To plant the stately standard of revolt
Upon a molehill. Constans! that to him
Caswallon should bow down; aloft our crown
Upon the giddy banner staff, that rocks
On Troynovant's tall citadel, uphang,
And who the dizzy glory will rend down,
Or Constans or Caswallon? The bright throne
Environ with grim ranks of steel-girt men :
Huge Saxons black with grisly scars of war,
Who first will hew to that triumphal seat

His ruinous path? Hear, sceptred Britons, hear,
A counsel worthy the deep thoughts of kings:
Of valorous achievement and bold deeds
Be guerdon to the mightiest of our Isle,
The Sov'reignty of Britain; spurn my voice,
And I renounce your counsels, cast you off,
And with my hardy vassals of the north
I join the Saxon."- Then fierce sounds again
Broke out, wan flames of brandish'd armour flash'd.
In rude disorder and infuriate haste
Sprang every warrior from his seat, as clouds
Amid the sultry heaven, thunderous and vast,
Gather their blackening disarray to burst
Upon some mountain turret, so the Chiefs
Banded their fierce confusion to rush on.
And whelm in his insulting pride the foe.
He stood as one in joy, and lower'd a smile,

They in blank wonder sate, nor wholly quell'd
Wrath and insulted majesty, with look
As he were still in presence fix'd, and stern.
Then spake Prince Emrys, " Not of trivial toil
To shape the rude trunk of our enterprise
To smooth perfection; deeply must we found,
And strongly build the fabric of our hopes,
And each must hold his charge. Be, Samor, thine
To bear our brother Constans Britain's crown,
In name of our assembled Kings. Be mine
From the Armoric shore, King Hoel's realm,
(Our father's brother, Hoel) to embark
The succours of his high-famed Chivalry.
Thou, Uther, to the West; each other King
Unto his own, at signal of revolt
To lead his armed Vassalage abroad."

So saying, each departed; fell again
The ancient silence on the solemn place.

Together from the forest pass'd the friends,
Samor and Elidure; below their way

Went wandering on through flowery meads, or sank
Beneath green arches dim of beechen shade.
Around the golden hills in summer wealth
Bask'd in the sunshine; on a river bank

Long gleaming down its woodland course, reposed
Many a white hamlet: even fierce shrines of war

stretch'd,

A battle-axe uplift: vaunting and huge
As fabled giant on embattled Heaven,
Glaring not less than utter overthrow,

And total wreck. Forthwith a youth rush'd out,
His moony buckler high upheld to bar
The onset, and with voice, which youthful awe
Temper'd to tone less resolute, address'd
The haughty Chieftain. "Father, deem not thou,
Malwyn confederate in thy lawless thought;
Mine is a Briton's soul, a Briton's sword,
But mortal man that seeks thy life, must pass
O'er Malwyn's corpse." Back Chief and King recoil'd,
In breathless admiration. Nobler pride,
And human joy almost to softness smoothed
Caswallon's rugged brow. "Well hast thou said,
Son of Caswallon, worthy of thy sire!

On thine own track mount thou to fame, nor swerve
For man, or more than man."- A while the Kings
Brief parley held, then stately and severe
Rose Emrys, and pronounced their stern arrest.

"Caswallon of the Mountains, long our isle

Hath mark'd thy wavering mood, now friend now foe;

Now in the Caledonian inroad prompt
To bear thy share in rapine, foremost now
In our high councils. This we further say,
We scorn thy war, Caswallon, hate thy peace,
And deem it of our mercy that, unscathed,
We ban thee from our presence." Nor reply
Caswallon deign'd; calm strode he as in scorn
Of wrath 'gainst foes so lowly. Far was heard
His tread along the rocky path, the crash
Of branches rent by his unstooping helm.

And rugged in the Roman war array,
With wanton ivy and grey moss o'ergrown,
Their green crowns melted in the azure heavens.

