King Crida's hosts are storming Carduel!1From vale to mount one world of armour shines,Round castled piles for which the forest fell,Spreads the white war-town of the Teuton lines;To countless clarions countless standards swell;King Crida's hosts axe storming Carduel!There, all its floods the Saxon deluge pours;2All the fierce tribes; from those whose fathers first,With their red seaxes from the southward shores,Carved realms for Hengist,—to the bands that burstAlong the Humber, on the idle wallRome built for manhood rotted by her thrall.There, wild allies from many a kindred race,3In Cymrian lands hail Teuton thrones to be:Dark Jutland wails her absent populace,—And large-limb'd sons, his waves no more shall see,Leave Danube desolate! afar they roamWhere halts the Raven there to find a home!But wherefore fail the Vandal's promised bands?4Well said the Greek, "Not till his latest hourDeem man secure from Fortune;" in our handsWe clutch the sunbeam when we grasp at power;—No strength detains the unsubstantial prize,The light escapes us as the moment flies.And monarchs envied Ludovick the Great!5And wisdom's seers his wiles did wisdom call,And Force stood sentry at his castle gate,And Mammon soothed the murmurers in the hall;For Freedom's forms disguised the despot's thought—He ruled by synods—and the synods bought!Yet empires rest not or on gold or steel;6The old in habit strike the gnarlèd root;But vigorous faith—the young fresh sap of zeal,Must make the life-blood of the planted shoot—And new-born states, like new religions, needNot the dull code, but the impassion'd creed.Give but a cause, a child may be a chief!7What cause to hosts can Ludovick supply?Swift flies the Element of Power,Belief,From all foundations hollow'd to a lie.One morn, a riot in the streets arose,And left the Vandal crownless at the close.A plump of spears the riot could have crush'd!8"Defend the throne, my spearmen!" cried the king.The spearmen arm'd, and forth the spearmen rush'd,When, woe! they took to reason on the thing!And then conviction smote them on the spot,That for that throne they did not care a jot.With scuff and scum, with urchins loosed from school,9Thieves, gleemen, jugglers, beggars, swell'd the riot;While, like the gods of Epicurus, coolOn crowd and crown the spearmen look'd in quiet,Till all its heads that Hydra call'd "The Many,"Stretch'd hissing forth without a stroke at any.At first Astutio, wrong but very wise,10Disdain'd the Hydra as a fabled creature,The vague invention of a Poet's lies,Unknown to Pliny and the laws of Nature—Nor till the fact was past philosophizing,Saith he, "That's Hydra, there is no disguising!"A Hydra, Sire, a Hercules demands;11So if not Hercules, assume his vizard."The advice is good—the Vandal wrings his hands,Kicks out the Sage—and rushes to a wizard.The wizard waves his wand—disarms the sentryAnd (wondrous man) enchants the mob—with entry.Thus fell, though no man touch'd him, Ludovick,12Tripp'd by the slide of his own slippery feet.The crown cajoled from Fortune by a trick,Fortune, in turn, outcheated from the cheat;Clapp'd her sly cap the glittering bauble on,Cried "Presto!"—raised it—and the gaud was gone.Ev'n at the last, to self and nature true,13No royal heart the breath of danger woke;To mean disguise habitual instinct flew,And the king vanish'd in a craftsman's cloak.While his brave princes scampering for their lives,Relictis parmulis—forgot their wives!King Mob succeeding to the vacant throne,14Chose for his ministers some wild Chaldeans,—Who told the sun to close the day at noon,Nor sweat to death his betters the plebeians;And bade the earth, unvex'd by plough and spade,Bring forth its wheat in quarterns ready made.The sun refused the astronomic fiat;15The earth declined to bake the corn it grew;King Mob then order'd that a second riotShould teach Creation what it had to do."The sun shines on, the earth demands the tillage—Down Time and Nature, and hurrah for pillage!"Then riseen massethe burghers of the town;16Each patriot breast the fires of Brutus fill;Gentle as lambs when riot reach'd the crown,They raged like lions when it touch'd the till.Rush'd all who boasted of a shop to rob,And stout King Money soon dethroned King Mob.This done, much scandalised to note the fact17That o'er the short tyrannic rise the tall,The middle-sized a penal law enactThat henceforth height must be the same in all;For being each born equal with the other,What greater crime than to outgrow your brother?Poor Vandals, do the towers, when foes assail,18So idly soar above the level wall?Harmonious Order needs its music-scale;The Equal were the discord of the All.Let the wave undulate, the mountain rise;Nor ask from Law what Nature's self denies.O vagrant Muse, deserting all too long,19Freedom's grand war for frenzy's goblin dream,The hour runs on, and redemands from song,And from our Father-land the mighty theme.The Pale Horse rushes and the trumpets swell,King Crida's hosts are storming Carduel!Within the inmost fort by pine trees made,20The hardy women kneel to warrior gods.For where the Saxon armaments invade,All life abandons their resign'd abodes.The tents they pitch the all they prize contain;And each new march is for a new domain.To the stern gods the fair-hair'd women kneel,21As slow to rest the red sun glides along;And near and far, hammers, and clanking steel,Neighs from impatient barbs, and runic songMutter'd o'er mystic fires by wizard priests,Invite the Valkyrs to the raven feasts.For after nine long moons of siege and storm,22Thy hold, Pendragon, trembles to its fall!Loftier the Roman tower uprears its form,From the crush'd bastion and the shatter'd wall.And but till night those iron floods delayTheir rush of thunder:—Blood-red sinks the day.Death halts to strike, and swift the moment flies:23Within the walls (than all without more fell),Discord with Babel tongues confounds the wise,And spectral Panic, like a form of hellChased by a Fury, fleets,—or, stone-like, standsDull-eyed