"Peace while this race remains—(our sons, alas,182
We cannot bind!) Peace with the Mercian men:
This is the ransom. Take it, and we pass
Friends from a foeman's soil: reject it,—then
Firm to this land we cling, as if our own,
Till the last Saxon falls, or Cymri's throne!"
Abrupt upon the audience dies the voice,183
And varying passions stir the murmurous groups;
Here, to the wiser; there, the haughtier choice:
Youth rears its crest; but age foreboding droops;
Chiefs yearn for fame; the crowds to safety cling;
The murmurs hush, and thus replies the King:—
"Foe, thy proud speech offends no manly ear.184
So would I speak, could our conditions change.
Peace gives no shame, where war has brought no fear;
We fought for freedom,—we disdain revenge;
The freedom won, no cause for war remains,
And loyal Honour binds more fast than chains.
"The Peace thus proffer'd, with accustom'd rites,185
Hostage and oath, confirm, ye Teuton kings,
And ye are free! Where we, the Christians, fight,
Our Valkyrs sail with healing on their wings;
We shed no blood but for our fatherland!—
And so, frank soldier, take this soldier's hand!"
Low o'er that conquering hand, the high-soul'd foe186
Bow'd the war plumed upon his raven crest;
Caught from those kingly words, one generous glow
Chased Hate's last twilight from each Cymrian breast;
Humbled, the captives hear the fetters fall,
Power's tranquil shadow—mercy, awes them all!
Dark scowl the Priests;—with vengeance priestcraft dies!187
Slow looks, where Pride yet struggles, Crida rears;
On Crida's child rest Arthur's soft'ning eyes,
And Crida's child is weeping happy tears;
And Lancelot, closer at Genevra's side,
Pales at the compact that may lose the bride.
When from the altar by the holy rood,188
Come the deep accents of the Cymrian Mage,
Sublimely bending o'er the multitude
Thought's Atlas temples crown'd with Titan age,
O'er Druid robes the beard's broad silver streams,
As when the vision rose on virgin dreams.
"Hearken, ye Scythia's and Cimmeria's sons,189
Whose sires alike by golden rivers dwelt,
When sate the Asas on their hunter thrones;
When Orient vales rejoiced the shepherd Celt;
While Eve's young races towards each other drawn,
Roved lingering round the Eden gates of dawn.
"Still the old brother-bond in these new homes,190
After long woes shall bind your kindred races;
Here, the same God shall find the sacred domes;
And the same landmarks bound your resting-places,
What time, o'er realms to Heus and Thor unknown,
Both Celt and Saxon rear their common throne.
"Meanwhile, revere the Word the viewless Hand191
Writes on the leaves of kingdom-dooming stars;
Through Prydain's Isle of Pines, from sea to land,
Where yet Rome's eagle leaves the thunder scars,
The sceptre sword of Saxon kings shall reach,
And new-born nations speak the Teuton's speech;