BOOK II.

ARGUMENT.

Introductory reflections--Arthur's absence--Caradoc's suspended epic-- The deliberations of the three friends--Merlin seeks them--The trial of the enchanted forest--Merlin's soliloquy by the fountain--The return of the knights from the forest--Merlin's selection of the one permitted to join the King--The narrative returns to Arthur--The strange guide allotted to him--He crosses the sea, and arrives at the court of the Vandal--Ludovick, the Vandal King, described--His wily questions-- Arthur's answers--The Vandal seeks his friend Astutio--Arthur leaves the court--Conference between Astutio and Ludovick--Astutio's profound statesmanship and subtle schemes--The Ambassador from Mercia--His address to Ludovick--The Saxons pursue Arthur--Meanwhile the Cymrian King arrives at the sea-shore--Description of the caves that intercept his progress--He turns inland--The Idol-shrine--The wolf and the priest.

Oft in the sands, in idle summer days, 1 Will childlike fondness write some cherish'd name, Lull'd on the margin, while the wavelet plays, And tides still dreaming on:--Alas! the same On human hearts Affection prints a trace; The sands record it, and the tides efface.

If absence parts, Hope, ready to console, 2 Whispers, "Be soothed, the absent shall return;" If Death divides, a moment from the goal, Love stays the step, and decks, but leaves, the urn, Vowing remembrance;--let the year be o'er, And see, remembrance smiles like joy, once more!

In street and mart still plies the busy craft. 3 Still Beauty trims for stealthy steps the bower; By lips as gay the Hirlas horn[1] is quaft; To the dark bourne still flies as fast the hour, As when in Arthur men adored the sun; And Life's large rainbow took its hues from One!

Yet ne'er by Prince more loved a crown was worn, 4 And hadst thou ventured but to hint the doubt That loyal subjects ever ceased to mourn, And that without him, earth was joy without,-- Thou soon hadst join'd in certain warm dominions The horned friends of pestilent opinions.

Thrice bless'd, O King, that on thy royal head 5 Fall the night-dews; that the broad-spreading beech Curtains thy sleep; that in the paths of dread, Lonely thou wanderest,--so thy steps may reach RENOWN,--that bridge which spans the midnight sea, And joins two worlds,--Time and Eternity!

All is forgot save Poetry; or whether 6 Haunting Time's river from the vocal reeds, Or link'd not less in human souls together With ends, which make the poetry of deeds; For either poetry alike can shine-- From Hector's valour as from Homer's line.

Yet let me wrong ye not, ye faithful three, 7 Gawaine, and Caradoc, and Lancelot! Gawaine's light lip had lost its laughing glee And gentle Caradoc had half forgot That famous epic which his muse had hit on, Of Trojan Brut--from whom the name of Briton.

Therein Sir Brut, expell'd from flaming Troy,[2] 8 Comes to this isle, and seeks to build a city, Which Devils, then the Freeholders, destroy; Till the sweet Virgin on Sir Brut takes pity, And bids that Saint who now speaks Welsh on high,[3] Baptize the astonish'd heathen in the Wye!

This done, the fiends, at once disfranchised, fled; 9 And to the Saint the Trojan built a chapel, Where masses daily were for Priam said:-- While thrice a week, the priests, that golden apple By which three fiends, as goddesses disguised, Bewitch'd Sir Paris, anathematized.

But now this epic, in its course suspended, 10 Slept on the shelf--(a not uncommon fate); Ah, who shall tell, if, ere resumed and ended, That kind of poem be not out of date? For of all ladies there are none who chuse Such freaks and turns of fashion, as the Muse.

And then, sad Lancelot--but there I hold; 11 Some griefs there are which grief alone can guess, And so we leave whate'er he felt untold; Light steps profane the heart's deep loneliness. I, too, had once a friend, in happier years! He fled,--he owed,--forgot;--Forgive these tears!--

Much, their sole comfort, much conversed the three 12 Upon their absent Arthur; what the cause Of his self-exile, and its ends, could be; Much did they ponder, hesitate, and pause In high debate if loyal love might still Pursue his wanderings, though against his will.

But first the awe which kings command, restrain'd; 13 And next the ignorance of the path and goal; So, thus for weeks they communed and remain'd; Till o'er the woods a mellower verdure stole; The bell-flower clothed the river-banks; the moon Stood in the breathless firmament of June;

When--as one twilight near the forest-mount 14 They sate, and heard the vesper-bell afar Swing from the dim Cathedral, and the fount Hymn low its own sweet music to the star Lone in the west--they saw a shadow pass Where the pale beam shot silvering o'er the grass.

They turn'd, beheld their Cymri's mighty seer, 15 Majestic Merlin, and with reverence rose; "Knights," said the soothsayer, smiling, "be of cheer If yet alone (the stars themselves his foes) Wanders the King,--now, of his faithful three One, Fate permits; the choice with Fate must be.

"Enter the forest--each his several way; 16 Return as dies in air the vesper chime; The fiend the forest populace obey Hath not o'er mortals empire in the time When holy sounds the wings of Heaven invite, And prayer hangs charm-like on the wheels of Night.

"What seen, what heard, mark mindful, and relate! 17 Here will I tarry till your steps return." Ne'er leapt the captive from the prison grate With livelier gladness to the smiles of morn, Than sprang those rivals to the forest-gloom, And its dark arms closed round them like a tomb.

Before the fount, with thought-o'ershadow'd brow, 18 The prophet stood, and bent a wistful eye Along its starlit shimmer;--"Ev'n as now," He murmur'd, "didst thou lift thyself on high, O symbol of my soul, and make thy course One upward struggle to thy mountain source--

"When first, a musing boy, I stood beside 19 Thy sparkling showers, and ask'd my restless heart What secrets Nature to the herd denied, But might to earnest hierophant impart; Then, in the boundless space around and o'er, Thought whisper'd--'Rise, O seeker, and explore;

"'Can every leaf a teeming world contain, 20 In the least drop can race succeed to race, Yet one death-slumber in its dreamless reign Clasp all the illumed magnificence of space-- Life crowd the drop--from air's vast seas effaced-- The leaf a world--the firmament a waste?'--

"And while Thought whisper'd, from thy shining spring 21 The glorious answer murmur'd--'Soul of Man, Let the fount teach thee, and its struggle bring Truth to thy yearnings!--whither I began, Thither I tend; my law is to aspire: Spirit _thy_ source, be spirit _thy_ desire.'

"And I have made the life of spirit mine; 22 And, on the margin of my mortal grave, My soul, already in an air divine Ev'n in its terrors,--starlit, seeks to cleave Up to the height on which its source must be-- And falls again, in earthward showers, like thee.

"System on system climbing, sphere on sphere, 23 Upward for ever, ever, evermore, Can all eternity not bring more near? Is it in vain that I have sought to soar? Vain as the Has been, is the long To be? Type of my soul, O fountain, answer me!"

And while he spoke, behold the night's soft flowers, 24 Scentless to day, awoke, and bloom'd, and breathed; Fed by the falling of the fountain's showers, Round its green marge the grateful garland wreathed; The fount might fail its source on high to gain-- But ask the blossom if it soared in vain!

The prophet mark'd, and, on his mighty brow, 25 Thought grew resign'd, serene, though mournful still. Now ceased the vesper, and the branches now Stirr'd on the margin of the forest hill-- And Gawaine came into the starlit space-- Slow was his step, and sullen was his face.

"What didst thou see?"--"The green-wood and the sky." 26 "What hear?"--"The light leaf dropping on the sward." And now, with front elate and hopeful eye, Stood, in the starlight, Caradoc the bard; The prophet smiled on that fair face (akin Poet and prophet), "Child of Song, begin."

"I saw a glow-worm light his fairy lamp, 27 Close where a little torrent forced its way Through broad-leaved water-sedge, and alder damp; Above the glow-worm, from some lower spray Of the near mountain-ash, the silver song Of night's sweet chorister came clear and strong;

"No thrilling note of melancholy wail; 28 Ne'er pour'd the thrush more musical delight Through noon-day laurels, than that nightingale In the lone forest to the ear of Night-- Ev'n as the light web by Arachne spun, From bough to bough suspended in the sun,

"Ensnares the heedless insect,--so, methought 29 Midway in air my soul arrested hung In the melodious meshes; never aught To mortal lute was so divinely sung! Surely, O prophet, these the sound and sign, Which make the lot, the search determines mine,"

"O self-deceit of man!" the soothsayer sigh'd, 30 "The worm but lent its funeral torch the ray; The night-bird's joy but hail'd the fatal guide, In the bright glimmer, to its thoughtless prey. And thou, bold-eyed one--in the forest, what Met _thy_ firm footstep?"--Out spoke Lancelot--

"I pierced the forest till a pool I reach'd, 31 Ne'er mark'd before--a dark yet lucid wave; High from a blasted oak the night-owl screech'd, An otter crept from out its water-cave, The owl grew silent when it heard my tread-- The otter mark'd my shadow, and it fled.

