Fails homage from the living shapes of earth: On him the savage, fierce and monstrous, fawn Tame adoration; from his rugged sleep The wild boar, sleek his bristling wrath, aloof Shrinks, the grim wolf no more his rest disturbs, Than the calm motion of the moon she bays.
Now, by her native sylvan Wye, that Maid Left to cold penitence and prayer, again Sets forth the high Avenger: now his path Through Towey's vale winds velvet soft and The year is in its waning autumn glow, But the warm Sun, with all his summer love, Hangs o'er this gentle valley, loath to part From the blue stream that to his amorous beams Now her cool bosom spreads, now coyer slides Under her alder shade, whose umbrage green, Gancing and breaking the fantastic rays,
The deep dark mirror frets with mazy light. A day that seems in its rich noon to blend All seasons' choice deliciousness, high hung On Dinevaur and Carreg Cennon rude, And on bold Drusslyn gleam'd the woods their hues, Changeful and brilliant, as their leaves had drunk The sun's empyreal fountains; not more bright The groves of those Atlantic Isles, where rove (Dream'd elder Poesy such fancies sweet) The spirits of the brave, stern Peleus' son, And Diomede, through bowers that the blue air Arch'd with immortal spring of fragrant gold. The merry birds, as though they had o'erdream'd The churlish winter, spring-tide virelays Carolling, pruned their all-forgotten plumes. Upon the sunny shallow lay the trout Kindling the soft gems of its skin; the snake As fresh and wanton in its green attire Wound its gay rings along the flowery sward.
That overpowering beauty in mild bonds Of sweet amazement and infatuate bliss, Took prisoner Samor's spirit. On a rock, 'Neath a white canopy of glistening birch, He lay surrender'd. The thin whispering leaves, The welling waters flow, the lingering, long, Love-dwelling descant of the joyous birds Came mingling with the languor of his sense, Most soothing each in turn, must slumb'ring soft.
"Tis no harsh breaking in that train of sound Delicious, but a low and measured dash That blends and deepens all the mingling tones; "Tis nought to cloud or dim that slow intrudes On the universal brilliance; crowning all Moves the gay apparition, and fires up The restless glittering to intenser blaze.
Slow up the tide the gaudy bark comes on, Her oars scarce startling the unruffled air; The waters to her swan-like prow give place, Along the oar-blades leap up to the sun In lucid flakes, and dance, as 't were their sport To waft that beauteous freight. And exquisite As that voluptuous Memphian on the stream Of Cydnus, leading with bliss-breathing smiles
Her throngs of rash beholders, glided down To welcome to his soft imprisonment The Lord of half the world, so wondrous fair Under an awning cool of fluttering silk The Lady of that graceful galley sate. But not in her instinct the melting form With passion, the smooth limbs in dazzling glow Translucent through the thin lascivious veil, Skilful with careless blandishments to fire The loose imaginations, she herein Least like that Oriental harlot Queen. Of all her shape, of all her soul was pride The sustenance, the luxury, the life. The innate scorn of her full eye repaid With lofty thanklessness the homage fawn'd By her fair handmaids, and her oarmen gay, Who seem'd to wanton in their servile toil. Around she gazed, as in her haughtiness She thought that God had form'd this living pomp Of woodland, stream, and rock, her height of soul To pamper, that to welcome her the earth Attired its breathing brightness, and the sun Only on her look'd from his azure sphere.
Knows Samor that bright Lady? Who knows not Amid her twinkling retinue of stars The queenly summer moon? Ye too he knows, The minion rowers of her royal state, Entitled once by courteous falsehoods bland Nobles of Britain, from the general wreck Most despicably saved by Saxon scorn, Meet vassalage for Vortigern, now shrunk And dwindled from proud Britain's sov'reign lord To petty Prince of Dyfed.* Ye yet cling Even to the hollow semblance of a crown, Ye gauzy summer motes, that float and bask In the warm noontide of a court, light things Of noise and glittering, that to royal ears Tinkle your poisonous flatteries, then most proud When most obtrusive your gay nothingness.