"Oh grief! o'er yon fair meads and smiling lawns
Must steeds of carnage batten, men of blood
Their fell magnificence of murderous pomp
Pavilion in yon placid groves of peace.
The blood-thirst savages of wood and air,
In meet abodes of wilderness and woe,
Shroud their abhorred revels; the gaunt wolf
Prowls gloomy o'er the wintry blasted heath;
Brood desolate on some bare mountain peak
Raven and screaming vulture. Man, fell man,
Envious of bliss he scorns, 'mid haunts of peace
Spots fair and blissful, the rare stars of earth,
Plays ever his foul game of spoil and death,
Ruthless, then vaunts himself Creation's pride,
Supreme o'er all alone in deeds of blood."

Thus Elidure; him Samor, from deep trance Wakening, address'd: "Soft man of peace, my prayer

Would ask of heaven no theatre of strife
Save yon fair plain: there forth the weak would start
In the tumultuous valour of despair,

The timorous proudly tower in scorn of death:
There, where each tree, each dell, each grassy knoll,
Lovely from memory of some past delight,
Is kindred to the soul; his house of prayer,
The altar of his bridal vow, the font
Of his sweet infant's baptism, kindred all,
Holiest and last, his fathers' peaceful graves:
Oh, were all Britain, like yon beauteous plain,
Blissful and free, that angels there might walk
Forgetful of their heavenly bowers of light,

Friend of my boyhood, these all-conquering foes, Who fetter the free winds, and ride the sea Kinglike, their menacing prows would turn aloof, And bitterly, in baffled lust of prey,

Scornful, she said, Lo, Britain, through your land
I lead the enthralled sovereign of your isle.
Yet so surpassing fair, brief instant wish'd
Those wrathful Briton Chiefs their leafy screen

Brief while forgetful, Samor stood entranced, Fearing her form should fleet too swift away.

Came it from earth or air, yon savage shape, His garb, if garb it þe, of shaggy hair Close folding o'er his dusky limbs, his locks And waving matted beard like cypress boughs On bleak heath swaying to the midnight storm? Came he from yon deep wood? On the light spray No leaf is stirring. On the winged winds Rode he? No breeze awakes the noontide air. 'Mid that arm'd throng, dismaying, undismay'd, With a strange eye dilated, as unused

plumes;

Therein sate ladies robed in costly state,
Each like a Queen; the noble charioteers,
Briton in garb, with purple mantle loose,
O'er steel, in network bright, or scale o'er scale,
Glittering, and aventayle barr'd close and firm,
As yet the gaudy traitors shamed to meet
The cold keen glance of countrymen betray'd.
Dark in their iron arms, some wildly girt
With Caledonian spoils, their yellow hair
Down from the casque in broad luxuriant flow
Spreading, and lofty banner wide display'd,
Whereon a milk-white courser reinless shone,
Paced forth the Saxon warriors. High o'er all,
Tempestuous Horsa, chafing his hot steed,
And Hengist with his wreath of amber beads,*
His hoary strength, in spite of age or toil,
A tower of might; with that tall grove of spears,
Circled, and rampire close of serried shields,
The bridegroom Monarch rode, his bright attire
Peaceful, as fitting nuptial pomp, his robe
Rich-floating strew'd the earth with purple shade,
And on his lofty brow a regal crown,
Bright as a wreath of sunbeams; high his arm
The ivory sceptre bore of kingly sway:
Yet who his mien and bearing watch'd had seen
Dim gleam of jealous steel, or lurking mail
Beneath those glorious trappings, for his gaze,
Now jocund, changed anon to wandering stare,
Fearful and wild, as the still air were rife
With vengeful javelins showering death; his pace
Hurried, yet tardy, as of one who rides

O'er land still tottering with an earthquake shock.

And him beside, on snowy palfrey, deck'd
With silver bells its pendent mane profuse,
Of silver and of stainless ermelin
The bright caparisons, and all her robes
White as of woven lily cups, the Bride
Majestic rode as on a waving throne.

Her sunbright hair she waved, and smiled around,
As though, of less than kingly Paramour

*He is so decorated by the Welsh Poets. See Transl. of the Brut. of Tysilio, by Peter Roberts.