"This all I saw, and all I heard."--"Rejoice" 32 The enchanter cried, "for thee the omens smile; On thee propitious Fate hath fix'd the choice; And thou the comrade in the glorious toil. In death the poet only music heard; But death gave way when life's firm soldier stirr'd.

"Forth ride, a dauntless champion, with the morn; 33 But let the night the champion nerve with prayer; Higher and higher from the heron borne, Wheels thy brave falcon to the heavenliest air, Poises his wings, far towering o'er the foe, And hangs aloft, before he swoops below;

"Man let the falcon teach thee!--Now, from land 34 To land thy guide, receive this chrystal ring; See, in the chrystal moves a fairy hand, Still, where it moveth, moves the wandering King-- Or east, or north, or south, or west, where'er Points the sure hand, thy onward path be there!

"Thine hour comes soon, young Gawaine! to the port 35 The light heart boundeth o'er the stormiest wave; And thou, fair favourite[4] in the Fairy court, To whom its King a realm in fancy gave; Fear not from glory exiled long to be, What toil to others, Nature brings to thee."

Thus with kind word, well chosen, unto each 36 Spoke the benign enchanter; and the twain, Less favour'd, heart and comfort from his speech Hopeful conceived; the prophet up the plain, Gathering weird simples, pass'd--to Carduel they; And song escapes to Arthur's lonely way.

On towards the ocean-shore (for thus the seer 37 Enjoin'd) the royal knight, deep musing, rode; Winding green margins, till more near and near Unto the main the exulting river flow'd. Here too a guide, when reach'd the mightier wave, The heedful promise of the prophet gave.

Where the sea flashes on the argent sands, 38 Soars from a lonely rock a snow-white dove: No bird more beauteous to immortal lands Bore Psyche rescued side by side with Love. Ev'n as some thought which, pure of earthly taint, Springs from the chaste heart of a virgin saint.

It hovers in the heaven:--and from its wings 39 Shakes the clear dewdrops of unsullying seas; Then circling gently in slow-measured rings, Nearer and nearer to its goal it flees, And drooping, fearless, on that noble breast, Murmuring low joy, it coos itself to rest.

The grateful King, with many a soothing word, 40 And bland caress, the guileless trust repaid; When, gently gliding from his hand, the bird Went fluttering where the hollow headlands made A boat's small harbour; Arthur from the chain Released the raft,--it shot along the main.

Now in that boat, beneath the eyes of heaven, 41 Floated the three, the steed, the bird, the man; To favouring winds the little sail was given; The shore fail'd gradual, dwindling to a span; The steed bent wistful o'er the watery realm; And the white dove perch'd tranquil at the helm.

Haply by fisherman, its owner, left, 42 Within the boat were rude provisions stored; The yellow harvest from the wild bee reft, Bread, roots, dried fish, the luxuries of a board Health spreads for toil; while skins and flasks of reed Yield, these the water, those the strengthening mead.

Five days, five nights, still onward, onward o'er 43 Light-swelling waves, bounded the bark its way: At last the sun set reddening on a shore; Walls on the cliff, and war-ships in the bay; While from bright towers, o'erlooking sea and plain, The Leopard-banners told the Vandal's reign.

Amid those shifting royalties, the North 44 Pour'd from its teeming breast, in tumult driven, Now to, now fro, as thunder-clouds sent forth To darken, burst,--and bursting, clear the heaven; Ere yet the Nomad nations found repose, And order dawn'd as Charlemain arose;

Amidst that ferment of fierce races, won 45 To yonder shores a wandering Vandal horde, Whose chief exchanged his war-tent for a throne, And shaped a sceptre from a conqueror's sword; His sons, expell'd by rude intestine broil, Sought that worst wilderness--the Stranger's soil.

A distant kinsman, Ludovick his name, 46 With them was exiled, and with them return'd. A prince of popular and patriot fame; To roast his egg your house he would have burn'd! A patriot soul no ties of kindred knows-- His kinsman's palace was the house he chose.

