The sacred ground, where chiefs of yore

The everlasting fire adored,

The solemn pledge of safety bore,

And breathed not of the treacherous sword.

The amber wreath his temples bound;
His vest concealed the murderous blade;
As man to man, the board around,
The guileful chief his host arrayed.

None but the noblest of the land,

The flower of Britain's chiefs, were there: Unarmed, amid the Saxon band,

They sate, the fatal feast to share.

Three hundred chiefs, three score and three,

Went, where the festal torches burned

Before the dweller of the sea:

They went; and three alone returned.

"Till dawn the pale sweet mead they quaffed:

The ocean-chief unclosed his vest;

His hand was on his dagger's haft,
And daggers glared at every breast.

But him, at Eidiol's* breast who aimed,
The mighty Briton's arm laid low:
His eyes with righteous anger flamed;
He wrenched the dagger from the foe;

And through the throng he cleft his way,
And raised without his battle cry;

And hundreds hurried to the fray,

From towns, and vales, and mountains high.

But Britain's best blood dyed the floor
Within the treacherous Saxon's hall;

Of all, the golden chain who wore,

Two only answered Eidiol's call.

* Eidiol or Emrys: Emrys Wledig: Ambrosius.

Then clashed the sword; then pierced the lance;
Then by the axe the shield was riven;
Then did the steed on Cattraeth prance,
And deep in blood his hoofs were driven.

Even as the flame consumes the wood,
So Eidiol rushed along the field;

As sinks the snow-bank in the flood,
So did the ocean-rovers yield.

The spoilers from the fane he drove;
He hurried to the rock-built tower,
Where the base king,* in mirth and love,
Sate with his Saxon paramour.*

The storm of arms was on the gate,

The blaze of torches in the hall,

So swift, that ere they feared their fate,

The flames had scaled their chamber wall.

* Vortigern and Rowena.

They died: for them no Briton grieves;
No planted flower above them waves;

No hand removes the withered leaves
That strew their solitary graves.

And time the avenging day brought round
That saw the sea-chief vainly sue :

To make his false host bite the ground

Was all the hope our warrior knew.

And evermore the strife he led,
Disdaining peace, with princely might,
Till, on a spear, the spoiler's* head
Was reared on Caer-y-Cynan's height.

The Song of Aneurin touched deeply on the sympathies of the audience, and was followed by a grand martial symphony, in the midst of which Taliesin appeared in the

Circle of Bards. King Arthur welcomed him with great joy, and sweet smiles were showered upon him from all the beauties of the court.

Taliesin answered the metrical and mystical questions to the astonishment of the most proficient; and, advancing, in his turn, to the front of the circle, he sang a portion of a poem which is now called HANES TALIESIN, The History of Taliesin; but which shall be here entitled

THE CAULDRON OF CERIDWEN.

The sage Ceridwen was the wife
Of Tegid Voël, of Pemble Mere:
Two children blest their wedded life,
Morvran and Creirwy, fair and dear: