FAREWELL, my brother, cried the Ocean Chief;
A little while farewell! as through the gate
Of Dinevawr he past, to pass again
That hospitable threshold never more.
And thou too, O thou good old man, true friend.
Of Owen, and of Owen's house, farewell!
'Twill not be told me, Rhys, when thy grey hairs
Are to the grave gone down ; but oftentimes
In the distant world I shall remember thee,
And think that, come thy summons when it may,
Thou wilt not leave a braver man behind. . . .
Now God be with thee, Rhys!
The old Chief paused
A moment ere he answered, as for pain;
Then shaking his hoar head, I never yet
Gave thee this hand unwillingly before!
When for a guest I spread the board, my heart
Will think on him, whom ever with most joy
It leapt to welcome: should I ever lift
The spear against the Saxon, . . for old Rhys
Hath that within him yet, that could uplift
The Cimbric spear, .. I then shall wish his aid,
Who oft has conquered with me: when I kneel
In prayer to Heaven, an old man's prayer shall beg
A blessing on thee!
But graspt his hand in silence, then sprang up
A weary way,
And spurred his courser on.
Through forest and o'er fell, Prince Madoc rode;
And now he skirts the bay whose reckless waves
Roll o'er the plain of Gwaelod: fair fields
And busy towns and happy villages,
They overwhelmed in one disastrous day;
For they by their eternal siege had sapped
The bulwark of the land, while Seithenyn
Took of his charge no thought, till, in his sloth
And riotous cups surprised, he saw the sea
Roll like an army o'er the levelled mound.
A supplicant in other courts, he mourned
His crime and ruin; in another's court
The kingly harp of Garanhir was heard,
Wailing his kingdom wrecked; and many a Prince,
Warned by the visitation, sought and gained
A saintly crown, Tyneio, Merini,
Boda and Brenda and Aëlgyvarch,
Gwynon and Celynin and Gwynodyl.
To Bardsey was the Lord of Ocean bound;
Bardsey, the holy Islet, in whose soil
Did many a Chief and many a Saint repose,
His great progenitors. He mounts the skiff;
Her canvass swells before the breeze, the sea
Sings round her sparkling keel, and soon the Lord
Of Ocean treads the venerable shore.
There was not, on that day, a speck to stain
The azure heaven; the blessed Sun, alone,
In unapproachable divinity,
Careered, rejoicing in his fields of light.
How beautiful, beneath the bright blue sky,
The billows heave! one glowing green expanse,
Save where along the bending line of shore
Such hue is thrown, as when the peacock's neck
Assumes its proudest tint of amethyst,
Embathed in emerald glory.
Of Ocean are abroad: like floating foam,
The sea-gulls rise and fall upon the waves;
With long protruded neck the cormorants
Wing their far flight aloft, and round and round
The plovers wheel, and give their note of joy.
It was a day that sent into the heart
A summer feeling: even the insect swarms
From their dark nooks and coverts issued forth,
To sport through one day of existence more;
The solitary primrose on the bank
Seemed now as though it had no cause to mourn
Its bleak autumnal birth; the Rocks, and Shores,
The Forest and the everlasting Hills,
Smiled in that joyful sunshine, .. they partook
The universal blessing.
Where his forefathers were consigned to dust,
Did Madoc come for natural piety,
Ordering a solemn service for their souls.
Therefore for this the Church that day was dressed;
For this the Abbot, in his alb arrayed,
At the high altar stood; for this infused,
Sweet incense from the waving thuribule
Rose like a mist, and the grey brotherhood
Chaunted the solemn mass. And now on high
The mighty Mystery had been elevate,
And now around the graves the bretheren
In long array proceed: each in his hand,
Tall as the staff of some wayfaring man,
Bears the brown taper, with their daylight flames
Dimming the chearful day. Before the train
The Cross is borne, where, fashioned to the life
In shape and size and ghastly colouring,
The awful image hangs. Next, in its shrine
Of gold and crystal, by the Abbot held,
The mighty Mystery came; on either hand
Three Priests uphold above, on silver wands,
The purple pall. With holy water next
A father went, therewith from hyssop branch
Sprinkling the graves; the while, with one accord,
The solemn psalm of mercy all entoned.
Pure was the faith of Madoc, though his mind
To all this pomp and solemn circumstance
Yielded a willing homage. But the place
Was holy;.. the dead air, which underneath
Those arches never felt the healthy sun,
Nor the free motion of the elements,
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