Classic Poem

I .

In the Town where marvellous Merlin
 Lived, and still
In deep sleep, they say, lies dreaming
Near it, under Merlin's Hill.

In that town of pastoral Towy,
 Once of old
Stood the ancient House of Hendrë,
Sung on Brechva's harp of gold.

With his harp to Ivor's feasting
 Brechva came,
There he sang and made this ballad,
While the last torch spent its flame.

Long they told,—the men of Ivor,
 Of the strain
At the heart of Brechva's harping
Heard that night, and not again.

II .

In yon town, he sang,—there Hendrë
 Waits my feet,
In renownèd Merlin's town where
Clare's white castle keeps the street.

There, within that house of heroes,
 I drew breath;
And 'tis there my feet must bear me,
For the darker grace of death.

There that last year's night I journeyed,—
 Hallowmas!
When the dead of Earth unburied,
In the darkness rise and pass.

Then in Hendrë (all his harp cried
 At the stroke),
Twelve moons gone, there came upon me
Sleep like death. At length I woke:

I awoke to utter darkness,
 Still and deep,
With the walls around me fallen
Of the sombre halls of sleep:

With my hall of dreams downfallen,
 Dark I lay,
Like one houseless, though about me
Hendrë stood, more fast than they:

But what broke my sleep asunder,—
 Light or sound?
There was known no sign, where only
Night, and shadow's heart, were found.

III .

So it passed, till with a troubled
Lonely noise,
Like a cry of men benighted,
Midnight made itself a voice.

Then I rose, and from the stairloop,
Looking down,
Nothing saw, where far before me
Lay, one darkness, all the town.

In that grave day seemed for ever
To lie dead,
Nevermore at wake of morning
To lift up its pleasant head:

All its friendly foolish clamour,
Its delight,
Fast asleep, or dead, beneath me,
In that black descent of night:

But anon, like fitful harping,
Hark, a noise!
As in dream, suppose your dreamer's
Men of shadow found a voice.

IV .

Night-wind never sang more strangely,
Song more strange;
All confused, yet with a music
In confusion's interchange.

Now it cried, like harried night-birds,
Flying near;
Now, more nigh, with multiplying
Voice on voice, ‘O Brechva, hear!’

I was filled with fearful pleasure
At the call,
And I turned, and by the stairway
Gained the postern in the wall.

Deep as Annwn lay the darkness
At my feet;—
Like a yawning grave before me,
When I opened, lay the street.

Dark as death, and deep as Annwn,—
But these eyes
Yet more deeply, strangely, seeing,
From that grave saw life arise.

And therewith a mist of shadows
In a ring,
Like the sea-mist on the sea-wind,
Waxing, waning, vanishing.

Circling as the wheel of spirits
Whirled and spun,
Spun and whirled, to forewarn Merlin
In the woods of Caledon.

V .

They were gone, but what sweet wonder
Filled the air!—
With a thousand harping noises,—
Harping, chiming, crying there.

At that harping and that chiming,
Straightway strong
Grew my heart, and in the darkness
Found great solace at the song.

Through the gate of night, its vision,
Three times fine,
Saw the seventh heaven of heroes,
'Mid a thousand torches' shine:

All the bards and all the heroes
Of old time
There with Arthur and with Merlin
Weave again the bardic rhyme.

There a seat is set and ready,
And the name
There inscribed, and set on high there,—
‘Brechva of the Bards of Fame!’

Arthur there, and marvellous Merlin,
Mid the throng:
Hark the harps that summon Brechva
To his peace with solemn song.

And all peace be yours and Brechva's
Now, and Fate
In the ancient house of Hendrë
Yield him soon Death's high estate.