Under a rock where Samor lay unseen Beneath the sparkling birchen shade, the bark Glided so near, the silver-twinkling leaves Play'd like a wavering veil o'er the bright face And marble neck of that reclining Queen.
Now, Samor, now 't is at thy thirsty lips The cup of vengeance, now quaff' deep, quaff deep! Now, by the bones that bleach on Ambri plain, By thy lost Emeric's silent chamber bowers, By that soft cheek o'er which the primrose blooms, Now lanch the unerring javelin! to, she tempts, The Saxon's daughter, and the false King's bride, The tame and baffled lingering of revenge.
And up the Avenger stood; a ray of light Quiver'd the brandish'd javelin; creeping awe Froze up the rowers' hearts; down fell the oars, And to the shore round swung the ungovern'd bark But 'mid those feminine and timorous men Intrepid that soft lady her fair front
* Or, Dimetia, i. e. South Wales.
"Pardon, and honour, Lady! one alone Jealous prerogative of pardon holds O'er Samor's soul, the universal God! Caer Merddhyn's honours! to fall'n Vortigern To be install'd prime flatterer, meekly laud The bounteous-hearted monarch, who cast off His throne, his people, and his fame, and thought For bride so fair the dowry all too poor."
No wrath, but brighter joy the Lady's cheek Emblazon'd; "Why should slight and tinsel ties Of blood and birthplace hold asunder hearts Kindred in grandeur? thou art brave and free, And brave and free is Hengist; why disdains Valour to mate with valour, might with might?" "Valour beneath the sun goes proudly forth; And in the cloudy battle's van affronts His hauberk'd foe, but folds not secret steel Under the mild and festal robe of peace, Nor creeps with midnight stealth on the weak sleep Of women and soft infants."-Then appear'd Tears in her haughty eyes, tears beautiful,
For drops of shame they were for those black crimes That fleck'd and dimm'd her father's blaze of fame. Still paused not the Avenger." Did my God, Did Britain claim the offering, I dare hope Yet I could rend from this worn heart away Its pleasant lust of vengeance: private wrongs Are but thin drops in my full tide of hate; But all my country's injuries, all my God's Concentrate in the mighty passion flood, My life, my soul, my being; we must be, I and thy father, through all space of time, Even to the end, Destroyer or Destroy'd."
"Harsh and Implacable! yet be not thou Discourteous: wilt thou to Caer Merddhyn come, An honour'd guest, in freedom to depart When, where thou wilt, thy pledge my royal faith?"
"A Saxon's faith!" burst bitter from his lips, He check'd the upbraiding tone. "If fraud and sin In such a lovely temple hold their shrine,
It were not strange did fiends of darkness dwell Within yon beauteous sun!" But she with smile Mild as May morning on a violet bank, "Why stay'st thou? can the Unconquerable fear-?” "Fear, Lady! fear and I are strangers now." "What wondrous spell," pursued her playful mirth, "So steels thee?"-"One most simple and most strong, A calm proud conscience, and a faith in God."
Then sate he by the Lady's side; set forth Upon its dancing voyage down the tide The bark obeisant to its dashing oars. But those gay rowers veering with the wind Of soft court favour, 'gan with subtle joy And cold factitious transport hail again Their gentle peer, their old and honour'd friend. But with a glance the imperial lady froze To silence their smooth-lying lips, nor brook'd Idle intrusion on her rapturous feast. Deep drank she in the majesty and pomp, Wherewith instinct the Avenger moved and spake, And what high beauty from heroic soul Emanates on the outward shape, nor pall'd On her insatiate appetite the joy;
Till that commercing deep of stately thoughts, Proud admiration, and intense delight In what is heart-subliming, towering, grand, Regenerate from the trance that bathed her sense, Sprang up a fiery passion, o'er her flow'd Secret the intoxicating ecstasy, Love, dangerous, deep, intolerable love.