A patriot gamester playing for a Crown, 47 He watch'd the hazard with indifferent air, Rebuked well-wishers with a gentle frown, Then dropp'd the whisper--"What I win I share." Who plays for power should make the odds so fall, That one man's luck should seem the gain of all.

The moment came, disorder split the realm; 48 Too stern the ruler, or too feebly stern; The supple kinsman slided to the helm, And trimm'd the rudder with a dexterous turn; A turn so dexterous, that it served to fling _Both_ overboard--the people and the king!

The captain's post repaid the pilot's task, 49 He seized the ship as he had cleared the prow; Drop we the metaphor as he the mask: And, while his gaping Vandals wonder'd how, Behold the patriot to the despot grown, Filch'd from the fight, and juggled to the throne!

And bland in words was wily Ludovick! 50 Much did he promise, nought did he fulfil; The trickster Fortune loves the hands that trick, And smiled approving on her conjuror's skill! The promised freedom vanish'd in a tax, And bays, turn'd briars, scourged bewilder'd backs.

Soon is the landing of the stranger knight 51 Known at the court; and courteously the king Gives to his guest the hospitable rite; Heralds the tromp, and harpers wake the string; Rich robes of miniver the mail replace, And the bright banquet sparkles on the dais.

Where on the wall the cloth, goldwoven, glow'd, 52 Beside his chair of state, the Vandal lord Made room for that fair stranger, as he strode With a king's footstep, to the kingly board. In robes so nobly worn, the wise old man Saw some great soul, which cunning whisper'd "scan."

A portly presence had the realm-deceiver; 53 Ah eye urbane, a people-catching smile, A brow of webs the everlasting weaver, Where jovial frankness mask'd the serious guile; Each word, well aim'd, he feather'd with a jest, And, unsuspected, shot into the breast.

Gaily he welcomed Arthur to the feast, 54 And press'd the goblet, which unties the tongue; As the bowl circled so his speech increased, And chose such flatteries as seduce the young; Seeming in each kind question more to blend The fondling father with the anxious friend.

If frank the prince, esteem him not the less; 55 The soul of knighthood loves the truth of man; The boons he sought 'twas needful to suppress, Not mask the seeker; so the prince began-- "Arthur my name, from YNYS VEL[5] I come, And the steep homes of Cymri's Christendom.

"Five days ago, in Carduel's halls a king, 56 A lonely pilgrim now o'er lands and seas, I seek such fame as gallant deeds can bring, And hope from danger gifts denied to ease; Lore from experience, thought from toil to gain, And learn as man how best as king to reign."

The Vandal smiled, and praised the high design; 57 Then, careless, questioned of the Cymrian land: "Was earth propitious to the corn and vine? Was the sun genial?--were the breezes bland? Did gold and gem the mountain mines conceal?"-- "Our soil bears manhood, and our mountains steel,"

The Monarch answer'd; "and where these are found, 58 All plains yield harvests, and all mines the gold."-- "Your hills are doubtless," quoth the Vandal, "crown'd With castled tower, and fosse-defended hold?"-- "One hold the land--its mightiest fosse the sea; And its strong walls the bosoms of the free."

The Vandal mused, and thought the answers shrewd, 59 But little suited to the listeners by; So turn'd the subject, nor again renew'd Sharp questions blunted by such bold reply. Now ceased the banquet; to a chamber, spread With fragrant heath, his guest the Vandal led.

With his own hand unclasp'd the mantle's fold, 60 And took his leave in blessings without number; Bade every angel shelter from the cold, And every saint watch sleepless o'er the slumber; Then his own chamber sought, and rack'd his breast To find some use to which to put the guest.

Three days did Arthur sojourn in that court; 61 And much he marvell'd how that warlike race Bow'd to a chief, whom never knightly sport, The gallant tourney, nor the glowing chase Allured; and least those glory-lighted dyes Which make death lovely in a warrior's eyes.

Yet, 'midst his marvel, much the Cymrian sees 62 For king to imitate and sage to praise; Splendour and thrift in nicely-poised degrees, Caution that guards, and promptness that dismays; But Fraud will oftimes make the Fate it fears;-- Some day, found stifled by the mask it wears.

On his part, Arthur in such estimation 63 Did the host hold, that he proposed to take A father's charge of his forsaken nation. "He loved not meddling, but for Arthur's sake, Would leave his own, his guest's affairs to mind." An offer Arthur thankfully declined.