Despondence, palsying nerveless hands.And Pride, that evil angel of the Celt,24Whispers to all "'tis servile to obey,"Robs order'd Union of its starry belt,Rends chief from chief and tribe from tribe away,And leaves the children wrangling for commandRound the wild death-throes of the Father-land.In breadless marts, the ill-persuading fiend25Famine, stalks maddening with her wolfish stare;And hearts, on whose stout anchors Faith had lean'd,Bound at her look to treason from despair,Shouting, "Why shrink we from the Saxon's thrall?Is slavery worse than Famine smiting all?"Thus, in the absence of the sunlike king,26All phantoms stalk abroad; dissolve and droopLight and the life of nations—while the wingOf Carnage halts but for its rushing swoop.Some moan, some rave, some laze the hours away;—And down from Carduel blood-red sunk the day!Leaning against a broken parapet27Alone with Thought, mused Caradoc the Bard,When a voice smote him, and he turn'd and metA gaze prophetic in its sad regard.Beside him, solemn with his hundred years,Stood the arch hierarch of the Cymrian seers."Dost thou remember," said the Sage, "that hour28When seeking signs to Glory's distant way,Thou heard'st the night bird in her leafy bower,Singing sweet death-chaunts to her shining prey,While thy young poet-heart, with ravish'd breath,Hung on the music, nor divined the death?"[1]"Ay," the bard answer'd, "and ev'n now methought29I heard again the ambrosial melody!""So," sigh'd the Prophet, "to the bard, unsought,Come the far whispers of Futurity!Like his own harp, his soul a wind can thrill,And the chord murmur, though the hand be still."Wilt thou for ever, even from the tomb,30Live, yet a music, in the hearts of all;Arise and save thy country from its doom;Arise, Immortal, at the angel's call!The hour shall give thee all thy life implor'd,And make the lyre more glorious than the sword."In vain through yon dull stupor of despair31Sound Geraint's tromp and Owaine's battle cry;In vain where yon rude clamour storms the air,The Council Chiefs stem madd'ning mutiny;From Trystan's mail the lion heart is gone,And on the breach stands Lancelot alone!"Drivelling the wise, and impotent the strong;32Fast into night the life of Freedom dies;Awake, Light-Bringer, wake bright soul of song,Kindler, reviver, re-creator rise!Crown thy great mission with thy parting breath,And teach to hosts the Bard's disdain of death!"Thrill'd at that voice the soul of Caradoc;33He heard, and knew his glory and his doom.As when in summer's noon the lightning shockSmites some fair elm in all its pomp of bloom,'Mid whose green boughs each vernal breeze had play'd,And air's sweet race melodious homes had made;So that young life bow'd sad beneath the stroke34That sear'd the Fresh and still'd the Musical,Yet on the sadness Thought sublimely broke:Holy the tree on which the bolt doth fall!Wild flowers shall spring the sacred roots around,And nightly fairies tread the haunted ground;There, age by age, shall youth with musing brow,35Hear Legend murmuring of the days of yore;There, virgin love more lasting deem the vowBreathed in the shade of branches green no more;And kind Religion keep the grand decayStill on the earth while forests pass away."So be it, O voice from Heaven," the Bard replied,36"Some grateful tears may yet embalm my name,Ever for human love my youth hath sigh'dAnd human love's divinest form is fame.Is the dream erring? shall the song remain?Say, can one Poet ever live in vain?"As the warm south on some unfathom'd sea,37Along the Magian's soul, the awful restStirr'd with the soft emotion: tenderlyHe laid his hand upon the brows he blest,And said, "Complete beneath a brighter sunThat course, The Beautiful, which life begun."Joyous and light, and fetterless through all38The blissful, infinite, empyreal space,If then thy spirit stoopeth to recallThe ray it shed upon the human race,See where the ray had kindled from the dearth,Seeds that shall glad the garners of the earth!"Never true Poet lived and sung in vain!39Lost if his name, and wither'd if his wreath,The thoughts he woke—an element remainFused in our light and blended with our breath;All life more noble, and all earth more fair.Because that soul refined man's common air!"[2]Then rose the Bard, and smilingly unslung40His harp of ivory sheen, from shoulders broad,Kissing the hand that doom'd his life, he sprungLight from the shatter'd wall,—and swiftly strodeWhere, herdlike huddled in the central space,Droop'd, in dull pause, the cowering populace.There, in the midst he stood! The heavens were pale41With the first stars, unseen amidst the glareCast from large pine-brands on the sullen mailOf listless legions and the streaming hairOf women, wailing for the absent dead,Or bow'd o'er infant lips that moan'd for bread.From out the illumed cathedral hollowly42Swell'd, like a dirge, the hymn; and through the throngWhose looks had lost all commerce with the sky,With lifted rood the slow monks swept along,And vanish'd hopeless; From those wrecks of manFled ev'n Religion: Then theBardbegan.Slow, pitying, soft it glides, the liquid lay,43Sad with the burthen of the Singer's soulInto the heart it coil'd its lulling way;Wave upon wave the golden river stole:Hush'd to his feet forgetful Famine crept,And Woe, reviving, veil'd the eyes that wept.Then stern, and harsh, clash'd the ascending strain,44Telling of ills more dismal yet in store;Rough with the iron of the grinding chain,Dire with the curse of slavery evermore;Wild shrieks from lips belov'd pale warriors hear,Her child's last death-groan rends the mother's ear;Then trembling hands instinctive griped the swords;45And men unquiet sought each other's eyes;Loud into pomp sonorous swell the chords,Like linkèd legions march the melodies;Till the full rapture swept the Bard along,And o'er the listeners rush'd the storm of song!And the Dead spoke! from cairns and kingly graves46The Heroes call'd;—and Saints from earliest shrines;And the Land spoke!