What beauteous seeming and magnificent, Weareth that brilliant sin? now not o'er her Came it in melting languor, soft and bland, But like her own high nature, eminent, Disdainful, and elate, allied to all That beautified, that glorified, and seem'd Mysterious union of upscaring spirits, Wedding of lofty thoughts with lofty thoughts, And the fine joy of being to this earth A thing of wonder: and as floats the air Clear, white, and stainless in the highest heavens, Seem'd from its exaltation fresh and pure, Above all taint her amorous madness rose. Had it seem'd love, her very pride had quell'd The unplumed fantasy, her inbred scorn Warr'd on the young infirmity, but now Upon her soul's bold crest it planted high Its banner of dominion, and she hail'd Its coming as a guest of pomp and power.
But, though o'er all her features mantling spead A vivid restlessness, a lustrous glow,
A deepening purple, though her eye indulged Richer delirium, though her languid breath
Came with a throb and struggled from her heart, Yet in that noble kindness that disdains With greedy and suspicious gaze to search The sin that may be, rather chastening all With his own native purity, serene The Warrior sate. The placid gliding bark With motion like to stillness, flowing on, Where with green diadem of woods above, Beneath the white breadth of the expanding stream, Caer Merddhyn in the liquid noontide rose..
Fair rose Caer Merddhyn, rose her towery height The air enriching, nor mis-seem'd a King Such stately dwelling; populous her streets, And throng'd with human faces, but o'er all A lassitude and heavy sadness hung, Blankness of looks and weariness of hearts, And listlessness of motion faltering on. With all the pomps, the luxuries of life, It seem'd a city of the dead. The shapes, The steps of men were there, but soul and spirit, And stirring energy, and vivid mind, Passion and earnestness in torpor slept,
The cold blood stagnates in the drowsy veins. Alike all feelings lazy languor seal'd; To still them, not delight, the mothers held Their infants, as the radiant Queen past on; But even in them the laughing spring of joy Was dead, and dry, and frozen.-“Oh, high God! (So spake the Wanderer in his secret soul) Hath tyranny such bleak and withering power Man's heavenly essence to embrute, and thou, Once princely Vortigern, the tyrant thou!"—
Worse sight! worse shame! they reach the broad hill's brow,
Where in its royalty the palace look'd Awe on its vassal city; there, even there, On that high threshold, armed Saxon files From the weak people fenced the weaker King. But through that legion hateful and accurst Onward the Avenger that bright Lady's hand Led, as the Sibyl sage the Love-queen's son Calm through the doleful regions of the dead.
Within the hall with royal banners hung, And shields of royal blazon, royal arms, Least royal he, sate Vortigern; deep thought And miserable on his faded brow
Traced its bleak lines; before him glittering lay The crown of Britain, which his eye perused With a sick sadness, as each gem were full Of woeful ruminations, blank remorse; And as bad Angels loathe, yet upward watch, Heaven's Sun, bright type of their once radiant state, Even so in bitterness that fallen King, Painfully banqueting on self-reproach, A drear remembrance of lost grandeurs drew From that fair ring, and cursed its blaze that flash'd Past splendours o'er the darkness of his soul, And memory from what height to what depth sunk, He welters in the abyss of shame profound. Beside him o'er his harp Aneurin bow'd, The white-hair'd Bard, sole faithful he, sole friend;
For minds of poets from their own high sphere Look down on earth's distinctions, high and low, Sunken or soaring, as the equal sun Sheds light along the vale and mountain's brow. He in the hall of feasting who fast seal'd The treasures of his harmony, now pours Into the wounded heart his syrups sweet, And laps it in the silken folds of sound. But even along his strings the infectious grief Hath crept, and wither'd up the wantonness And lost in wayward wanderings of despair Stray the vague tones; anon bursts full and free A start, a swell of pride, then sinks away Involuntary to such doleful fall,
Misery so musical, its languid breath Feeds, while it softens the deep-rooted woe. Such melodies at tragic midnight heard 'Mid a deserted city, gliding o'er
The deep green moss of tower and fane o'erthrown, Had seem'd immortal sorrows in the air, O'er man's inconstant grandeurs. Sad such wreck, More sad, more worthy Angels woe the waste And desolation of a noble mind,
High fertile faculties run wild and rank, Bright fiery qualities in darkness slaked. That liquid intercourse of grief broke off, Thus spake the King-" Who thus unbidden bursts On kingly solitude? why ask I thee?