Much grieved the Vandal "that he just had given 64 His last unwedded daughter to a Frank, But still he had a wifeless son, thank Heaven! Not yet provision'd as beseem'd his rank, And one of Arthur's sisters----" Uther's son Smiled, and replied--"Sir king, I have but one,

"Borne by my mother to her former lord; 65 Not young."--"Alack! youth cannot last like riches." "Not fair."--"Then youth is less to be deplored." "A witch."[6]--"_All_ women till they're wed _are_ witches! Wived to my son, the witch will soon be steady!" "Wived to your son?--she is a wife already!"

O baseless dreams of man! The king stood mute! 66 That son, of all his house the favourite flower, How had he sought to force it into fruit, And graft the slip upon a lusty dower! And this sole sister of a king so rich, A wife already!--Saints consume the witch!

With brow deject, the mournful Vandal took 67 Occasion prompt to leave his royal guest, And sought a friend who served him, as a book Read in our illness, in our health dismiss'd; For seldom did the Vandal condescend To that poor drudge which monarchs call a friend!

And yet Astutio was a man of worth 68 Before the brain had reason'd out the heart; But now he learned to look upon the earth As peddling hucksters look upon the mart; Took souls for wares, and conscience for a till; And damn'd his fame to serve his master's will.

Much lore he had in men, and states, and things, 69 And kept his memory mapp'd in prim precision, With histories, laws, and pedigrees of kings, And moral saws, which ran through each division, All neatly colour'd with appropriate hue-- The histories black, the morals heavenly blue!

But state-craft, mainly, was his pride and boast; 70 "The golden medium" was his guiding star, Which means "move on until you're uppermost, And then things can't be better than they are!" Brief, in two rules he summ'd the ends of man-- "Keep all you have, and try for all you can!"

While these conferr'd, fair Arthur wistfully 71 Look'd from the lattice of his stately room; The rainbow spann'd the ocean of the sky, An arch of glory in the midst of gloom; So light from dark by lofty souls is won, And on the rain-cloud they reflect the sun.

As such, perchance, his thought, the snow-white dove, 72 Which at the threshold of the Vandal's towers Had left his side, came circling from above, Athwart the rainbow and the sparkling showers, Flew through the open lattice, paused, and sprung Where on the wall the abandon'd armour hung;

Hover'd above the lance, the mail, the crest, 73 Then back to Arthur, and with querulous cries, Peck'd at the clasp that bound the flowing vest, Chiding his dalliance from the arm'd emprize, So Arthur deem'd; and soon from head to heel Blazed War's dread statue, sculptured from the steel.

Then through the doorway flew the winged guide, 74 Skimm'd the long gallery, shunn'd the thronging hall, And, through deserted posterns, led the stride Of its arm'd follower to the charger's stall; Loud neigh'd the destrier[7] at the welcome clang And drowsy horseboys into service sprang.

Though threaten'd danger well the prince divined, 75 He deem'd it churlish in ungracious haste Thus to depart, nor thank a host so kind; But when the step the courteous thought retraced, With breast and wing the dove opposed his way, And warn'd with scaring scream the rash delay.

The King reluctant yields. Now in the court 76 Paws with impatient hoof the barbed steed; Now yawn the sombre portals of the fort; Creaks the hoarse drawbridge;--now the walls are freed. Through dun woods hanging o'er the ocean tide, Glimmers the steel, and gleams the angel-guide.

An opening glade upon the headland's prow 77 Sudden admits the ocean and the day. Lo! the waves cleft before the gilded prow, Where the tall war-ship, towering, sweeps to bay. Why starts the King?--High over mast and sail, The Saxon Horse rides ghastly in the gale!

Grateful to heaven, and heaven's plumed messenger, 78 He raised his reverent eyes, then shook the rein: Bounded the barb, disdainful of the spur, Clear'd the steep cliff, and scour'd along the plain. Still, while he sped, the swifter wings that lead Seem to rebuke for sloth the swiftening steed.

Nor cause unmeet for grateful thought, I ween, 79 Had the good King; nor vainly warn'd the bird; Nor idly fled the steed; as shall be seen, If, where the Vandal and his friend conferr'd, Awhile our path retracing, we relate What craft deems guiltless when the craft of state.

"Sire," quoth Astutio, "well I comprehend 80 Your cause for grief; the seedsman breaks the ground For the new plant; new thrones that would extend Their roots, must loosen all the earth around; For trees and thrones no rule than this more true, What most disturbs the old best serves the new.

