Classic Poem

I .

Hawk of war, Howel the Tall,
Prince of men:
Dead is Howel, David slew him;
He will not lead to war again!

Periv once, Kedivor's son,
Sang him so,
Sang his youth and death and passion, —
Now nine centuries ago.

But they say — the bardic poets,
In their rhyme:
Whoso harps those radiant heroes,
Calls them back, as of old time.

Calls them back, and gives them back
Life and breath
In the grey and ancient places,
Where they gave their hearts to death.

And this broken rhyme is made
For a spell,
From the shades to summon Howel
To the Arvon fields he loved so well.

II .

Owain loved an Irish Princess:
Howel sprang
Forthright from two passionate races,
When harp and sword in Arvon rang.

Owain Gwyneth, golden sire
Of sev'n sons,
Fathered him: when Death took Owain,
Seven claimed the crown at once.

First born of the seven, blighted
Yorwerth came;
Then David of the Dagger-stroke,
And Madoc of the sailor's fame.

David's fingers felt the crown,
And he said, —
" Yorwerth of the broken face;
Ere he reign, be David dead!"

Blighted Yorwerth might not reign,
Wanting grace:
But the swords rang out for Howel,
For the beauty of his face.

Hawk of war! Howel ruled them
Royally:
Till his mother's blood within him
Drew him o'er the Irish Sea.

O, but high the Gaelic welcome
Of her house;
And he stayed to speed the feasting
At their Lammas-tide carouse.

All too long indeed, while David,
Left at home,
Plied Argoed with fine fury: —
" Base-born Howel well may roam.

" Not for me this bastard bred
Shall be King,
To come anon with Irishry
Of his mother's nurturing:

" Out my sword!" Swift the word,
Wing'd with fate,
Over sea was sent to Howel: —
" Come, or yet it be too late!"

Through the night the horsemen came,
Spurring west:
" Hawk of war, arouse! the ravens
Pick to shreds your mountain nest!"

Howel's horn broke up the feast:
All the night
They galloped thro' the Gadael fields,
And reached the sea at morning light.

As he rode, at Howel's heart
Stirr'd the strain,
That he sang them while they waited
For the ship to Porth Dinlleyn.

III .

HOWEL'S SONG.

A foaming wave flows o'er the grave
Where Rhivawn lies;
Ah, I love the land beyond Arvon,
Where the trefoil grows and the mountains rise.

I love at eve the seaward stream
Where the seamews brood,
And the sighing vale of Cwm Deuthwr,
Where the nightingale sings in the privet wood.

I love the land where we drank the mead,
And drove the spear,
At green Tegenyl's forest-side,
Where my yellow steed outdid the deer;

Where Hunyd's love, and Gwen's white arm,
Defend my doom;
Where Olwen is, and Gwenerys,
And Nesta like the apple-bloom!

A foaming wave cried out all night
Upon my fate;
Last night I dreamt of an open grave,
A crying wound and a closing gate.

A foaming wave flows o'er the grave
Of Rhivawn's sleep:
But dig my grave at the forest side,
Where the trefoil grows, and the squirrels leap!

IV .

There sang the heart, whose even-song
Came too true,
That soon lay rent on Arvon field
By David's dagger through and through.

There pass'd our Prince of Chivalry;
But our rhyme
May call him yet to Argoed,
'Tis said, as of old time.

The Shepherd there, at nightfall,
To his sheep
Humming some old warlike rhyme,
May see him cross the steep.

There, late we climbed from Cwm Deuthwr
Caera's height,
To wait beside the mountain cairn,
The ancient mystery of night.

The mountain drew his purple folds
Far around,
And the seven tireless torrents
Sent from the Cwm a lonely sound.

From the haunted vale of Howel
At our feet,
We surely heard his even-song
Rise mountain-wild and sweet:

" I love at eve the seaward stream,
Where the seamews brood;
And the sighing vale of Cwm Deuthwr
Where the nightingale sings in the privet wood.

And surely there, beside the cairn,
Arose a form
That gazed afar on Arvon field,
Where the cottage fires shone warm?

His mien heroic, round his brow
The circling bay;
Around his neck the golden torque
Found his dark locks half-way.

V .

So come the stars, so come and go,
He was gone;
Poised high, amid the mountain-night,
Beneath the stars, we stood alone.

But down the track the shepherds take,
As we clung
On the torrent's brink, benighted,
And the mountain-fox gave tongue —

Night, nor Time, nor David's dagger,
Gave a pause
To your deathless rhyme, O Howel,
And, O Wales, your ancient cause!