—Mellifluous river-waves;Dim forests awful with the roar of pines;Mysterious caves from legion-haunted deeps;And torrents flashing from untrodden steeps;—The Land of Freedomcall'd upon the Free!47All Nature spoke; the clarions of the wind;The organ swell of the majestic sea;The choral stars! the Universal MindSpoke, like the voice from which the world began,"No chain for Nature and the Soul of Man!"Then loud through all, as if mankind's reply,48Burst from the Bard the Cymrian battle hymn!That song which swell'd the anthems of the sky,The Alleluia of the Seraphim;When Saints led on the Children of the Lord,And smote the Heathen with the Angel's sword.[3]As leaps the warfire on the beacon hills,49Leapt in each heart the lofty flame divine;As into sunlight flash the molten rills,Flash'd the glad claymores,[4]lightening line on line;From cloud to cloud as thunder speeds along,From rank to rank rush'd forth the choral song.—Woman and child—all caught the fire of men,50To its own heaven that Alleluia rang,Life to the spectres had return'd again;And from the grave an armèd Nation sprang!Then spoke the Bard,—each crest its plumage bow'd,As the large voice went lengthening through the crowd"Hark to the measur'd march!—The Saxons come!51The sound earth quails beneath the hollow tread;Your fathers rush'd upon the swords of RomeAnd climb'd her war-ships, when the Cæsar fled!The Saxons come! why wait within the wall?They scale the mountain—let its torrents fall!"Mark, ye have swords, and shields, and armour,ye!52No mail defends the Cymrian Child of Song,[5]But where the warrior—there the Bard shall be!All fields of glory to the Bard belong!His realm extends wherever godlike strifeSpurns the base death, and wins immortal life."Unarm'd he goes—his guard the shields of all,53Where he bounds foremost on the Saxon spear!Unarm'd he goes, that, falling, ev'n his fallShall bring no shame, and shall bequeath no fear!Does his song cease?—avenge it by the deed,And make his sepulchre—a nation freed!"He said, and where the chieftains wrangling sate,54Led the grand army marshall'd by his song,Into the hall—and on the wild debate,King of all kings,A People, pour'd along;And from the heart of man—the trumpet crySmote faction down, "Arms, arms, and Liberty!"—Meanwhile roll'd on the Saxon's long array;55On to the wall the surge of slaughter roll'd;Slow up the mount—slow heaved its labouring way;The moonlight rested on the domes of gold;No warder peals alarum from the Keep,And Death comes mute, as on the realm of Sleep;When, as their ladders touch'd the ruin'd wall,56And to the van, high-towering, Harold strode,Sudden expand the brazen gates, and allThe awful arch as with the lava glow'd;Torch upon torch the deathful sweep illumes,The burst of armour and the flash of plumes!Rings Owaine's shout;—rings Geraint's thunder-cry,57The Saxon's death-knell in a hundred wars;And Cador's laugh of triumph;—through the skyRush tossing banderolls swift as shooting stars,Trystan's white lion—Lancelot's cross of red,And Tudor's[6]standard with the Saxon's head.And high o'er all, its scalèd splendour rears58The vengeful emblem of the Dragon Kings.Full on the Saxon bursts the storm of spears;Far down the vale the charging whirlwind rings,While through the ranks its barbèd knightood clave,All Carduel follows with its roaring wave.And ever in the van, with robes of white59And ivory harp, shone swordless Caradoc!And ever floated in melodious might,The clear song buoyant o'er the battle shock;Calm as an eagle when the Olympian KingSends the red bolt upon the tranquil wing.Borne back, and wedged within the ponderous weight60Of their own jarr'd and multitudinous crowd,Recoil'd the Saxons! As adown the heightOf some grey mountain, rolls the cloven cloud,Smit by the shafts of the resistless day,—Down to the vale sunk dun the rent array.Midway between the camp and Carduel,61Halting their slow retreat, the Saxons stood:There, as the wall-like ocean ere it fellOn Ægypt's chariots, gather'd up the flood;There, in suspended deluge, solid rose,And hung expectant o'er the hurrying foes!Right in the centre, rampired round with shields,62King Crida stood,—o'er him, its livid maneThe horse whose pasture is the Valkyr's fieldsFlung wide;—but, foremost through the javelin-rain,Blazed Harold's helm, as when, through all the starsDistinct, pale soothsayers see the dooming Mars.Down dazzling sweeps the Cymrian Chivalry;63Round the bright sweep closes the Saxon wall;Snatch'd from the glimmer of the funeral sky,Raves the blind murder; and enclasp'd with allIts own stern hell, against the iron barPants the fierce heart of the imprison'd War.Only by gleaming banners and the flash64Of some large sword, the vex'd Obscure once moreSparkled to light. In one tumultous clashMerg'd every sound—as when the maëlstrom's roarBy dire Lofoden, dulls the seaman's groan,And drowns the voice of tempests in its own.The Cymrian ranks,—disparted from their van,65And their hemm'd horsemen,—stubborn, but in vain,Press through the levell'd spears; yet, man by man,And shield to shield close-serried, they sustainThe sleeting hail against them hurtling sent,From every cloud in that dread armament.But now, at length, cleaving the solid clang,66And o'er the dead men in their frowning sleep,The rallying shouts of chiefs confronted rang,—"Thor and Walhalla!"