"Thus all ways wise to push your princely son 81 Under the soil of Cymri's ancient stem; And if the ground the thriving plant had won, What prudent man will plants that thrive condemn? Sir, in your move a master hand is seen, Your well play'd bishop caught both tower and queen."

"And now checkmate!" the wretched sire exclaims, 82 With watering eyes, and mouth that water'd too. "Nay," quoth the sage; "a match means many games, Replace the pieces, and begin anew. You want this Cymrian's crown--the want is just."-- "But how to get it?"--"Sir, with ease, I trust.

"The witch is married--better that than burn 83 (A well-known text--to witches not applied); But let that pass:--great sir, to Anglia turn, And mate your Vandal with a Saxon bride. Her dower," cried Ludovick, "the dower's the thing." "The lands and sceptre of the Cymrian King."

Then to that anxious sire the learned man 84 Bared the large purpose latent in his speech; O'er Britain's gloomy history glibly ran; Anglia's new kingdoms, he described them each; But most himself to Mercia he addresses, For Mercia's king, great man, hath two princesses!

Long on this glowing theme enlarged the sage, 85 And turn'd, return'd, and turn'd it o'er again; Thus when a mercer would your greed engage In some fair silk, or cloth of comely grain, He spreads it out--upholds it to the day, Then sighs "So cheap, too!"--and your soul gives way.

He show'd the Saxon, hungering to devour 86 The last unconquer'd realm the Cymrian boasts; He dwelt at length on Mercia's gathering power, Swell'd, year by year, from Elbe's unfailing hosts. Then proved how Mercia scarcely could retain Beneath the sceptre what the sword might gain.

"For Mercia's vales from Cymri's hills are far, 87 And Mercian warriors hard to keep afield; And men fresh conquer'd stormy subjects are; What can't be held 'tis no great loss to yield; And still the Saxon might secure his end, If where the foe had reign'd he left the friend.

"Nay, what so politic in Mercia's king 88 As on that throne a son-in-law to place?" While thus they saw their birds upon the wing Ere hatched the egg,--as is the common case With large capacious minds, the natural heirs Of that vast property--the things not theirs!

In comes a herald--comes with startling news: 89 "A Saxon chief has anchor'd in the bay, From Mercia's king ambassador, and sues The royal audience ere the close of day." The wise old men upon each other stare, "While monarchs counsel, thus the saints prepare,"

Astutio murmur'd, with a pious smile. 90 "Admit the noble Saxon," quoth the King. The two laugh out, and rub their palms, the while The herald speeds the ambassador to bring; And soon a chief, fair-hair'd, erect, and tall, With train and trumpet, strides along the hall.

Upon his wrist a falcon, bell'd, he bore; 91 Leash'd at his heels six bloodhounds grimly stalk'd; A broad round shield was slung his breast before; The floors reclang'd with armour as he walk'd; He gained the dais; his standard-bearer spread Broadly the banner o'er his helmed head,

And thrice the tromp his blazon'd herald woke, 92 And hail'd Earl Harold from the Mercian king. Full on the Vandal gazed the earl, and spoke: "Greeting from Crida, Woden's heir, I bring, And these plain words:--'The Saxon's steel is bare, Red harvests wait it--will the Vandal share?

"'Hengist first chased the Briton from the vale; 93 Crida would hound the Briton from the hill; Stern hands have loosed the Pale Horse on the gale; The Horse shall halt not till the winds are still. Be ours your foemen,--be your foemen shown, And we in turn will smite them as our own.

"'We need allies--in you allies we call; 94 Your shores oppose the Cymrian's mountain sway; Your armed men stand idle in your hall; Your vessels rot within your crowded bay: Send three full squadrons to the Mercian bands-- Send seven tall war-ships to the Cymrian lands.

"'If this you grant, as from the old renown 95 Of Vandal valour, Saxon men believe, Our arms will solve all question to your crown; If not, the heirs you banish we receive; But one rude maxim Saxon bluntness knows-- We serve our friends, who are not friends are foes!

"'Thus speaks King Crida.'" Not the manner much 96 Of that brief speech wise Ludovick admired; But still the matter did so nearly touch The great state-objects recently desired, That the sage brows dismiss'd in haste the frown, And lips sore-smiling gulp'd resentment down.

Fair words he gave, and friendly hints of aid, 97 And pray'd the envoy in his halls to rest; And more, in truth, to please the earl had said, But that the sojourn of the earlier guest (For not the parting of the Cymrian known) Forbade his heart too plainly to be shown.