Rarely to hold discourse with human ears,
"Joy," and again, and thrice he uttered "Joy."
Cower'd Horsa on his palsied steed; aghast,
As toiling to despise the thing he fear'd,
Sate Hengist. "Joy to Bridegroom and to Bride!
Why should not man rejoice, and earth be glad?
Beyond the sphere of man, the round of earth,
There's loud rejoicing; 't is not in the heavens!
And many ministrant Angels shake their wings
In gladness, wings that are not plumed with light
The dead are jocund, not the dead in bliss.
Your couch is blest - by all whose blessings blast,
All things unlovely gratulate your love.

I see the nuptial pomp, the nuptial song

I hear, and full the pomp, for Hate, and Fear,
And excellent Dishonour, and bright Shame,
And rose-cheek'd Grief, and jovial Discontent,
And that majestic herald, Infamy,

And that high noble, Servitude, are there,
A blithesome troop, a gay and festive crew.
And the Land's curses are the bridal hymn;
Sweetly and shrilly doth th' accordant Isle
Imprecate the glad Hymenean song.
So joy again, I say, to Britain's King,
That taketh to his bosom Britain's fate,
Her beautiful destruction to his bed.
And joy to Britain's Queen, who bears her Lord
So bright a dowry and profuse, long years
Of war and havoc, and fair streams of blood,
And plenteous ruin, loss of crown and fame,
And full perdition of the immortal soul;
So thrice again I utter joy,' 'joy,' 'joy!'"

Then up sprung spear to strike, and bicker'd bow Ere spear could strike, or shaft could fly, the path Was bare and vacant; shape nor sound remain'd; Only the voice of Vortigern moan'd out, "Merlin," and on the long procession pass'd.

Down in a quiet dale, where beechen groves With interchanging gold and glossy green O'ermantled the smooth slopes, that fell around Like a fair amphitheatre, beneath

A brook went wand'ring through fresh meadow banks,

With a cool summer dashing, here the Chiefs
The royal Hermit met, his gentle brow
Smooth as a slumbering Angel's plumes (effaced
All traces of this rude and wearing earth,
All brands of fiery passions, wild desires)
Wore that calm holiness the sainted dead
Smile on the visions of their loved on earth:
His life was like a sleep, with heavenly sights,
And harmonies, as of angelic sounds
Visited ever, nor his barren heart

Touch'd not the light affections, trembled not
His spirit with love's fervent swell, but all
Most wont to bear man's soul to earth, round him
As the thin morning clouds around the lark,
Gather'd, to float him upward to the heavens.

"Sweet is it down the silent vale of life
To glide away, of all but Heaven forgot,
Forgetting all but Heaven. Of king-born men,
Lords of mankind, high delegates of Heaven,
Loftier the doom, their rare prerogative
The luxury of conferring bliss. Oh, Prince!
Not by the stream to slumber, nor to waste
Idly in joyous dreams the drowsy hours,
Hath Heaven thy kingly heritage ordain'd;
Set badge of Empiry on thy brow: of god
The noblest service is to serve mankind,
To save a nation all a mortal's power,
To imitate the Saviour of the world."

Calm answer'd Constans: "Earth's exalted fame,
Grandeurs and glories gleam upon my soul
Like wintery sun-light on a plain of snow.
With prayers, a Hermit's arms, I aid your cause-
Farewell. Why pause ye, as to question more
The wisdom of my choice-lo, yon fair orb;
How spotless the fine azure where he holds
His secret palace, knows not his pure light
A stain of dimness, till th' abode of men
Pours o'er it its infectious mists." "Oh, Prince!
"Tis not the glory of that peerless light,
The barren glittering, the unfruitful waste
Or splendour on the still inanimate skies;
It is the life, the motion, and the joy

It breathes along this world of man, the broad
Munificence of blessing that awakes,
And in its rapturous gratitude springs up,
To glorify its bounteous source of pride."

"I see thy brow at thine own words on fire; Mine, Samor, yet is calm and cold." "Dost thou, Constans, all title, claim, and right renounce

The everlasting enemy of man." "Will thy voice mingle with the general cry, "Long live King Emrys?'"-" Long may Emrys live, Even the eternal life beyond the grave."