No brow between the Scot and Southern sea Beareth such gallant insolence abroad,
But Samor, the wild Wanderer, the denounced, The desperate! Art thou here to stun mine ears With "Vortigern is abject, lost, disgraced?" "Tis well that with thee comes my bright excuse, My poverty's rich treasure, my night's star, Beauteous Rowena."-Joy seem'd his, but yet Was effort and was struggle in that joy, The clinging of a desperate soul to what It would delight in, but did not delight, The striving of a barren heart to force The perish'd bloom of pleasure.—“ King, I come To put a spell upon thee, conjure up Thy valour from its tomb within thy breast, To rend the adamant that trammels fast Thy strength of soul. By yon bright glaive that smote By Esk's wild bank, beneath his father's shield,
The royal Caledonian's Son; yon flag, That, when by fated Arles rash Britain lost Her wild bright hazard for imperial state, Clouding the car of adverse victory shook Untarnish'd in the sun its blazon broad, Nor stoop'd though all was fallen; by yon rich crown Whereon when flow'd the holy oil, this isle From all her seas her gratulant acclaim Sent up, and overcast heaven's vault with joy; By Vortigern, the great, the brave, the wise!"— "Brave! wise! ay, that it is. The veriest wretch That from base birth-place to his baser grave, Creeps with his fellow reptiles, that ne'er knew What luxury 't is, what loftiness to soar, And with one soul to wield a host of souls In free subjection, oh that fireless dust, Clay uninform'd that only lives to die,
That is to me a God: to me whose curse, And brand, and mock it is to have been great- And be-oh! Samor, Samor, I was King, King of this spacious, rich, and glorious isle, And thou, and such as thou, my regal state Didst vassal; now, but now an eye may trace The circuit of my realm, a shepherd's boy Count my thin people, like his mountain flock."
"Oh, Monarch, ill must be atoned by good, And to repentant deeds of mightiest fame Heaven can upraise the farthest sunken. Power Fails not the aspirant will. I knew thee once A being of those arduous energies, Strong aspirations, graspings undefined, Tumultuous thirsts and passions, that of man Make Fiend or Angel."-"True, too true, but thou Hast seized the Seraph's air-plumed wings, and I The Demon's vans of darkness. Had all fallen,
All perish'd, one wide ignominy swept Princes and Lords and People, I had found
A forlorn comfort in the general wreck; But in its curst sublimity thy fame Obtrudes its radiant presence, and makes groan This ruin of a Monarch."-“ Rare it is, Oh King, in Fame's rich galaxy to shine With steadfast blaze unwithering, but to dawn From darkness, scatter off the black eclipse That veils the wither'd lustre, this most rare, Maketh man's soul an everlasting fire
Worthy the God that hung the heavens with light; "Tis hard for downcast spirit to o'erleap Ruin's sad barriers, but Heaven's angels drop Soft dews beneath his burning feet, his flight Imp with strong plumes; his coming doth adorn The earth he moves on; till Remorse abash'd Before the orient glories fades and flies."
I claim thy faith, and part."-"So swift, so soon, Our festal cheer untasted, welcome cup Uncrown'd?"-"Fair Queen, in the pellucid stream My beverage dances; the coarse mountain boor Shares his hard fare with me; the hand that feasts The winged wanderers of the air, feasts me." With lips in act of speech apart, the Queen, As to her will her tongue disdainful scorn'd Allegiance, chain'd in silence stood again. Twice she essay'd to speak, twice o'er her shame Swept his petrific hand, and rosy fire
O'er face and neck and forehead flush'd, till shrunk From that strong heat the eye, and down on earth Settled its close-fringed orb; with pressure soft Her blushing fingers his bronzed hand embraced.