But ere a long and oily speech had closed, 98 Astutio, who the hall, when it begun, Had left, to seek the prince (whom he proposed, If yet the tidings to his ear had won Of his foe's envoy, by some smooth pretext To lull), came back with visage much perplext--

And whisper'd Ludovick--"The King has fled!" 99 The Vandal stammer'd, stared, but versed in all The quick resources of a wily head, That out of evil still a good could call, He did but pause, with more effect to wing The stone that chance thus fitted to his sling.

"Saxon," he said, "thus far we had premised, 100 And if still wavering, not our heart in fault. Three days ago, the Cymrian king, disguised, First drank our cup, and tasted of our salt, And hence our zeal to aid you we represt, Deeming your foe was still the Vandal's guest.

"Lo, while we speak, the saints the bond release; 101 Arthur hath gone from us;--the host is free." "Arthur--the Cymrian!" cried the envoy. "Peace; In deeds, not words, men's love the Saxons see: Gone!--whither wends he? But a word I need-- Leave to the rest my bloodhounds and my steed."

Dumb sate the Vandal, dumb with fear and shame: 102 No slave to virtue, but its shade was he; A tower of strength is in an honest name-- 'Tis wise to seem what oft 'tis dull to be! A kingly host a kingly guest betray! The chafing Saxon brook'd not that delay--

But turn'd his sparkling eyes behind, and saw 103 His knights and squires with zeal as fierce inflamed, And out he spoke,--"The hospitable law We will not trench, whate'er the guest hath claim'd Let the host yield! forgive, that, hotly stirr'd, His course I question'd; I retract the word.

"If on your hearth he stands, protect; within 104 Your realm if wandering, guard him as you may; This hearth not ours, nor this our realm;--no sin To chase our foeman, whatsoe'er his way: Up spear--forth sword! to selle each Saxon man-- Unleash the warhounds--stay us those who can!"

Loud rang the armed tumult in the hall; 105 Rush'd to the doors the Saxon's fiery band; Yell'd the gaunt bloodhounds loosen'd from the thrall; Steeds neigh'd; leapt forth the falchion to the hand; Low on the earth the bloodhounds track'd the scent, And where they guided there the hunters went.

Amazed the Vandal with his friend debates 106 What course were best in such extremes to choose; Nicely they weigh;--the Saxons pass the gates: Finely refine;--the chase its prey pursues. And while the chase pursues, to him, whose way The dove directs, well pleased, returns the lay.

Twilight was on the earth, when paused the King 107 Lone by the beach of far-resounding seas; Rock upon rock, behind, a Titan ring, Closed round a gorge o'erhung with breathless trees, A horror of still umbrage; and, before, Wave-hollow'd caves arch'd, ruinous, the shore.

Column and vault, and seaweed-dripping domes, 108 Long vistas opening through the streets of dark, Seem'd like a city's skeleton; the homes Of giant races vanish'd since the ark Rested on Ararat: from side to side Moan the lock'd waves that ebb not with the tide.

Here, path forbid; where, length'ning up the land, 109 The deep gorge stretches to a night of pine, Veer the white wings; and there the slacken'd hand Guides the tired steed; deeplier the shades decline; Dull'd with each step into the darker gloom Follows the ocean's hollow-sounding boom.

Sudden starts back the steed, with bristling mane 110 And nostrils snorting fear; from out the shade Loom the vast columns of a roofless fane, Meet for some god whom savage man hath made: A mighty pine-torch on the altar glow'd And lit the goddess of the grim abode--

So that the lurid idol, from its throne, 111 Glared on the wanderer with a stony eye; The King breathed quick the Christian orison, Spurr'd the scared barb, and pass'd abhorrent by-- Nor mark'd a figure on the floor reclined: It watch'd, it rose, it crept, it dogg'd behind.

Three days, three nights, within that dismal shrine, 112 Had couch'd that man, and hunger'd for his prey. Chieftain and priest of hordes that from the Rhine Had track'd in carnage thitherwards their way; Fell souls that still maintain'd their rites of yore, And hideous altars rank with human gore.

By monstrous Oracles a coming foe, 113 Whose steps appal his gods, hath been foretold; The fane must fall unless the blood shall flow; Therefore three days, three nights he watch'd;--behold At last the death-torch of the blazing pine Darts on the foe the lightning of the shrine!

