But the proof of lineage pure and high,
Is better far supplied
By the calm, fair brow, and fearless eye,
And the step of graceful pride.
Why are the royal maidens here,
Heedless of Saxon foemen near?
Their only court, the minstrel sage,
Who wakes such thrilling sound;
Their train, yon petty childish page;
Their guard, that gallant hound.
They have left their brother’s princely hall,
To greet him from fight returning;
And hope looks out from the eyes of all,
Though fear in their heart lies burning.
“Now, hark!” the eldest maiden cried,
“Kind minstrel, lay thy harp aside,
And listen here with me;
Did not Llywelyn’s bugle sound
From off that dark and wooded mound
You named the Goryn Ddû?” [{59}]
“No, lady, no; my master, kind,
I strive in vain to hear;
’Tis but the moaning of the wind
That cheats thy anxious ear.”
The second lady rous’d her page,
From the peaceful sleep of his careless age;
“Awake, fair child, from thy happy dreams,
Look out o’er the turret’s height,
Is it a lance that yonder gleams
In the moonbeams blue and bright?”
“No, lady mine; not on a lance
Does that fair radiance quiver;
I only see its lustre dance
On the blue and trembling river.”
The youngest and fairest maiden sits
On the turret’s highest stone,
Like the gentle flower that flings its sweets
O’er the ruin drear and lone:
At her feet the hound is crouching still;
And they look so calm and fair,
You might almost deem, by a sculptor’s skill,
They were carved in the grey stone there.
A distant sound the spell hath broken,
The lady and her hound
Together caught the joyful token,
And down the stair they bound.