The Poems of Felicia Hemans
vigour to their actions.--Pennant.
[178] Owen Glendwr styled himself the _Dragon_; a name he assumed in
imitation of Uthyr, whose victories over the Saxons were foretold by
the appearances of a star with a dragon beneath, which Uthyr used as
his badge; and on that account it became a favourite one with the
Welsh.--Pennant.
PRINCE MADOC’S FAREWELL.
Why lingers my gaze where the last hues of day
On the hills of my country in loveliness sleep?
Too fair is the sight for a wand’rer, whose way
Lies far o’er the measureless worlds of the deep!
Fall, shadows of twilight! and veil the green shore,
That the heart of the mighty may waver no more!
Why rise on my thoughts, ye free songs of the land
Where the harp’s lofty soul on each wild wind is borne?
Be hush’d, be forgotten! for ne’er shall the hand
Of minstrel with melody greet my return.
--No! no!--let your echoes still float on the breeze,
And my heart shall be strong for the conquest of seas!
’Tis not for the land of my sires to give birth
Unto bosoms that shrink when their trial is nigh;
Away! we will bear over ocean and earth
A name and a spirit that never shall die.
My course to the winds, to the stars, I resign;
But my soul’s quenchless fire, O my country! is thine.
[179] “Bring the horn to Tudwrou, _the Eagle of Battles_.”--See the
_Hirlas Horn_ of Owain Cyfeiliog. The eagle is a very favourite image
with the ancient Welsh poets.
[180] Gwynedd, (pronounced Gwyneth,) North Wales.
[181] Merlin, or Merddin Emrys, is said to have composed his prophecies
on the future lot of the Britons, amongst the mountains of Snowdon.
Many of these, and other ancient prophecies, were applied by Glyndwr to
his own cause, and assisted him greatly in animating the spirit of his
followers.
CASWALLON’S TRIUMPH.
[Caswallon (or Cassivelaunus) was elected to the supreme command of
the Britons, (as recorded in the Triads,) for the purpose of opposing
Cæsar, under the title of Elected Chief of Battle. Whatever impression
the disciplined legions of Rome might have made on the Britons in the
first instance, the subsequent departure of Cæsar they considered
as a cause of triumph; and it is stated that Caswallon proclaimed
an assembly of the various states of the island, for the purpose of
celebrating that event by feasting and public rejoicing.--_Cambrian
Biography._]
From the glowing southern regions,
Where the sun-god makes his dwelling,
Came the Roman’s crested legions
O’er the deep, round Britain swelling.
The wave grew dazzling as he pass’d,
With light from spear and helmet cast;
And sounds in every rushing blast
Of a conqueror’s march were telling.
But his eagle’s royal pinion,
Bowing earth beneath its glory,
Could not shadow with dominion
Our wild seas and mountains hoary!
Back from their cloudy realm it flies,
To float in light through softer skies;
Oh! chainless winds of heaven arise!
Bear a vanquish’d world the story!
Lords of earth! to Rome returning,
Tell how Britain combat wages,
How Caswallon’s soul is burning
When the storm of battle rages!
And ye that shrine high deeds in song,
O holy and immortal throng!
The brightness of his name prolong,
As a torch to stream through ages!
HOWEL’S SONG.
[Howel ab Einion Llygliw was a distinguished bard of the fourteenth
century. A beautiful poem, addressed by him to Myfanwy Vychan, a
celebrated beauty of those times, is still preserved amongst the
remains of the Welsh bards. The ruins of Myfanwy’s residence, Castle
Dinas Brân, may yet be traced on a high hill near Llangollen.]
Press on, my steed! I hear the swell[182]
Of Valle Crucis’ vesper-bell,
Sweet floating from the holy dell
O’er woods and waters round.
Perchance the maid I love, e’en now,
From Dinas Brân’s majestic brow,
Looks o’er the fairy world below,
And listens to the sound!
I feel her presence on the scene!
The summer air is more serene,
The deep woods wave in richer green,
The wave more gently flows!
O fair as ocean’s curling foam![183]
Lo! with the balmy hour I come--
The hour that brings the wanderer home,
The weary to repose!
Haste! on each mountain’s darkening crest
The glow hath died, the shadows rest,
The twilight star on Deva’s breast
Gleams tremulously bright;
Speed for Myfanwy’s bower on high!
Though scorn may wound me from her eye,
Oh! better by the sun to die,
Than live in rayless night!
[182] “I have rode hard, mounted on a fine high-bred steed, upon thy
account, O thou with the countenance of cherry-flower bloom. The speed
was with eagerness, and the strong long-hamm’d steed of Alban reached
the summit of the high land of Brân.”
[183] “My loving heart sinks with grief without thy support, O thou
that hast the whiteness of the curling waves!... I know that this
pain will avail me nothing towards obtaining thy love, O thou whose
countenance is bright as the flowers of the hawthorn!”--Howel’s _Ode to
Myfanwy_.
THE MOUNTAIN FIRES.
[“The custom retained in Wales of lighting fires (_Coelcerthi_) on
November eve, is said to be a traditional memorial of the massacre of
the British chiefs by Hengist, on Salisbury plain. The practice is,
however, of older date, and had reference originally to the _Alban
Elved_, or new-year.”--_Cambro-Briton._
When these fires are kindled on the mountains, and seen through the
darkness of a stormy night, casting a red and fitful glare over heath
and rock, their effect is strikingly picturesque.]
Light the hills! till heaven is glowing
As with some red meteor’s rays!