"Yet one word more: 'tis perilous in the storm For the tall pine, nor less, in evil days, For the high-born and exalted of the state. The Saxon blood-hounds are abroad for prey, Seek thou some quiet solitude remote, Beyond their prowling range."-His arm to Heaven Slowly uplifted, "Will they reach me there?" Spake the meek Hermit, "there is rest secure."

They parted; gentle Elidure alone, Lingering with somewhat of an envious gaze, View'd the deep quiet of that placid dell.

That night were seen along the dusky wood, Of more than human stature moving forms, Pale faces circled with black iron helms, Not of the Briton shape their garb or arms; Stealthy their pace and slow; the peasants thought Demons of evil that sad night had power,

And pray'd Heaven's grace to guard the saintly man.

At morn roved forth the peasant, down the dale His dog went bounding to the Hermit's cell, For all mute creatures loved the man of God. A quick and desolate moaning nearer call'd The peasant; in officious grief the dog Stood licking the cold hand that drooping hung Lifeless; the mild composure of his brow On the cross rested; praying he had died, And his cold features yet were smiling prayer.

BOOK III.

ORIENT the bright-hair'd Charioteer of heaven
Pour'd daylight from his opal wheels, and struck
From the blue pavement of the sky clear flakes
Of azure light upon the Eastern sea.
And as the grey mists slowly curl'd away,
Rose the white cliffs of Kent, like palace fair,
Or fane of snowy marble, to enshrine
Blue Amphitrite, or the Sea-Gods old
Of Pagan mariner. Rode tall below
The Saxon navy, as from midnight sleep
Wakening; the grey sails in the breeze of morn
'Gan tremble, gleaming oars flash in the spray.
The Sea-Kings on the beach in parley stern
Were met, nor less than nation's doom and fate
Of kingdoms in their voice. Lo, in the midst
Stood huge Caswallon; word of mild salute
Deign'd not, but thus addrest the Ocean Lord.

"Saxon! that o'er this fair and princely ísle Thou wouldst win empire by the sword of war, I marvel not, arraign not-'t is a dream, Noble as o'er the heavens to walk abroad,

Companion of yon bright majestic sun.
Now, by my glory, Saxon, mortal peer
Never Caswallon brook'd, save thee alone,
Thee, rival in his race of pride and power.
Arm'd with myself and all th' embattled North,
Not Roman Britons, sons of sires who dash'd
The purple Conquerors' haughty wall to earth,
And trampled their strewn ramparts; who ne'er
deign'd

Barter for gaudy robe and marble pile,

Fierce naked freedom, and wild mountain cave,
Will I, and thou with Saxon spears begirt,
Bow this fair Britain to our lordly sway.
Then will we two, from pale perplexed earth
Seen, like twin meteors battling in high heaven,
On some lone eminence wage glorious strife,
Sole empire meed of conquest, of defeat
Utter annihilation, dark and full,
Solace and lofty comfort." Bold he paused,
Nor Hengist with pale sign of awe or dread
Shamed the proud peerage, but with hardy speech
Guileful, won faith by seeming scorn of guile.

"Briton, to dare high deeds, and to disown,
Argues a wavering valour; the firm soul
Vaunts resolute its lofty dangerous scope.
To us our gods o'er ocean and its shores
Kingly dominion and wide sway have given;
Were insult to our might and base reproach,
The freedom of one sea-girt isle, to thee
Honouring, not fearing, 'mid our prime we grant
Transcendent state, and eminence of power.
Now speed we of th' immortal Powers in Heaven,
Our high omniscient Fathers, to demand
If on the eternal shield of fate be graven
Ruin or Conquest, ere to bold emprize
We gird our brazen arms."-" Of mighty men
The gods are mighty, whom the Saxon fears,
The paramount of men, 't were rash to scorn,
No calm and sunshine deities of peace."-

So spake Caswallon, the mild faith of Christ
Scoffing with covert mockery; thus th' All Wise
The imaginations of the proud on earth
Silent endures, till some brief point of time
Crumbles the high-built insolence of
years.

"Wilt thou behold our gods?" fierce Horsa cried.
"Then mount the bark, abroad her wings are spread,
And fleet along the obedient deep she speeds.
Fear not, proud Briton."-"Fear!" Caswallon cried ;
All iron as he stood, o'er surf, surge, wave
He bounded, hollow rang his heavy arms,
The bark her-tall side to the troubled waves
Stoop'd groaning; nor delay'd the Ocean King.

