Grateful to heaven, and heaven's plumed messenger,78
He raised his reverent eyes, then shook the rein:
Bounded the barb, disdainful of the spur,
Clear'd the steep cliff, and scour'd along the plain.
Still, while he sped, the swifter wings that lead
Seem to rebuke for sloth the swiftening steed.
Nor cause unmeet for grateful thought, I ween,79
Had the good King; nor vainly warn'd the bird;
Nor idly fled the steed; as shall be seen,
If, where the Vandal and his friend conferr'd,
Awhile our path retracing, we relate
What craft deems guiltless when the craft of state.
"Sire," quoth Astutio, "well I comprehend80
Your cause for grief; the seedsman breaks the ground
For the new plant; new thrones that would extend
Their roots, must loosen all the earth around;
For trees and thrones no rule than this more true,
What most disturbs the old best serves the new.
"Thus all ways wise to push your princely son81
Under the soil of Cymri's ancient stem;
And if the ground the thriving plant had won,
What prudent man will plants that thrive condemn?
Sir, in your move a master hand is seen,
Your well play'd bishop caught both tower and queen."
"And now checkmate!" the wretched sire exclaims,82
With watering eyes, and mouth that water'd too.
"Nay," quoth the sage; "a match means many games,
Replace the pieces, and begin anew.
You want this Cymrian's crown—the want is just."—
"But how to get it?"—"Sir, with ease, I trust.
"The witch is married—better that than burn83
(A well-known text—to witches not applied);
But let that pass:—great sir, to Anglia turn,
And mate your Vandal with a Saxon bride.
Her dower," cried Ludovick, "the dower's the thing."
"The lands and sceptre of the Cymrian King."
Then to that anxious sire the learned man84
Bared the large purpose latent in his speech;
O'er Britain's gloomy history glibly ran;
Anglia's new kingdoms, he described them each;
But most himself to Mercia he addresses,
For Mercia's king, great man, hath two princesses!
Long on this glowing theme enlarged the sage,85
And turn'd, return'd, and turn'd it o'er again;
Thus when a mercer would your greed engage
In some fair silk, or cloth of comely grain,
He spreads it out—upholds it to the day,
Then sighs "So cheap, too!"—and your soul gives way.
He show'd the Saxon, hungering to devour86
The last unconquer'd realm the Cymrian boasts;
He dwelt at length on Mercia's gathering power,
Swell'd, year by year, from Elbe's unfailing hosts.
Then proved how Mercia scarcely could retain
Beneath the sceptre what the sword might gain.
"For Mercia's vales from Cymri's hills are far,87
And Mercian warriors hard to keep afield;
And men fresh conquer'd stormy subjects are;
What can't be held 'tis no great loss to yield;
And still the Saxon might secure his end,
If where the foe had reign'd he left the friend.