Winds of night, though rudely blowing,
Shall but fan the beacon-blaze.
Light the hills! till flames are streaming
From Yr Wyddfa’s sovereign steep,[184]
To the waves round Mona gleaming,
Where the Roman track’d the deep!
Be the mountain watch-fires heighten’d,
Pile them to the stormy sky!
Till each torrent-wave is brighten’d,
Kindling as it rushes by.
Now each rock, the mist’s high dwelling,
Towers in reddening light sublime;
Heap the flames! around them telling
Tales of Cambria’s elder time.
Thus our sires, the fearless-hearted,
Many a solemn vigil kept,
When, in ages long departed,
O’er the noble dead they wept.
In the winds we hear their voices--
“Sons! though yours a brighter lot,
When the mountain-land rejoices,
Be her mighty unforgot!”
ERYRI WEN.
[“Snowdon was held as sacred by the ancient Britons, as Parnassus
was by the Greeks, and Ida by the Cretans. It is still said, that
whosoever slept upon Snowdon would wake inspired, as much as if he had
taken a nap on the hill of Apollo. The Welsh had always the strongest
attachment to the tract of Snowdon. Our princes had, in addition to
their title, that of Lord of Snowdon.”--Pennant.]
Theirs was no dream, O monarch hill,
With heaven’s own azure crown’d!
Who call’d thee--what thou shalt be still,
White Snowdon!--holy ground.
_They_ fabled not, thy sons who told
Of the dread power enshrined
Within thy cloudy mantle’s fold,
And on thy rushing wind!
It shadow’d o’er thy silent height,
It fill’d thy chainless air,
Deep thoughts of majesty and might
For ever breathing there.
Nor hath it fled! the awful spell
Yet holds unbroken sway,
As when on that wild rock it fell
Where Merddin Emrys lay![185]
Though from their stormy haunts of yore
Thine eagles long have flown,[186]
As proud a flight the soul shall soar
Yet from thy mountain-throne!
Pierce then the heavens, thou hill of streams!
And make the snows thy crest!
The sunlight of immortal dreams
Around thee still shall rest.
Eryri! temple of the bard!
And fortress of the free!
Midst rocks which heroes died to guard,
Their spirit dwells with thee!
[184] Yr Wyddfa, the Welsh name of Snowdon, said to mean the
_conspicuous place_, or _object_.
[185] Dinas Emrys, (the fortress of Ambrose,) a celebrated rock amongst
the mountains of Snowdon, is said to be so called from having been the
residence of Merddin Emrys, called by the Latins Merlinus Ambrosius,
the celebrated prophet and magician: and there, tradition says, he
wrote his prophecies concerning the future state of the Britons.
There is another curious tradition respecting a large stone, on the
ascent of Snowdon, called _Maen du yr Arddu_, the black stone of Arddu.
It is said, that if two persons were to sleep a night on this stone, in
the morning one would find himself endowed with the gift of poetry, and
the other would become insane.--Williams’s _Observations on the Snowdon
Mountains_.
[186] It is believed amongst the inhabitants of these mountains, that
eagles have heretofore bred in the lofty clefts of their rocks. Some
wandering ones are still seen at times, though very rarely, amongst the
precipices.--Williams’s _Observations on the Snowdon Mountains_.
CHANT OF THE BARDS BEFORE THEIR MASSACRE BY EDWARD I.[187]
Raise ye the sword! let the death-stroke be given;
Oh! swift may it fall as the lightning of heaven!
So shall our spirits be free as our strains--
The children of song may not languish in chains!
Have ye not trampled our country’s bright crest?
Are heroes reposing in death on her breast?
Red with their blood do her mountain-streams flow,
And think ye that still we would linger below?
Rest, ye brave dead! midst the hills of your sires,
Oh! who would not slumber when freedom expires?
Lonely and voiceless your halls must remain--
The children of song may not breathe in the chain!
[187] This sanguinary deed is not attested by any historian of
credit. And it deserves to be also noticed, that none of the bardic
productions since the time of Edward make any allusion to such an
event.--_Cambro-Briton_, vol. i., p. 195.
THE DYING BARD’S PROPHECY.[188]
The hall of harps is lone to-night,
And cold the chieftain’s hearth:
It hath no mead, it hath no light;
No voice of melody, no sound of mirth.
The bow lies broken on the floor
Whence the free step is gone;
The pilgrim turns him from the door
Where minstrel-blood hath stain’d the threshold stone.
“And I, too, go: my wound is deep,
My brethren long have died;
Yet, ere my soul grow dark with sleep,
Winds! bear the spoiler one more tone of pride!
“Bear it where, on his battle-plain,
Beneath the setting sun,
He counts my country’s noble slain--
Say to him--Saxon, think not _all_ is won.
“Thou hast laid low the warrior’s head,
The minstrel’s chainless hand:
Dreamer! that numberest with the dead
The burning spirit of the mountain-land!
“Think’st thou, because the song hath ceased,
The soul of song is flown?
Think’st thou it woke to crown the feast,
It lived beside the ruddy hearth alone?
“No! by our wrongs, and by our blood!
We leave it pure and free;
Though hush’d awhile, that sounding flood
Shall roll in joy through ages yet to be.
“We leave it midst our country’s woe--
The birthright of her breast;
We leave it as we leave the snow
Bright and eternal on Eryri’s crest.
We leave it with our fame to dwell
Upon our children’s breath;
Our voice in theirs through time shall swell--