Stealthily on, amidst the brushwood, crept 114 With practised foot and unrelaxing eye, The steadfast Murder;--where the still leaf slept The still leaf stirr'd not: as it glided by The mosses gave no echo; not a breath! Nature was hush'd as if in league with Death!

As moved the man, so, on the opposing side 115 Of the deep gorge, with purpose like his own, Did steps as noiseless to the blood-feast glide; And as the man before his idol's throne Had watch'd,--so watch'd, since daylight left the air, A giant wolf within its leafy lair.

Whether the blaze allured, or hunger stung, 116 There still had cower'd and crouch'd the beast of prey; With lurid eyes unwinking, spell-bound, clung To the near ridge that faced the torchlit way; As the steed pass'd, it rose! On either side, Here glides the wild beast, there the man doth glide.

But all unconscious of the double foe, 117 Paused Arthur, where his resting-place the dove Seem'd to select,--his couch a mound below; A bowering beech his canopy above: From his worn steed the barded mail released, And left it, reinless, to its herbage-feast.

Then from his brow the mighty helm unbraced, 118 And from his breast the hauberk's heavy load; On the tree's trunk the trophied arms he placed, And, ere to rest the weary limbs bestow'd, Thrice sign'd the cross the fiends of night to scare, And guarded helpless sleep with potent prayer.

Then on the moss-grown couch he laid him down, 119 Fearless of night and hopeful for the morn: On Slumber's lap the head without a crown Forgot the gilded trouble it had worn; The Warrior slept--the browsing charger stray'd-- The dove, unsleeping, watch'd amidst the shade.

And now, on either hand the dreaming King 120 Death halts to strike: the crouching wild beast, here, From the close crag prepares the rushing spring; There, from the thicket creeping, near and near, Steals the wild man, and listens for a sound-- Lifts the pale steel, and gathers for the bound.

But what befell? O thou, whose gentle heart 121 Lists, scornful not, this undiurnal rhyme; If, as thy steps to busier life depart, Still in thine ear rings low the haunting chime, When leisure suits once more forsake the throng, Call childhood back, and redemand the song.

NOTES TO BOOK II.

1.--Page 218, stanza iii.

_By lips as gay the Hirlas horn is quaft._

The Hirlas, or drinking-horn, made of the buffalo horn, enriched with gold or silver. The Hirlas song of "Owen Prince of Powys" is familiar to all lovers of Welch literature.

2.--Page 219, stanza viii.

_Therein Sir Brut, expell'd from flaming Troy._

Caradoc's version of the descent of Brut differs somewhat from that of Geoffrey of Monmouth, but perhaps it is quite as true. According to Geoffrey, Brut is great-grandson to AEneas, and therefore not expelled from "_flaming_ Troy." Caradoc follows his own (no doubt authentic) legends, also, as to the aboriginal population of the island, which, according to Geoffrey, were giants, not devils. The cursory and contemptuous way in which that delicious romance-writer speaks of these poor giants is inimitable--"_Albion a nemine, exceptis paucis gigantibus, inhabitabatur._"--"Albion was inhabited by nobody--except, indeed, a few giants!"

3.--Page 219, stanza viii.

_And bids that Saint, who now speaks Welch on high._

Saint BRAN, the founder of one of the three sacred lineages of Britain, was the first introducer of Christianity among the Cymry.

4.--Page 223, stanza xxxv.

_And thou, fair favourite in the Fairy court._

Gwyn-ab-nudd, the king of the fairies. He is, also, sometimes less pleasingly delineated as the king of the infernal regions; the Welch Pluto--much the same as, in the chivalric romance-writers, Proserpine is sometimes made the queen of the fairies.

5.--Page 226, stanza lv.

_"Arthur my name, from YNYS VEL I come._

Ynys Vel; one of the old Welch names for England.

6.--Page 227, stanza lxv.

_"A witch."--"All women till they're wed are witches!_

The witch MOURGE, or MORGANA (historically ANNA), was Arthur's sister.

7.--Page 228, stanza lxxiv.

_Loud neigh'd the destrier at the welcome clang._

_Destrier_;--This word has been objected to, but it is so familiarly used by our Anglo-Norman minstrels, as well as by the great Masters of romantic poetry, that I have ventured, though not without diffidence, to retain it. MONTAIGNE, in his chapter on "the Warhorses called Destriers," derives the word from the Latin _Dextrarius_.