—answer'd swift and deepBy "Alleluia!" and thy chanted cry,Young Bard sublime, "For Christ and Liberty!"Then the ranks open'd, and the midnight moon67Stream'd where the battle, like the scornful main,Ebb'd from the dismal wrecks its wrath had strewn.Paused either host;—lo, in the central plainTwo chiefs had met, and in that breathless pause,Each to its champion left a Nation's cause.Now, Heaven defend thee, noble Lancelot!68For never yet such danger thee befel,Though loftier deeds than thine emblazon notThe peerless Twelve of golden Carduel,Though oft thy breast hath singly stemm'd a field,—As when thy claymore clang'd on Harold's shield!And Lancelot knew not his majestic foe,69Save by his deeds; by Cador's cloven crest;By Modred's corpse; by rills of blood below,And shrinking helms above;—when from the rest,Spurring,—the steel of his uplifted brandDrew down the lightning of that red right hand.Full on the Saxon's shield the sword descends;70The strong shield clattering shivers at the stroke,And the bright crest with all its plumage bendsAs to the blast with all its boughs an oak:As from the blast an oak with all its boughs,Retowering slow, the crest sublime arose.Grasp'd with both hands, above the Cymrian swung71The axe that Odin taught his sons to wield,Thrice through the air the circling iron sung,Then crash'd resounding:—horse and horseman recl'd,Though slant from sword and casque the weapon shore,Down sword and casque the weight resistless bore.The bright plume mingles with the charger's mane;72Light leaves the heaven, and sense forsakes the breath;Aloft the axe impatient whirrs again,—The steed wild-snorting bounds and foils the death;While on its neck the reins unheeded flow,It shames and saves its Lord, and flies the foe."Lo, Saxons, lo, what chiefs these Walloons[7]lead!"73Laugh'd hollow from his helm the scornful Thane.Then towards the Christian knights he spurr'd his steed,When midway in his rush—rushes againThe foe that rallied while he seem'd to fly,As wheels the falcon ere it swoops from high;—And as the falcon, while its talons dart74Into the crane's broad bosom, splits its ownOn the sharp beak, and, clinging heart to heart,Both in one plumage blent, spin whirling down,—So in that shock each found, and dealt the blow;Horse roll'd on horse, fell grappling foe on foe.First to his feet the slighter Cymrian leapt,75And on the Saxon's breast set firm his knee;Then o'er the heathen host a shudder crept,Rose all their voices,—wild and wailingly;"Woe, Harold, woe!" as from one bosom came,The groan of thousands, and the mighty name.The Cymrian starts, and stays his lifted hand,76For at that name from Harold's vizor shoneGenevra's eyes! Back in its sheath the brandHe plunged:—sprang Harold—and the foe was gone,—Lost where the Saxons rush'd along the plain,To save the living or avenge the slain.Spurr'd to the rescue every Cymrian knight,77Again confused, the onslaught raged on high;Again the war-shout swell'd above the fight,Again the chant "for Christ and Liberty,"When with fresh hosts unbreath'd, the Saxon kingForth from the wall of shields leapt thundering.Behind the chief the dreadful gonfanon78Spread;—the Pale Horse went rushing down the wind.—"On where the Valkyrs point to Carduel, on!On o'er the corpses to the wolf consign'd!On, that the Pale Horse, ere the night be o'erStall'd in yon tower, may rest his hoofs of gore!"Thus spoke the king, and all his hosts replied;79Fill'd by his word and kindled by his look—(For helmless with his grey hair streaming wide,He strided through the spears)—the mountains shook—Shook the dim city—as that answer rang!The fierce shout chiming to the buckler's clang!Aghast, the Cymrians see, like Titan sons80New-born from earth,—leap forth the sudden bands:As when the wind's invisible tremour runsThrough corn-sheaves ripening for the reaper's hands,The glittering tumult undulating flows,And the field quivers where the panic goes.The Cymrians waver—shrink—recoil—give way,81Strike with weak hands amazed; half turn to flee;In vain with knightly charge the chiefs delayThe hostile mass that rolls resistlessly,And the pale hoofs for aye had trampled downThe Cymrian freedom and the Dragon Crown,But for that arch preserver, under heaven,82Of names and states, the Bard! the hour was comeTo prove the ends for which the lyre was given:—Each thought divine demands its martyrdom."Where round the central standard rallying flockThe Dragon Chiefs—paused and spoke Caradoc!"Ye Cymrian men!" Hush'd at the calm sweet sound,83Droop'd the wild murmur, bow'd the loftiest crest,Meekly the haughty paladins group'd roundThe swordless hero with the mailless breast,Whose front, serene amid the spears, had taughtTo humbled Force the chivalry of Thought."Ye Cymrian men—from Heus the Guardian's tomb84I speak the oracular promise of the Past.Fear not the Saxon! Till the judgment doomFree on their hills the Dragon race shall last,If from you heathen, ye this night can saveOne spot not wider than a single grave."For thus the antique prophecy decrees,—85'When where the Pale Horse crushes down the dead,War's sons shall see the lonely child of peaceGrasp at the mane to fall beneath the tread—There, where he falleth let his dust remain,There, bid the Dragon rest above the slain;"'There, let the steel-clad living watch the clay,86Till on that spot their swords the grave have made,And the Pale Horse shall melt in cloud away,No stranger's step the sacred mound invade:A people's life that single death shall save,And all the land be hallow'd by a grave.'"So be the Guardian's prophecy fulfill'd,87Advance the Dragon, for the grave is mine."He ceased: while yet the silver accents thrill'dEach mailèd bosom down the listening line,Bounded his steed, and like an arrow wentHis plume, swift glancing through the armament.On through the tempest went it glimmering,88On through the rushing barbs and levell'd spears;On where, far streaming o'er the Teuton king,Its horrent pomp the ghastly standard rears.On rush'd to rescue all to whom his breathLeft what saves Nations,—the disdain of death!Alike the loftiest knight and meanest man,89All the roused host, but now so panic-chill'd,All Cymri once more as one Cymrian,With the last light of that grand spirit fill'd,Through rank on rank, mow'd down, down trampled, sped,And reach'd the standard—to defend the dead.
King Crida's hosts are storming Carduel!1From vale to mount one world of armour shines,Round castled piles for which the forest fell,Spreads the white war-town of the Teuton lines;To countless clarions countless standards swell;King Crida's hosts axe storming Carduel!
