How then shall man, so frail, his way pursue,
How, not bewilder'd in the gloom, despair?
How light the holy lamp, to light him through?
Cease, Reasoner cease, and mark the wanderer's prayer.
The moral path, O God, by thee design'd,
Still may I tread,-nor tread with fatal pride:
Whate'er my worth,-to thee be praise assign'd:
To thee, who art its maker and its guide.
"If to the sapient page I turn mine eye,
Deep be my search of wisdom, not of fame;
Its end, thy glorious system to descry,
To laud thy bounties, and thy power proclaim!
"Not for its splendour, or its ardent force,
We bless the sun,-but for its genial heat;
And thou shalt bless the good man's pious courses
Nor heed the boasted glories of the great.
May then no series of heroic deeds,
Dazzle the nations with my rising fame!
But let me sooth the wretched heart that bleeds,
And may the poor man's prayer repeat my
So shall I wisely pass, my day on earth,'
The morn,-in infant innocence and glee ;
The noon,-in pious thoughts, and deeds of worth,
The ev'n-in giving up the account to thee!
EPISODE OF CARADOC AND SENENA,
MAID of the golden locks, far other lot
May gentle heaven assign thy happier love,
Blue-eyed Senena!.. She, though not as yet
Had she put off her boy habiliments,
Had told Goervyl all the history
Of her sad flight, and easy pardon gained
From that sweet heart, for guile which meant no ill,
And secresy, in shame too long maintained.
With her dear lady now, at this still hour
Of evening, is the seeming page gone forth,
Beside Caermadoc mere.. They loitered on,
Along the windings of its grassy shore,
In such free interchange of inward thought,
As the calm hour invited; or at times,
Willingly silent. listening to the bird
Whose one repeated melancholy note,
By oft repeating melancholy made,
Solicited the ear; or glader DOW
Harkening that cheerful one, who knoweth all
The songs of all the winged choristers,
And, in one sequence of melodious sounds,
Pours all their music. But one wilder strain
At fits came o'er the water; rising now,
Now with a dying fail, in sink and swell
More exquisitely sweet than ever art
Of man evoked from instrument of touch,
Or beat, or breath. It was the evening gale,
Which, passing o'er the harp of Caradoc,
Swept all its chords at once, and blended all
Their music into one continuous flow.
The solitary bard, beside his harp
Leant underneath a tree, whose spreading boughs,
With broken shade that shifted to the breeze,
Played on the waving waters. Overhead
There was the leafy murmur, at his foot
The lake's perpetual ripple, and from far,
Borne on the modulating gale, was heard
The roaring of the mountain cataract. . .
A blind man would have loved the lovely spot.
Here was Senena by her lady led,
Trembling, yet not reluctant. They drew nigh,
Their steps unheard upon the elastic moss,
Till playfully Goervyl, with quick touch,
Ran o'er the harp-strings. At the sudden sound
He rose... Hath then thy hand, quoth she, O bard,
Forgot its cunning, that the wind should be
Thine harper?.. Come! one strain for Britain's sake;
And let the theme be woman!.. He replied,
But if the strain offend, O lady fair,
Blame thou the theme not me!.. Then to the harp
He sung,.. Three things a wise man will not trust,
The wind, the sunshine of an April day,
And woman's plighted faith. I have beheld
The weathercock upon the steeple point
Steady from morn till eve, and I have seen
The bees go forth upon an April morn,
Secure the sunshine will not end in showers;
But when was woman true?
False bard! thereat,
With smile of playful anger, she exclaim'd,
False bard! and slanderous song! Were such thy thoughts
Of woman, when thy youthful lays were heard
In Heilyn's hall? . . But at that name his heart
Leaped, and his cheek with sudden flush was fired.
In Heilyn's hall, quoth he, I learned the song.
There was a maid, who dwelt among the hills
Of Arvon, and to one of humbler birth
Had pledged her troth; not rashly, nor beguiled,..
They had been playmates in their infancy,
And she in all his thoughts had borne a part,
And all his joys. The moon and all the stars
Witnessed their mutual vows; and for her sake
The song was framed; for in the face of day
She broke them. . . But her name? Goervyl cried.
Quoth he, The poet loved her still too well,
To couple it with shame.
Of woman-kind! she cried, our virtues bloom,
Like violets, in shade and solitude,
While evil eyes hunt all our failings out,
For evil tongues to bruit abroad in jest,
And song of obloquy!.. I knew a maid,
And she too dwelt in Arvon, and she too
Loved one of lowly birth, who ill repaid.
