Aghast, the Cymrians see, like Titan sons80
New-born from earth,—leap forth the sudden bands:
As when the wind's invisible tremour runs
Through 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,81
Strike with weak hands amazed; half turn to flee;
In vain with knightly charge the chiefs delay
The hostile mass that rolls resistlessly,
And the pale hoofs for aye had trampled down
The Cymrian freedom and the Dragon Crown,
But for that arch preserver, under heaven,82
Of names and states, the Bard! the hour was come
To prove the ends for which the lyre was given:—
Each thought divine demands its martyrdom.
"Where round the central standard rallying flock
The Dragon Chiefs—paused and spoke Caradoc!
"Ye Cymrian men!" Hush'd at the calm sweet sound,83
Droop'd the wild murmur, bow'd the loftiest crest,
Meekly the haughty paladins group'd round
The swordless hero with the mailless breast,
Whose front, serene amid the spears, had taught
To humbled Force the chivalry of Thought.
"Ye Cymrian men—from Heus the Guardian's tomb84
I speak the oracular promise of the Past.
Fear not the Saxon! Till the judgment doom
Free on their hills the Dragon race shall last,
If from you heathen, ye this night can save
One 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 peace
Grasp 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,86
Till 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,87
Advance the Dragon, for the grave is mine."
He ceased: while yet the silver accents thrill'd
Each mailèd bosom down the listening line,
Bounded his steed, and like an arrow went
His plume, swift glancing through the armament.
On through the tempest went it glimmering,88
On 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 breath
Left what saves Nations,—the disdain of death!
Alike the loftiest knight and meanest man,89
All 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.