There, all its floods the Saxon deluge pours;2All the fierce tribes; from those whose fathers first,With their red seaxes from the southward shores,Carved realms for Hengist,—to the bands that burstAlong the Humber, on the idle wallRome built for manhood rotted by her thrall.
There, wild allies from many a kindred race,3In Cymrian lands hail Teuton thrones to be:Dark Jutland wails her absent populace,—And large-limb'd sons, his waves no more shall see,Leave Danube desolate! afar they roamWhere halts the Raven there to find a home!
But wherefore fail the Vandal's promised bands?4Well said the Greek, "Not till his latest hourDeem man secure from Fortune;" in our handsWe clutch the sunbeam when we grasp at power;—No strength detains the unsubstantial prize,The light escapes us as the moment flies.
And monarchs envied Ludovick the Great!5And wisdom's seers his wiles did wisdom call,And Force stood sentry at his castle gate,And Mammon soothed the murmurers in the hall;For Freedom's forms disguised the despot's thought—He ruled by synods—and the synods bought!
Yet empires rest not or on gold or steel;6The old in habit strike the gnarlèd root;But vigorous faith—the young fresh sap of zeal,Must make the life-blood of the planted shoot—And new-born states, like new religions, needNot the dull code, but the impassion'd creed.
Give but a cause, a child may be a chief!7What cause to hosts can Ludovick supply?Swift flies the Element of Power,Belief,From all foundations hollow'd to a lie.One morn, a riot in the streets arose,And left the Vandal crownless at the close.
A plump of spears the riot could have crush'd!8"Defend the throne, my spearmen!" cried the king.The spearmen arm'd, and forth the spearmen rush'd,When, woe! they took to reason on the thing!And then conviction smote them on the spot,That for that throne they did not care a jot.
With scuff and scum, with urchins loosed from school,9Thieves, gleemen, jugglers, beggars, swell'd the riot;While, like the gods of Epicurus, coolOn crowd and crown the spearmen look'd in quiet,Till all its heads that Hydra call'd "The Many,"Stretch'd hissing forth without a stroke at any.
At first Astutio, wrong but very wise,10Disdain'd the Hydra as a fabled creature,The vague invention of a Poet's lies,Unknown to Pliny and the laws of Nature—Nor till the fact was past philosophizing,Saith he, "That's Hydra, there is no disguising!
"A Hydra, Sire, a Hercules demands;11So if not Hercules, assume his vizard."The advice is good—the Vandal wrings his hands,Kicks out the Sage—and rushes to a wizard.The wizard waves his wand—disarms the sentryAnd (wondrous man) enchants the mob—with entry.
Thus fell, though no man touch'd him, Ludovick,12Tripp'd by the slide of his own slippery feet.The crown cajoled from Fortune by a trick,Fortune, in turn, outcheated from the cheat;Clapp'd her sly cap the glittering bauble on,Cried "Presto!"—raised it—and the gaud was gone.
Ev'n at the last, to self and nature true,13No royal heart the breath of danger woke;To mean disguise habitual instinct flew,And the king vanish'd in a craftsman's cloak.While his brave princes scampering for their lives,Relictis parmulis—forgot their wives!
King Mob succeeding to the vacant throne,14Chose for his ministers some wild Chaldeans,—Who told the sun to close the day at noon,Nor sweat to death his betters the plebeians;And bade the earth, unvex'd by plough and spade,Bring forth its wheat in quarterns ready made.
The sun refused the astronomic fiat;15The earth declined to bake the corn it grew;King Mob then order'd that a second riotShould teach Creation what it had to do."The sun shines on, the earth demands the tillage—Down Time and Nature, and hurrah for pillage!"
Then riseen massethe burghers of the town;16Each patriot breast the fires of Brutus fill;Gentle as lambs when riot reach'd the crown,They raged like lions when it touch'd the till.Rush'd all who boasted of a shop to rob,And stout King Money soon dethroned King Mob.
This done, much scandalised to note the fact17That o'er the short tyrannic rise the tall,The middle-sized a penal law enactThat henceforth height must be the same in all;For being each born equal with the other,What greater crime than to outgrow your brother?
Poor Vandals, do the towers, when foes assail,18So idly soar above the level wall?Harmonious Order needs its music-scale;The Equal were the discord of the All.Let the wave undulate, the mountain rise;Nor ask from Law what Nature's self denies.
O vagrant Muse, deserting all too long,19Freedom's grand war for frenzy's goblin dream,The hour runs on, and redemands from song,And from our Father-land the mighty theme.The Pale Horse rushes and the trumpets swell,King Crida's hosts are storming Carduel!
Within the inmost fort by pine trees made,20The hardy women kneel to warrior gods.For where the Saxon armaments invade,All life abandons their resign'd abodes.The tents they pitch the all they prize contain;And each new march is for a new domain.
To the stern gods the fair-hair'd women kneel,21As slow to rest the red sun glides along;And near and far, hammers, and clanking steel,Neighs from impatient barbs, and runic songMutter'd o'er mystic fires by wizard priests,Invite the Valkyrs to the raven feasts.
For after nine long moons of siege and storm,22Thy hold, Pendragon, trembles to its fall!Loftier the Roman tower uprears its form,From the crush'd bastion and the shatter'd wall.And but till night those iron floods delayTheir rush of thunder:—Blood-red sinks the day.
Death halts to strike, and swift the moment flies:23Within the walls (than all without more fell),Discord with Babel tongues confounds the wise,And spectral Panic, like a form of hellChased by a Fury, fleets,—or, stone-like, standsDull-eyed Despondence, palsying nerveless hands.