"Brother, farewell! not singly the bold wolf Scatters the mountain herd; in grim repose He rests expectant of his kindred troop, Numberless from their shaggy dens they sweep, And spacious o'er the antler'd monarch's realm Spreads the wide ravage of their muster'd might." Stern Horsa bow'd assent, yet paused to watch The proud bark tilting o'er the azure plain. Stately she rode her path of light, her sails

In dalliance with the courteous winds: bold Man!
Well may thy full heart bound: in earth and air
The thunder-maned steed, the eagle throned
In the pavilion of his plumes, stand forth
Creation's glories; but the noblest shape
That walks the deep thy workmanship sublime
Owneth, and starts from thee to life. Vaunt thou,
Yet humbly vaunt, all greatness is from God.

What dolphin glancing in his silver sport,
More graceful with translucent pinion parts
The liquid azure? what Leviathan,

Huge heaving on the thick Norwegian foam,
More lordly than the white-wing'd bark, that wafts
The Sea King o'er his empire? the fair waves
Rise in their gamesome turbulence, and pay
Wild homage to that royal Mariner.

The motion and the murmur of the deep,
The rushing of the silent, solemn sky,
Each in its deep abyss and pure expanse,
Seeming its secret mysteries of might,
Its ruling soul of everlasting change,
To veil from mortal knowledge, ever pour,
O'er savage ev'n and rude, tumultuous awe,
And exultation of a pleasing dread,
From dizzy notions of infinity,

Vague sense of ever-during sights and sounds,
Inactive though the body, the free spirit,
Vagrant along the illimitable void,
Perils uncouth and rich uncertainties
Ranges in restless round, plucks treasures rare,
That gem the caverns of the hoary deep,

Or bathes with sea-maids in their crystal bowers,
Or with gay creatures and fantastical
Peoples some dreamy land; such joys of old
Lured the fierce Saxon from his darksome woods,
To launch along the vast and barren sea.
Such joys through this long voyage, wean'd brief

while

From thoughts of war and war-won empire wide,
Haughty Caswallon, or from him assumed
Fierce aspect, and a battailous character.

"T was midnight, but a rich unnatural dawn
Sheets the fired Arctic heaven; forth springs an arch
O'erspanning with a crystal pathway pure'
The starry sky, as though for gods to march,
With show of heavenly warfare daunting earth,
To that wild revel of the northern clouds,
That now with broad and bannery light distinct.
Stream in their restless wavings to and fro,
While the sea-billows gleam them mellower back;
Anon like slender lances bright upstart,
And clash and cross with hurtle and with flash,
Tilting their airy tournament." Brave signs,"
Cried Hengist; "lo, our gods their standards rear,
And with glad omen of immortal strife
Salute our high-wing'd purpose.”—" Yea (return'd
Caswallon) from mine own Helvellyn's brow,
Never a brighter conflict in the skies

Taught me that war was dear in Heaven: dream ye Of tamer faith in gentle Southern skies

Your smooth and basking deities; our North

Woos not with tender hues and sunny smiles
Soft worship, but emblazons all the air
With semblance of celestial strife, unveils
To us of their empyreal halls the pomp,
The secret majesty of godlike war."

Oh Lord of Lords! incessant thus assail'd
That pagan with his frantic railings Thee,
Th' Ineffable, yet worshipp'd of thy power
A faint and pale effect, reflection dim
From thy soul-blinding glories. On they sail'd,
Till o'er the dark deep now the wintry winds
Swept on their murky pinions, huge and high
The liquid legions of the main arose ;
Like snow upon the sable pines, the foam
Hung hoary on their tower'd fronts; but slow,
Like a triumphant warrior, their bold bark
Wore onward, now upon the loftiest height
Shaking its streamers' gay defiance, now
With brave devotion to the prone abyss
Down rushing. But the sternest Saxon cheek
Put not to shame that dauntless Landsman; he
In the strong passion of a new delight

On the fierce tumult feasts, and almost grieves,
When now beneath the haven rocks embay'd,
The angry waves seem wearying to repose,
And the slack sails slow droop their flagging folds.