Her spotless faith; for he to ill reports,
And tales of falsehood cunningly devised,
Lent a light ear, and to his rival left
The loathing maid. The wedding-day arrived,
The harpers and the gleemen, far and near,
Came to the wedding-feast; the wedding guests
Were come, the altar dressed, the bridemaids met;
The father, and the bridegroom, and the priest
Wait for the bride. But she the while did off
Her bridal robes, and clipt her golden locks,
And put on boy's attire, through wood and wild
To seek her own true love; and over-sea,
Forsaking all for him, she followed him,
Nor hoping nor deserving fate so fair;
And at his side she stood, and heard him wrong
Her faith with slanderous tales; and his dull eye,
As it had learnt his heart's forgetfulness,
Knew not the trembling one, who even now
Yearns to forgive him all ! -
He turned, he knew
The blue-eyed maid, who fell upon his breast.
THE mariners, meantime, at Ririd's will,
Unreeve the rigging, and the masts they strike; And now ashore they haul the lightened hulks, Tear up the deck, the severed planks bear off, Disjoin the well-scarfed timbers, and the keel Loosen asunder; then to the lake-side Bear the materials, where the ocean lord Himself directs their work. Twelve vessels there, Fitted alike to catch the wind, or sweep With oars the moveless surface, they prepare; Lay down the keel, the stern-post rear, and fix The strong-curved timbers. Others from the wood Bring the tall pines and from their hissing trunks Force, by the aid of fire, the needful gam; Beneath the close-caulked planks its odorous stream They pour; then, last, the round-projecting prows With iron arm, and launch, in uproar loud
Of joy, anticipating victories,
The gallies, fong and sharp. The masts are reared, The sails are bent, and lo! the ready barks
It chanced, the Hoamen found A spy of Aztlán, and before the prince They led him. But when Madoc bade him tell, As his life-ransom, what his nation's force, And what their plans; the savage answered him, With dark and sullen eye, and smile of wrath, If aught the knowledge of my country's force Could profit thee, be sure, ere I would let My tongue play traitor, thou shouldst limb from limb Hew me, and make each separate member feel A separate agony of death. O prince! But I will tell ye of my nation's force, That ye may know, and tremble at your That fear may half subdue ye.to the sword Of vengeance... Can ye count the stars of heaven? The waves which ruffle o'er the lake? the leaves. Swept from the autumnal forest? Can ye Upon the eternal snows of yonder height, And number each particular flake that formed The mountain mass? . . so numberless they come, Whoe'er can wield the sword, or hurl the lance, Or aim the arrow; from the growing boy, Ambitious of the battle, to the old man, Who to revenge his country and his Gods
Hastens, and then to die. By land they come;
And years must pass away ere on their path
The grass again will grow they come by lake;
And ye shall see the shoals of their canoes
Darken the waters. Strangers! when our gods
Have conquered, when ye lie upon the stone
Of sacrifice extended, one by one,
Half of our armies cannot taste your flesh,
Though given in equal shares, and every share
Minced like a nestling's food!
Madoc replied,
Azteca, we are few; but through the woods
The lion walks alone. The lesser fowls
Flock multitudinous in heaven, and fly
Before the eagle's coming. We are few ;
And yet thy nation hath experienced us
Enough for conquest. Tell thy countrymen,
We can defend the city which we won.
So saying, he turned away, rejoiced at heart
To know himself, alike by lake or land,
Prepared to meet their power. The fateful day
Draws on; by night the Aztecas embark.
At day-break, from Patamba, they set forth,
From every creek and inlet of the lake,
All moving toward Aztlan; safely thus
Weening to reach the plain before her walls,
And fresh for battle. Shine thou forth, O sun!
Shine fairly forth upon the scene so fair!
Their thousand boats, and the ten thousand oars,
From whose broad bowls the waters fall and flash,
And twice ten thousand feathered helms, and shields,
Glittering with gold and scarlet plumery.
Onward they come, with song and swelling horn;
While, louder than all voice and instrument,
The dash of their ten thousand oars, from shore
To shore, and hill to hill, re-echoing rolls,
In undistinguishable peals of sound,
And endless echo. On the other side
Advance the British barks; the freshening breeze
Fills the broad sail; around the rushing keel
The waters sing, while proudly they sail on,
Lords of the water. Shine thou forth, O sun;
Shine forth upon their day of victory!
Onward the Cymry speed. The Aztecas,
Though wondering at that unexpected sight,
Bravely made on to meet them, seized their bows,
And showered, like rain, upon the pavaised barks,
The rattling shafts. Strong blows the auspicious gale;
Madoc, the lord of ocean, leads the way;
He holds the helm; the galley where he guides
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