And Pride, that evil angel of the Celt,24Whispers to all "'tis servile to obey,"Robs order'd Union of its starry belt,Rends chief from chief and tribe from tribe away,And leaves the children wrangling for commandRound the wild death-throes of the Father-land.
In breadless marts, the ill-persuading fiend25Famine, stalks maddening with her wolfish stare;And hearts, on whose stout anchors Faith had lean'd,Bound at her look to treason from despair,Shouting, "Why shrink we from the Saxon's thrall?Is slavery worse than Famine smiting all?"
Thus, in the absence of the sunlike king,26All phantoms stalk abroad; dissolve and droopLight and the life of nations—while the wingOf Carnage halts but for its rushing swoop.Some moan, some rave, some laze the hours away;—And down from Carduel blood-red sunk the day!
Leaning against a broken parapet27Alone with Thought, mused Caradoc the Bard,When a voice smote him, and he turn'd and metA gaze prophetic in its sad regard.Beside him, solemn with his hundred years,Stood the arch hierarch of the Cymrian seers.
"Dost thou remember," said the Sage, "that hour28When seeking signs to Glory's distant way,Thou heard'st the night bird in her leafy bower,Singing sweet death-chaunts to her shining prey,While thy young poet-heart, with ravish'd breath,Hung on the music, nor divined the death?"[1]
"Ay," the bard answer'd, "and ev'n now methought29I heard again the ambrosial melody!""So," sigh'd the Prophet, "to the bard, unsought,Come the far whispers of Futurity!Like his own harp, his soul a wind can thrill,And the chord murmur, though the hand be still.
"Wilt thou for ever, even from the tomb,30Live, yet a music, in the hearts of all;Arise and save thy country from its doom;Arise, Immortal, at the angel's call!The hour shall give thee all thy life implor'd,And make the lyre more glorious than the sword.
"In vain through yon dull stupor of despair31Sound Geraint's tromp and Owaine's battle cry;In vain where yon rude clamour storms the air,The Council Chiefs stem madd'ning mutiny;From Trystan's mail the lion heart is gone,And on the breach stands Lancelot alone!
"Drivelling the wise, and impotent the strong;32Fast into night the life of Freedom dies;Awake, Light-Bringer, wake bright soul of song,Kindler, reviver, re-creator rise!Crown thy great mission with thy parting breath,And teach to hosts the Bard's disdain of death!"
Thrill'd at that voice the soul of Caradoc;33He heard, and knew his glory and his doom.As when in summer's noon the lightning shockSmites some fair elm in all its pomp of bloom,'Mid whose green boughs each vernal breeze had play'd,And air's sweet race melodious homes had made;
So that young life bow'd sad beneath the stroke34That sear'd the Fresh and still'd the Musical,Yet on the sadness Thought sublimely broke:Holy the tree on which the bolt doth fall!Wild flowers shall spring the sacred roots around,And nightly fairies tread the haunted ground;
There, age by age, shall youth with musing brow,35Hear Legend murmuring of the days of yore;There, virgin love more lasting deem the vowBreathed in the shade of branches green no more;And kind Religion keep the grand decayStill on the earth while forests pass away.
"So be it, O voice from Heaven," the Bard replied,36"Some grateful tears may yet embalm my name,Ever for human love my youth hath sigh'dAnd human love's divinest form is fame.Is the dream erring? shall the song remain?Say, can one Poet ever live in vain?"
As the warm south on some unfathom'd sea,37Along the Magian's soul, the awful restStirr'd with the soft emotion: tenderlyHe laid his hand upon the brows he blest,And said, "Complete beneath a brighter sunThat course, The Beautiful, which life begun.
"Joyous and light, and fetterless through all38The blissful, infinite, empyreal space,If then thy spirit stoopeth to recallThe ray it shed upon the human race,See where the ray had kindled from the dearth,Seeds that shall glad the garners of the earth!
"Never true Poet lived and sung in vain!39Lost if his name, and wither'd if his wreath,The thoughts he woke—an element remainFused in our light and blended with our breath;All life more noble, and all earth more fair.Because that soul refined man's common air!"[2]
Then rose the Bard, and smilingly unslung40His harp of ivory sheen, from shoulders broad,Kissing the hand that doom'd his life, he sprungLight from the shatter'd wall,—and swiftly strodeWhere, herdlike huddled in the central space,Droop'd, in dull pause, the cowering populace.
There, in the midst he stood! The heavens were pale41With the first stars, unseen amidst the glareCast from large pine-brands on the sullen mailOf listless legions and the streaming hairOf women, wailing for the absent dead,Or bow'd o'er infant lips that moan'd for bread.
From out the illumed cathedral hollowly42Swell'd, like a dirge, the hymn; and through the throngWhose looks had lost all commerce with the sky,With lifted rood the slow monks swept along,And vanish'd hopeless; From those wrecks of manFled ev'n Religion: Then theBardbegan.
Slow, pitying, soft it glides, the liquid lay,43Sad with the burthen of the Singer's soulInto the heart it coil'd its lulling way;Wave upon wave the golden river stole:Hush'd to his feet forgetful Famine crept,And Woe, reviving, veil'd the eyes that wept.
Then stern, and harsh, clash'd the ascending strain,44Telling of ills more dismal yet in store;Rough with the iron of the grinding chain,Dire with the curse of slavery evermore;Wild shrieks from lips belov'd pale warriors hear,Her child's last death-groan rends the mother's ear;
Then trembling hands instinctive griped the swords;45And men unquiet sought each other's eyes;Loud into pomp sonorous swell the chords,Like linkèd legions march the melodies;Till the full rapture swept the Bard along,And o'er the listeners rush'd the storm of song!
