Which rose before my coming, and the neigh
Of wounded horses, wandering o'er the plain.

Night now was coming in a man approach'd,
And bade to his dwelling nigh at hand.
Thither I turn'd, too weak to travel on ;
For I was overspent with weariness,

And, having now no hope to bear me up,
Trouble and bodily labour master'd me.
I ask'd him of the battle: .. who had fall'n
He knew not, nor to whom the lot of war
Had giv'n my father's sceptre.
Here said he,

I came to seek if haply I might find

Some wounded wretch, abandon'd else to death. My search was vain, the sword of civil war

Had bit too deeply.

3

Soon we reach'd his home,

A lone and lowly dwelling in the hills,

By a grey mountain stream. Beside the hearth
There sate an old blind man ; his head was rais'd

As he were listening to the coming sounds,
And in the fire-light shone his silver locks.
Father, said he who guided me, I bring
A guest to our poor hospitality;

And then he brought me water from the brook,

And homely fare, and I was satisfied:

That done, he pil'd the hearth, and spread around
The rushes of repose. I laid me down ;
But, worn with toil, and full of many fears,
Sleep did not visit me: the quiet sounds
Of nature troubled my distemper'd sense;
My ear was busy with the stirring gale,
The moving leaves, the brook's perpetual flow.

So on the morrow languidly I rose,

And faint with fever: but a restless wish
Was working in me, and I said, My host,
Wilt thou go with me to the battle-field,
That I may search the slain? for in the fray
My brethren fought; vainly, with all my speed,
I strove to reach them ere the strife began.

Alas, I sped too slow!

Grievest thou for that?

He answer'd, grievest thou that thou art spar'd The shame and guilt of that unhappy strife, Briton with Briton in unnatural war?

Nay, I replied, mistake me not! I came
To reconcile the chiefs; they might have heard
Their brother's voice.

Their brother's voice? said he,

Was it not so?... And thou, too, art the son
Of Owen!... yesternight I did not know

The cause there is to pity thee. Alas,

Two brethren thou wilt lose when one shall fall!..
Lament not him whom death may save from guilt;
For in the conqueror thou art doom'd to find
A foe, whom his own fears make perilous !

I felt as though he wrong'd my father's sons,
And rais'd an angry eye, and answer'd him, ...
My brethren love me.

Then the old man cried,
Oh what is princes love? what are the ties
Of blood, the affections growing as we grow,
If but ambition come? thou deemest sure

Thy brethren love thee; . . ye have play'd together
In childhood, shared your riper hopes and fears,
Fought side by side in battle: ... they may be
Brave, generous, all that once their father was,
Whom ye, I ween, call virtuous.

At the name,

With pious warmth I cried, Yes, he was good,

And great, and glorious! Gwyneth's ancient annals Boast not a name more noble: in the war

Fearless he was,.. the Saxon prov'd him so ;
Wise was his counsel, and no supplicant
For justice ever from his palace-gate
Unrighted turn'd away. King Owen's name
Shall live in the after-world without a blot!

There were two brethren once, of kingly line,
The old man replied; they lov'd each other well,
And when the one was at his dying hour,
It then was comfort to him that he left

So dear a brother, who would duly pay
A father's dutie to his orphan boy.

And sure he lov'd the orphan, and the boy,
With all a child's sincerity, lov'd him,

And learnt to call him father: so the years
Went on, till, when the orphan gain'd the age,
Of manhood, to the throne his uncle came.

The

young man claim'd a fair inheritance,

His father's lands; and... mark what follows, prince! At midnight he was seiz'd, and to his eyes

The brazen plate was held. He look'd around

...

His prison room for help, .. he only saw

The ruffian forms, who to the red-hot brass
Forced his poor eyes, and held the open lids,
Till the long agony consum'd the sense;

And when their hold relax'd, it had been worth
The wealth of worlds if he could then have seen
Their ruffian faces!.. I am blind, young prince,
And I can tell how sweet a thing it is

To see the blessed light!

Must more be told?

What farther agonies he yet endur'd?

Or hast thou known the consummated crime,

And heard Cynetha's fate?

A painful glow

Inflam'd my cheek, and for my father's crime,

I felt the shame of guilt. The dark-brow'd man
Beheld the burning flush, the uneasy eye,

That knew not where to rest. Come! we will search

The slain! arising from his seat, he said.

I follow'd; to the field of fight we went,

And over steeds, and arms, and men, we held
Our way in silence. Here it was, quoth he,

The fiercest war was waged; lo!

in what heaps

Then my heart

Man upon man fell slaughter'd!
Smote me,
and my knees shook; for I beheld
Where, on his conquer'd foemen, Hoel lay.

He paus'd, his heart was full, and on his tongue
The imperfect utterance died; a general gloom