"Here in this palace is my rule, this land Is mine by my prevailing power: wouldst thou Of this high seat, this realm be lord?-Why starts Unwonted colour to thy cheek? why shrinks Into its sphere thine eye? Said I this soul, And what soft beauty glitters in this shape, Had it appall'd thee?"-Eagerly she grasp'd The hand she held, as though from thence to wring A swift reply, yet gazed upon the earth,
As wistful 'neath its darkness she might shrink From her own shame. Blank wonder Samor's brow To living stone congeal'd-" This then the close To all thy lavish love of Vortigern!"
"My love! he was a King, upon his brow The beauty of a royal crown, his height Dominion, like a precious mantle, dipt In heaven's pure light array'd, and o'er him flung Transcendent grandeur; above all he stood, And I by such fond splendours woo'd and won, Took seat upon his eminence; a plant To spread, and mantle an imperial throne,
"Peace! peace! thou canst not see what cold within Not like tame ivy round a ruin creep,
Lies like a palsy on the flagging powers, Makes me a thin and shrinking reed, the sport Of every lazy wind, the shape, the life, The woe, without the faculties of man: Shame, Shame.-Oh, turn thy lofty brow away, Heavy it hangs o'er me like loosen'd crag Over the mountain traveller-I endure, Of all this nation, the curse-wrinkled lips, Out-pointed fingers, ribald jests, coarse scorns. Men that have lick'd the dust beneath my feet, Worn their tame faces by the mould of mine, Them, to confront even them."-Unkingly tears Choked the full utterance, met his eye the glance Of that proud Queen, who, all unmark'd, drank in That passionate discourse, from her contempt, Though far below his own, he shrunk, and wrought To a brief pride his wan dejected mien. "Here is my throne, my kingdom in this breast, My diadem the wealth of light that shines From yon fair brow upon me."-Stronger pain Burst in upon the infant pride: forth fled The Monarch, happy could he fly himself. Him follow'd that old Bard. "Tis vain, all vain, (Thus spake the high Avenger.) Beauteous Queen,
Or wreathe the tomb of royalty. His pride I wedded, not his shame; bats may not build With the light-loving lark. He, he himself By self-abasement has divorced me, set Distance between us wide and far as heaven From the black pit of infamy."-“High Queen, What seest thou in this bleak and batter'd brow, These rough scathed limbs, this wan and sunken face, With misery's rugged furrows deeply plough'd To dazzle or delight? Lone outcast I, Friendless, but daily, nightly by fierce foes Beset and hunted like a loathsome brute; Thy nation's mothers vent all hate on me, Link with a scathing curse no name but mine. Oh, what wouldst thou and softness with a life Like mine so dreary, desperate, dark, and fierce ?"