And the Dead spoke! from cairns and kingly graves46The Heroes call'd;—and Saints from earliest shrines;And the Land spoke!—Mellifluous river-waves;Dim forests awful with the roar of pines;Mysterious caves from legion-haunted deeps;And torrents flashing from untrodden steeps;—
The Land of Freedomcall'd upon the Free!47All Nature spoke; the clarions of the wind;The organ swell of the majestic sea;The choral stars! the Universal MindSpoke, like the voice from which the world began,"No chain for Nature and the Soul of Man!"
Then loud through all, as if mankind's reply,48Burst from the Bard the Cymrian battle hymn!That song which swell'd the anthems of the sky,The Alleluia of the Seraphim;When Saints led on the Children of the Lord,And smote the Heathen with the Angel's sword.[3]
As leaps the warfire on the beacon hills,49Leapt in each heart the lofty flame divine;As into sunlight flash the molten rills,Flash'd the glad claymores,[4]lightening line on line;From cloud to cloud as thunder speeds along,From rank to rank rush'd forth the choral song.—
Woman and child—all caught the fire of men,50To its own heaven that Alleluia rang,Life to the spectres had return'd again;And from the grave an armèd Nation sprang!Then spoke the Bard,—each crest its plumage bow'd,As the large voice went lengthening through the crowd
"Hark to the measur'd march!—The Saxons come!51The sound earth quails beneath the hollow tread;Your fathers rush'd upon the swords of RomeAnd climb'd her war-ships, when the Cæsar fled!The Saxons come! why wait within the wall?They scale the mountain—let its torrents fall!
"Mark, ye have swords, and shields, and armour,ye!52No mail defends the Cymrian Child of Song,[5]But where the warrior—there the Bard shall be!All fields of glory to the Bard belong!His realm extends wherever godlike strifeSpurns the base death, and wins immortal life.
"Unarm'd he goes—his guard the shields of all,53Where he bounds foremost on the Saxon spear!Unarm'd he goes, that, falling, ev'n his fallShall bring no shame, and shall bequeath no fear!Does his song cease?—avenge it by the deed,And make his sepulchre—a nation freed!"
He said, and where the chieftains wrangling sate,54Led the grand army marshall'd by his song,Into the hall—and on the wild debate,King of all kings,A People, pour'd along;And from the heart of man—the trumpet crySmote faction down, "Arms, arms, and Liberty!"—
Meanwhile roll'd on the Saxon's long array;55On to the wall the surge of slaughter roll'd;Slow up the mount—slow heaved its labouring way;The moonlight rested on the domes of gold;No warder peals alarum from the Keep,And Death comes mute, as on the realm of Sleep;
When, as their ladders touch'd the ruin'd wall,56And to the van, high-towering, Harold strode,Sudden expand the brazen gates, and allThe awful arch as with the lava glow'd;Torch upon torch the deathful sweep illumes,The burst of armour and the flash of plumes!
Rings Owaine's shout;—rings Geraint's thunder-cry,57The Saxon's death-knell in a hundred wars;And Cador's laugh of triumph;—through the skyRush tossing banderolls swift as shooting stars,Trystan's white lion—Lancelot's cross of red,And Tudor's[6]standard with the Saxon's head.
And high o'er all, its scalèd splendour rears58The vengeful emblem of the Dragon Kings.Full on the Saxon bursts the storm of spears;Far down the vale the charging whirlwind rings,While through the ranks its barbèd knightood clave,All Carduel follows with its roaring wave.
And ever in the van, with robes of white59And ivory harp, shone swordless Caradoc!And ever floated in melodious might,The clear song buoyant o'er the battle shock;Calm as an eagle when the Olympian KingSends the red bolt upon the tranquil wing.
Borne back, and wedged within the ponderous weight60Of their own jarr'd and multitudinous crowd,Recoil'd the Saxons! As adown the heightOf some grey mountain, rolls the cloven cloud,Smit by the shafts of the resistless day,—Down to the vale sunk dun the rent array.
Midway between the camp and Carduel,61Halting their slow retreat, the Saxons stood:There, as the wall-like ocean ere it fellOn Ægypt's chariots, gather'd up the flood;There, in suspended deluge, solid rose,And hung expectant o'er the hurrying foes!
Right in the centre, rampired round with shields,62King Crida stood,—o'er him, its livid maneThe horse whose pasture is the Valkyr's fieldsFlung wide;—but, foremost through the javelin-rain,Blazed Harold's helm, as when, through all the starsDistinct, pale soothsayers see the dooming Mars.
Down dazzling sweeps the Cymrian Chivalry;63Round the bright sweep closes the Saxon wall;Snatch'd from the glimmer of the funeral sky,Raves the blind murder; and enclasp'd with allIts own stern hell, against the iron barPants the fierce heart of the imprison'd War.
Only by gleaming banners and the flash64Of some large sword, the vex'd Obscure once moreSparkled to light. In one tumultous clashMerg'd every sound—as when the maëlstrom's roarBy dire Lofoden, dulls the seaman's groan,And drowns the voice of tempests in its own.
The Cymrian ranks,—disparted from their van,65And their hemm'd horsemen,—stubborn, but in vain,Press through the levell'd spears; yet, man by man,And shield to shield close-serried, they sustainThe sleeting hail against them hurtling sent,From every cloud in that dread armament.
But now, at length, cleaving the solid clang,66And o'er the dead men in their frowning sleep,The rallying shouts of chiefs confronted rang,—"Thor and Walhalla!"—answer'd swift and deepBy "Alleluia!" and thy chanted cry,Young Bard sublime, "For Christ and Liberty!"
Then the ranks open'd, and the midnight moon67Stream'd where the battle, like the scornful main,Ebb'd from the dismal wrecks its wrath had strewn.Paused either host;—lo, in the central plainTwo chiefs had met, and in that breathless pause,Each to its champion left a Nation's cause.
