Breaking from his trancelike despair, Llewelyn madly rushed to the water's brink and again and again strove to end his miserable existence by flinging himself into the gloomy sea. But his people restrained him, and the nurse brought the little Rhiwallon to his side. The unhappy father turned to look on his child, then with renewed agony, as he remembered how he had for ever deprived that tender nursling of a mother's care, he groaned aloud and smote his hands wildly together. But now, through the quiet evening air—calm and serene—like dew on the parched and weary herb, was borne this soothing message from invisible realms:
Farewell to the home of my brief mortal years,
Farewell to the valley of sunshine and tears.
Now over our castle on Arvon's pale shore
The waters of Meinai shall surge evermore.
Llyn Idwyl! sleep calmly—thou desolate lake.
Dark Glydirs! no Esgair your echoes shall wake.
But mourn not, Llewelyn, the fate of thy love,
She smiles still upon thee from regions above.
Arise and walk onward, nor idly repine,