THE PASSING OF LLWELYN AP GRUFFYDD by ARTHUR GLYN PRYS-JONES

I

THE winds athwart the mountains moaned and wept
And wove their plaint to dirge and threnody,
A frantic meteor rocked along the sky,
And, from the dark, their hungry fangs awry,
The baying hounds of battle nearer crept,
Sounding with fierce desire their famine cry,
While, lo! the prince of warriors swooned and slept.

II

He faltered past the bridge-head, faint with pain:
There came no light, no golden after-glow,
But mighty groans of travail to and fro,
As when great hearts are born—and dying go
Across the flood to Avalon again—
Where through long days the winds of healing blow
From splendid bowers fresh with dew and rain.

III

And in the storm stole Peace from out the years
With weary face, as one that yearns for sleep,
And knows no song save where sad waters weep:
While with the moon rose Conquest wounded deep,
Her bosom torn, her eyes pearl-touched with tears:
Before her passed a Nation down the steep
Of bondage, through a yoke of crimson spears.

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