Now, Heaven defend thee, noble Lancelot!68For never yet such danger thee befel,Though loftier deeds than thine emblazon notThe peerless Twelve of golden Carduel,Though oft thy breast hath singly stemm'd a field,—As when thy claymore clang'd on Harold's shield!
And Lancelot knew not his majestic foe,69Save by his deeds; by Cador's cloven crest;By Modred's corpse; by rills of blood below,And shrinking helms above;—when from the rest,Spurring,—the steel of his uplifted brandDrew down the lightning of that red right hand.
Full on the Saxon's shield the sword descends;70The strong shield clattering shivers at the stroke,And the bright crest with all its plumage bendsAs to the blast with all its boughs an oak:As from the blast an oak with all its boughs,Retowering slow, the crest sublime arose.
Grasp'd with both hands, above the Cymrian swung71The axe that Odin taught his sons to wield,Thrice through the air the circling iron sung,Then crash'd resounding:—horse and horseman recl'd,Though slant from sword and casque the weapon shore,Down sword and casque the weight resistless bore.
The bright plume mingles with the charger's mane;72Light leaves the heaven, and sense forsakes the breath;Aloft the axe impatient whirrs again,—The steed wild-snorting bounds and foils the death;While on its neck the reins unheeded flow,It shames and saves its Lord, and flies the foe.
"Lo, Saxons, lo, what chiefs these Walloons[7]lead!"73Laugh'd hollow from his helm the scornful Thane.Then towards the Christian knights he spurr'd his steed,When midway in his rush—rushes againThe foe that rallied while he seem'd to fly,As wheels the falcon ere it swoops from high;—
And as the falcon, while its talons dart74Into the crane's broad bosom, splits its ownOn the sharp beak, and, clinging heart to heart,Both in one plumage blent, spin whirling down,—So in that shock each found, and dealt the blow;Horse roll'd on horse, fell grappling foe on foe.
First to his feet the slighter Cymrian leapt,75And on the Saxon's breast set firm his knee;Then o'er the heathen host a shudder crept,Rose all their voices,—wild and wailingly;"Woe, Harold, woe!" as from one bosom came,The groan of thousands, and the mighty name.
The Cymrian starts, and stays his lifted hand,76For at that name from Harold's vizor shoneGenevra's eyes! Back in its sheath the brandHe plunged:—sprang Harold—and the foe was gone,—Lost where the Saxons rush'd along the plain,To save the living or avenge the slain.
Spurr'd to the rescue every Cymrian knight,77Again confused, the onslaught raged on high;Again the war-shout swell'd above the fight,Again the chant "for Christ and Liberty,"When with fresh hosts unbreath'd, the Saxon kingForth from the wall of shields leapt thundering.
Behind the chief the dreadful gonfanon78Spread;—the Pale Horse went rushing down the wind.—"On where the Valkyrs point to Carduel, on!On o'er the corpses to the wolf consign'd!On, that the Pale Horse, ere the night be o'erStall'd in yon tower, may rest his hoofs of gore!"
Thus spoke the king, and all his hosts replied;79Fill'd by his word and kindled by his look—(For helmless with his grey hair streaming wide,He strided through the spears)—the mountains shook—Shook the dim city—as that answer rang!The fierce shout chiming to the buckler's clang!
Aghast, the Cymrians see, like Titan sons80New-born from earth,—leap forth the sudden bands:As when the wind's invisible tremour runsThrough corn-sheaves ripening for the reaper's hands,The glittering tumult undulating flows,And the field quivers where the panic goes.
The Cymrians waver—shrink—recoil—give way,81Strike with weak hands amazed; half turn to flee;In vain with knightly charge the chiefs delayThe hostile mass that rolls resistlessly,And the pale hoofs for aye had trampled downThe Cymrian freedom and the Dragon Crown,
But for that arch preserver, under heaven,82Of names and states, the Bard! the hour was comeTo prove the ends for which the lyre was given:—Each thought divine demands its martyrdom."Where round the central standard rallying flockThe Dragon Chiefs—paused and spoke Caradoc!
"Ye Cymrian men!" Hush'd at the calm sweet sound,83Droop'd the wild murmur, bow'd the loftiest crest,Meekly the haughty paladins group'd roundThe swordless hero with the mailless breast,Whose front, serene amid the spears, had taughtTo humbled Force the chivalry of Thought.
"Ye Cymrian men—from Heus the Guardian's tomb84I speak the oracular promise of the Past.Fear not the Saxon! Till the judgment doomFree on their hills the Dragon race shall last,If from you heathen, ye this night can saveOne spot not wider than a single grave.
"For thus the antique prophecy decrees,—85'When where the Pale Horse crushes down the dead,War's sons shall see the lonely child of peaceGrasp at the mane to fall beneath the tread—There, where he falleth let his dust remain,There, bid the Dragon rest above the slain;
"'There, let the steel-clad living watch the clay,86Till on that spot their swords the grave have made,And the Pale Horse shall melt in cloud away,No stranger's step the sacred mound invade:A people's life that single death shall save,And all the land be hallow'd by a grave.'
"So be the Guardian's prophecy fulfill'd,87Advance the Dragon, for the grave is mine."He ceased: while yet the silver accents thrill'dEach mailèd bosom down the listening line,Bounded his steed, and like an arrow wentHis plume, swift glancing through the armament.
On through the tempest went it glimmering,88On through the rushing barbs and levell'd spears;On where, far streaming o'er the Teuton king,Its horrent pomp the ghastly standard rears.On rush'd to rescue all to whom his breathLeft what saves Nations,—the disdain of death!
Alike the loftiest knight and meanest man,89All the roused host, but now so panic-chill'd,All Cymri once more as one Cymrian,With the last light of that grand spirit fill'd,Through rank on rank, mow'd down, down trampled, sped,And reach'd the standard—to defend the dead.