"All save thy mountain empire, Dragon King!192
All save the Cymrian's Ararat—Wild Wales![11]
Here Cymrian bards to fame and God shall sing—
Here Cymrian freemen breathe the hardy gales,
And the same race that Heus the Guardian led,
Rise from these graves—when God awakes the dead!"
The Prophet paused, and all that pomp of plumes193
Bow'd as the harvest which the south wind heaves,
When, while the breeze disturbs, the beam illumes,
And blessings gladden in the trembling sheaves.
He paused, and thus renew'd: "Thrice happy, ye
Founders of shrines and sires of kings to be!
"Hear, Harold, type of the strong Saxon soul,194
Supple to truth, untameable by force,
Thy dauntless blood through Gwynedd's chiefs shall roll,[12]
Through Scotland's monarchs take its fiery course,
And flow with Arthur's, in the later days,
Through Ocean-Cæsars, either zone obeys.
"Man of the manly heart, reward the foe195
Who braved thy sword, and yet forbore thy breast,
Who loved thy child, yet could the love forego
And give the sire;—thy looks supply the rest,
I read thine answer in thy generous glance!
Stand forth—bold child of Christian Chevisaunce!"
Then might ye see a sight for smiles and tears,196
Young Lancelot's hand in Harold's cordial grasp,
While from his breast the frank-eyed father rears
The cheek that glows beneath the arms that clasp;
"Shrink'st thou," he said, "from bonds by fate reveal'd?—
Go—rock my grandson in the Cymrian's shield!"
"And ye," the solemn voice resumed, "O kings!197
Hearken, Pendragon, son of Odin, hear!
There is a mystery in the heart of things,
Which Truth and Falsehood seek alike with fear,
To Truth from heaven, to Falsehood, breathed from hell,
Comes yet to both the unquiet oracle.
"Not vainly, Crida, priest, and rune, and dream,198
Warn'd thee of fates commingling into one
The silver river and the mountain stream;
From Odin's daughter and Pendragon's son,
Shall rise the royalties of farthest years
Born to the birthright of the Saxon spears.
"The bright decree that seem'd a curse to hate,199
Blesses both races when fulfill'd by love;
From Cymri's Dragon England's power shall date,
And peace be born to Cymri from the Dove.[13]
Eternal links let nuptial garlands weave,
And Cymri's queen be Saxon Genevieve!"
Perplex'd, reluctant with the pangs of pride,200
And shadowy doubts from dark religion thrown,
Stern Crida, lingering, turn'd his face aside;
Then rise the elders from the idle stone;
From fallen chains the kindred Teutons spring,
Low murmurs rustle round the moody king;
On priest and warrior, while they whisper, dwells201
The searching light of that imperious eye;
Warrior and priest, the prophet word compels;
And overmasters like a destiny—
When towards the maid the radiant conqueror drew,
And said, "Enslaver, it is mine to sue!"