While dauntless Druids, by their shrines profaned,2
Stretch'd o'er the steel-clad hush, their swordless hands,[1]
And dire Religion, horror-breathing, chain'd
The frozen eagles,—till the shuddering bands
Shamed into slaughter, broke the ghastly spell,
And, lost in reeks of carnage, sunk the hell
Quiver'd on column-shafts the poisèd rock,3
As if a breeze could shake the ruin down;
But storm on storm had sent its thunder-shock,
Nor reft the temple of its mystic crown—
So awe of Power Divine on human breasts
Vibrates for ever, and for ever rests.
Within the fane awaits a giant pyre,4
Around the pyre assembled warriors stand;
A pause of prayer;—and suddenly the fire
Flings its broad banner reddening o'er the land.
Shoot the fierce sparks and groan the crackling pines,
Toss'd on the Wave of Shields the glory shines.
Lo, from dark night flash Carduel's domes of gold,5
Glow the jagg'd rampires like a belt of light.
And to the stars springs up the dragon-hold,
With one lone image on the lonely height—
O'er those who saw a thrilling silence fell;
There, the still Prophet watch'd o'er Carduel!
Forth on their mission rush'd the wings of flame;6
Hill after hill the land's grey warders rose;
First to the Mount of Bards the splendour came,
Wreath'd with large halo Trigarn's stern repose;
On, post by post, the fiery courier rode,
Blood-red Edeirnion's dells of verdure glow'd;
Uprose the hardy men of Merioneth,7
When, o'er the dismal strata parch'd and bleak,
Like some revived volcano's lurid breath
Sprang the fierce fire-jet from the herbless peak;
Flash'd down on meeting streams the Basalt walls,
In molten flame Rhaiadyr's thunder falls.
Thy Faban Mount, Caernarvon, seized the sign,8
And pass'd the watchword to the Fairies' Hill;
All Mona blazed—as if the isle divine
To Bel, the sun-god, drest her altars still;
Menai reflects the prophet hues, and far
To twofold ocean knells the coming war.
Then wheeling round, the lurid herald swept9
To quench the stars yet struggling with the glare
Blithe to his task, resplendent Golcun leapt—
The bearded giant rose on Moel-y-Gaer—
Rose his six giant brothers,—Eifle rose,
And great Eryri lit his chasms of snows.
So one vast altar was that father-land!10
But nobler altars flash'd in souls of men,
Sublimer than the mountain-tops, the brand
Found pyres in every lowliest hamlet glen
Soon on the rocks shall die the grosser fire—
Souls lit to freedom burn till suns expire.
Slowly the chiefs desert the blazing fane,11
(Sure of steel-harvests from the dragon seed)
Descend the mountain and the walls regain;
As suns to systems, there to each decreed
His glorious task,—to marshal star on star,
And weave with fate the harmonious pomp of war.