing--

Come away!

The earth is like ocean,

Wreck-strewn and in motion:

Bird, beast, man and worm

Have crept out of the storm--

Come away!

II.

"Our boat has one sail,

And the helmsman is pale;--

A bold pilot I trow,

Who shall follow us now,"--

Shouted he--

And she cried: "Ply the oar!

Put off gaily from shore!"--

As she spoke, bolts of death

Mixed with hail, specked their path

O'er the sea.

And from isle, tower and rock,

The blue beacon cloud broke,

And though dumb in the blast,

The red cannon flashed fast

From the lee.

III.

"And fear'st thou, and fear'st thou?

And see'st thou, and hear'st thou?

And drive we not free

O er the terrible sea,

I and thou?"

One boat-cloak did cover

The loved and the lover--

Their blood beats one measure,

They murmur proud pleasure

Soft and low;--

While around the lashed ocean,

Like mountains in motion,

Is withdrawn and uplifted,

Sunk, shattered and shifted

To and fro.

IV.

In the court of the fortress

Beside the pale portress,

Like a bloodhound well beaten

The bridegroom stands, eaten

By shame;

On the topmost watch-turret,

As a death-boding spirit,

Stands the gray tyrant father,

To his voice the mad weather

Seems tame;

And with curses as wild

As e'er clung to child,

He devotes to the blast

The best, loveliest, and last

Of his name!

----P. B. Shelley.

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI

I.

|O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has wither'd from the lake,

And no birds sing.

II.

"O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

So haggard and so woe-begone?

The squirrels granary is full,

And the harvest's done.

III.

"I see a lily on thy brow

With anguish moist and fever dew;

And on thy cheek a fading rose

Fast withereth too."

IV.

"I met a lady in the meads,

Full beautiful--a faery's child,

Her hair was long, her foot was light,

And her eyes were wild.

v.

"I made a garland for her head,

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;

She look'd at me as she did love,

And made sweet moan.

VI.

"I set her on my pacing steed,

And nothing else saw all day long,

For sideways would she bend, and sing

A faery's song.

VII.

"She found me roots of relish sweet,

And honey wild, and manna dew,

And sure in language strange she said,

' I love thee true.'

VIII.

"She took me to her elfin grot,

And there she wept and sigh'd full sore,

And there I shut her wild wild eyes

With kisses four.

IX.

"And there she lulled me asleep,

And there I dream'd--ah! woe betide!

The latest dream I ever dream'd

On the cold hill's side.

x.

"I saw pale kings and princes too,

Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;

Who cry'd--' La belle Dame sans Merci

Hath thee in thrall! '

XI.

"I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam,

With horrid warning gaped wide,

And I awoke and found me here,

On the cold hill's side.