Their port was southward of that Strait, where

bursts

The Baltic, with her massy waves of ice
Encumbering far and wide the Northern main.

South, North, and East, the rapid heralds speed,
Summoning from fen or forest, tnoor or wild,
Britain! on thee to banquet, all who bathe
In Weser, Elbe, or Rhine, their saffron locks,
Hertog and Erle and King; the huntsman bold
Of bear, or bison, o'er the quaking moss,
Or grim Vikinger, who but sues his gods
For tempests, so upon some wealthy coast
Bursts unforeseen his midnight frigate fierce,
And freights its greedy hold with amplest spoil.

And now have Hengist and Caswallon climb'd
The chariot of the Oracle; no wheels
Bear that strange car; like wind along the sea,
It glides along the rapid rein-deer's track.
Beauteous those gentle rein-deer arch'd their necks,
And cast their palmy antlers back, and spread
Their broad red nostrils to the wind: they hear
Old Hengist's voice, like arrows down the gale,
Like shot-stars through the welkin start they forth.
The car slides light, the deer bound fleet: they pass
Dark leagues of pine and fir, the filmy light,
Shivering with every motion of the wind

On their brown path lies tremulous, o'er them sails,
Heard through the dismal foliage hissing shrill,
And hoarser groaning of the swaying boughs,
The funeral descant of the ominous birds.
Around them the prophetic milk-white steeds,*

* Proprium gentis, equorum quoque præsngia ac monitus experiri: publice aluntur iisdem nemoribus ac lucis. Candidi,

Their necks yet virgin of the taming curb, With all their loose long glories, arch, and pass In solemn silence, and regardless paw

The unechoing earth. But that old German, set Inflexible with bolder hand to draw

The veil of dusk futurity, disdains

These tamer omens. Still the car slides light,
The deer bound fleet, they pause not, save to quaff
The narrow cruise, to share their scanty store.
Like swallows o'er the glassy rivers smooth,
O'er the pellucid lake, with glittering breast
Yet wrinkled with its rippling waves, they skim;
The dead unstirring ocean bears them on;
Amid the immortal ice-hills wind they now.

In restless change, God's softer summer works
Glitter and fade, are born and die; but these,
Endiadem'd by undissolving snows,

High Potentates of winter's drear domain,
Accumulate their everlasting bulk,

Eternal and imperishable, stand

Amid Creation's swift inconstant round,

In majesty of silence undisturb'd,

Save when from their long menacing brows they

shake

The ruining Avalanche; unvisited

By motion, but of sailing clouds, when sleets
From their unwasting granary barb their darts,
And the grim North-wind loads his rimy wings.
Nor trace of man, save many a fathom deep,
Haply dark signs of some tall people strange,
That walk'd the infant earth, may shroud profound
Their legends inaccessible. They soar

In headlong precipice, or pyramid

Linking the earth and heaven, to which the piles
Where those Egyptian despots rot sublime,

Or even that frantic Babylonian tower,
Were frivolous domes for laughter and for scorn.

Nor wants soft interchange of vale, where smiles White mimicry of foliage and thin flower. Feathery and fanlike spreads the leafy ice, With dropping cup, and roving tendril loose, As though the glassy dews o'er flower and herb Their silken moisture had congeal'd, and yet Within that slender veil their knots profuse Blossom'd and blush'd with tender life, the couch Less various where the fabled Zephyr fans With his mild wings his Flora's bloomy locks; But colourless and cold, these flowering vales Seem meeter for decrepit Winter's head To lie in numb repose. The car slides light, The deer bound fleet, the long grey wilderness Hath something of a roseate glimmering dim, And widens still its pale expanse: when lo A light of azure, wavering to display No sights, no shapes of darkness and of tear. Tremblingly flash'd the inconstant meteor light, Showing thin forms, like virgins of this earth, Save that all signs of human joy or grief,

et nullo mortali opere contacti, quos pressos sacro curru sacer dos ac rex vel princeps civitatis comitantur, hinnitusque ac fremitus observant.-TACIT. Germ