"Oh, 't is because all hate thee, that I love, Because all dread thee, I would mate with thee; Thy miseries, thy dangers deeper plunge My soul in passion, that alone thou walk'st Smote at by every arm, yet struck by none, That mastery of thy single soul holds down The Saxon's mounting empire, clips its wings
The motions of my will-but we-shrink we? The lofty are their own high law; dull codes, Cold customs, trammel but the base; our sins Shall be the wanderings of the meteor fire, More wonder'd than the regular calm stars: Our acting shall ennoble, what tame tongues Falter at even in word; opinions, hues Shall at our haughty bidding shift and change, And what we do, shall therefore be call'd great. Yes, yes, I feel thy shrinking hand, I see White-lipp'd abhorrence quivering in thy mien As at some loathsome viper. Woe, oh woe To him that tramples on the viper's wrath."— Then shook she back her golden hair, away Cast his cold hand.-" Ho, Saxons at the gate, Ho, Saxons, to your injured Queen!" The hall Sudden was walled with fiery arms and spears Bickering fierce menace; numerous, swift, and strong, As when old Cadmus by clear Dirce spread
Of danger and rude menace. What I did, I know not; what I said, it pleased not thee; Enough, 't was base, 't was criminal, 't was false. Oh Chief! when we would compass wild desires, Words alien to the heart start up, yet seem Most strong persuasion; of all serpents, scorn Stings to worse frenzy, worst a woman's soul. Forget, all, all forget, but one soft word, And that I charge thee, by thy rescued life, Forget not."-" Lady, were I rich in love, As yon full Sun in light, I could not spare A beam upon a Saxon. Now, but now The fountains of my heart are dry, the stock Where fresh and rich my green affections bloom'd, Is wither'd to the root; hard, doleful, dead, My breast's impassive iron scatters off All melting blandishments, all soft delights, As the waved banner the thin morning dews. With one harsh discord to consummate all; Thou art thy Father's daughter."-She arose In miserable calmness resolute.
She took his hand, she led him forth, beneath The murky scowling of those Saxons stern, Whose angry wonder scarce herself controll'd: Gave one fond lingering pressure, and but one, Then watch'd him through the city, up the vale, If gazing with such emptiness of eye Were watching, which his distance seem'd to freeze Gradual to hollower wanness; down her arms Hung, only that she stood and faintly breathed, Pulse, motion, sense, life, all seem'd fled with him.
Sudden above her, the mild air 'gan waft Wild fiery sounds, like those of battle morn
That dangerous seed uncouth, long, wide, and bright Which champing war-steed's neigh, and lance's rush
Under the fatal ploughshare leap'd to life,
To havoc the wild harvest, and shook up
Its bearded grim fertility of death.
But then his sword the Avenger grasp'd, and cried,
Twice have I trusted Saxon faith, and twice
Beneath my feet the smooth fair ice hath burst
Its glassy treachery: once this arm redeem'd The infatuate blindness. Saxons, I am he, Who with his single strength on Ambri plain Scared your hot massacre, your proudest necks Strew'd for his pavement of retreat, ye see Mine arm unwither'd, my unbroken sword."
But they sprung onward; that bright Lady's brow Awful delight absorb'd the while, she moved Before their wrath, her arm's high sway waved back Their fury from her presence. Swift they came, Swift they departed; silence down the walls Crept o'er the banners broad, and pendent shields.
She look'd on Samor, all his pride was hers, She look'd on Samor, all that pride was quench'd In exquisite mild transport; at his feet The Queen, the haughty, the disdainful fell. Her fine fair hair lay floating on the earth; Her round arms clung beseeching to his knees.
"A curse upon me, that my wilful heart Gainst head so brave, so noble, dream'd of wrath,
Impatient answers. On the palace top Aneurin in his bardic glory stood; The sunlight on his old prophetic brow Flash'd strong, yet dazzled not, his long white locks Stream'd back upon his azure robe, like rack O'er heaven's unclouded blue, his pale thin hand With strength of mounting phrenzy lanch'd abroad The war-song of Cassivelan: glad sounds To that tranced queen, for Samor's hastier port Deliberate grandeur slacken'd, he look'd back, Proud gratitude for that wild flattery." All, All in one wide conspiracy (so spake Rowena's bitter joy), thee, only thee To glorify. Oh, were man mute, this earth Would leap to utterance of thy fame, the winds Find voices eloquent, the streams, the stones, To lofty music burst of thy renown."
Slowly retired the Queen; she call'd around Her slaves, her handmaids; arrogant their looks Seem'd to confront her, eyes aye wont to shrink Before her gaze, now seem'd to pry and pierce Her deepest soul's recesses; and she blush'd Even in her plenitude of scorn. They stood Trembling before her wayward mood, yet seem'd Mockeries their tremors; solitude she sought, Yet solitude found none, things senseless took Stern cognizance of all her acts, her thoughts!
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