THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 CLAUDIA 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. FREDERICK PRIDEAUX. 
 
 It is did and plain." 
 
 Twelfth Nioht. 
 
 LONDON: 
 SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL. 
 
 1865.
 
 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 ART I. 
 
 
 PAUK 
 1 
 
 II 
 
 
 53 
 
 III. 
 
 • 
 
 97 
 
 IV. 
 
 
 
 . 149 
 
 V. 
 
 
 . 181 

 
 CLAUDIA. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 The unrelenting summer sun of Rome 
 
 Poured from the zenith, — not a line of shade 
 
 Edged the white streets,— when Bran, a British prince, 
 
 The son of Llyr, the sire of Caradoc, 
 
 Sat wrapped in sadness at Narcissus' gate : 
 
 Narcissus, freedman and chief favourite 
 
 Of Claudius Caesar. 
 
 For when Llyr, the king 
 Of the fierce tribe that held the Cymric coast 
 North of the tawny channel which receives 
 The rivers of the west, had passed away, 
 His son, the patient, many-thoughted Bran, 
 
 1
 
 2 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Searching his spirit, could not find the skill 
 To rule their turbulence in times of war. 
 Though brave like all his sires, the noble prince 
 Was minded otherwise. He could not hear 
 The trumpets of ambition : they were drowned 
 By a still voice which drew him from the midst 
 Of evil men, to stand above the world 
 And wait the dawning of a better day. 
 Wherefore, withdrawing from the sovereignty, 
 He left it in the hands of Caradoc, 
 His younger son ; the elder prince had fallen 
 In Llyr's last battle with the Roman power, 
 Led on by Aulus Plautius. For himself, 
 He passed, a willing exile, from the court 
 Of grey Trefran ; and crossed the tawny sea, 
 The Summer-country, and the Deep-valed Land ; 
 And paused not, save for needful rest and food, ' 
 Till in the centre of the granite horn 
 That pierces far into the unknown seas 
 He found the solitude his soul desired 
 And grew alive again. 
 
 But Caradoc, 
 
 Whose giant heart sent out a pulse which throbbed 
 On to the farthest limits of his sway,
 
 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Aroused the fierce Silures, and reknit 
 
 The old alliance with the North and West, 
 
 Till as one man the Cymric sovereignties 
 
 Rose on the rash invaders of the world, 
 
 And thrust them eastward from the Sabren's brink, 
 
 And for nine glorious years with desperate arms 
 
 Held them at bay. But as stern winter treads 
 
 Close on the heels of autumn, flushed and full, 
 
 So did disaster follow victory. 
 
 Ere the ninth year had closed, Ostorius, — 
 
 Whose firmer hand now led the alien powers, 
 
 While Plautius in ovation entered Rome, — 
 
 Vanquished the dwindled forces of the king, 
 
 Who, trusting in a traitress, was betrayed, 
 
 And sent a trophy to imperial Rome. 
 
 A splendid gem set round with precious stones, 
 
 His queen, his brothers, and his only child. 
 
 Then all the pageant-loving city thronged 
 
 About his steps, eager to feast their eyes 
 
 Upon this marvellous barbarian, 
 
 Who for a half-score of astonished years 
 
 Defied the arms that had defied the world. 
 
 And now the vast procession wound along 
 
 The shouting streets to where, without the walls, 
 
 1—2
 
 4 CLAUDIA. 
 
 The sun flashed hotly on the glittering arms 
 Of the praetorian hands that lined the fields, 
 And clustered thickly round the imperial thrones 
 Of Agrippina and of Claudius. 
 First came the followers of the captive king, 
 Dejected and ashamed ; and with them, borne 
 On polished cars, the trophies of his wars : 
 Rich golden torques and amber necklaces 
 Won in a hundred fights. Then as these passed, 
 The noisy rapture, rending all the ah-, 
 Swept on from street to street, but followed still 
 By awe -struck murmurs : for behind the cars 
 The royal captives dragged their weary limbs, 
 Heavy with gilded chains : and last of all, 
 With eye unquenched and an unfettered air 
 That mocked his bonds, came Caradoc the king. 
 Now when they reached the throne of Claudius 
 All but the king debased themselves to kneel 
 In shameful supplication for their lives. 
 But as for him, he stood erect and spoke 
 Kingly and soldierly, as speaks a man 
 Unto his fellow : lifting all the while 
 His hand in fitting cadence to his words 
 As easily as if the ponderous chain
 
 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Were a light wreath. Then his majestic air, — 
 His words of unadorned, unhoastful truth, — 
 Went to such heart as Caesar still possessed : 
 So that a spark of nobleness revived 
 Within him ; and much marvelling to himself 
 What this might mean, but conscious of a sense 
 Of unaccustomed light and warmth, resigned 
 His soul to the strange pleasure, and decreed 
 Life and free pardon to the king, his queen, 
 His princely brothers, and his only child, 
 Eirgen, the gold-bright princess. 
 
 So they dwelt 
 As prisoners in a house assigned to them, 
 A splendid palace on the Palatine, 
 Or what seemed such to unaccustomed eyes. 
 
 And though the tooth of secret anguish gnawed 
 The heart of Caradoc, he bore his pangs 
 In silence ; while his feebler kindred sank 
 Beneath their smaller griefs and filled the halls 
 With loud laments. And he and all his kin, 
 He in stem silence, they with loud laments, 
 He with a drowning sense of vaster woes, 
 They cooped in narrow thoughts of narrow things, 
 Pined in that glowing city of the South
 
 CLAUDIA. 
 
 For Britain's mist-wreathed hills and varied skies ; 
 Though lodged and served right nohly, as became 
 Such noble captives, pined for liberty ; 
 Pined for the freedom of the rustic court 
 Held by Silurian kings in grey Trefran, 
 Beside Dunraven's wood-cntufted hill. 
 
 Now when the tidings of that dark defeat 
 And darker treachery reached the ears of Bran, 
 Far in the bleak wilds of the granite horn, 
 They shook him to the centre. He arose 
 And, nerved to action by the sudden stress, 
 Disguised his princely aspect in the weeds 
 Of a poor mendicant ; then, staff in hand, 
 Retraced his steps across the Land of Vales, 
 The garden of the west ; and crossed once more 
 The Summer- country and the tawny sea. 
 So after weary days that grew to weeks 
 Before the toilsome pilgrimage was done, 
 Came to the silent halls of grey Trefran. 
 There lost in tearless grief he paced along 
 The grass-grown roadway to the ruined gate, 
 Once all alive with loyal multitudes. 
 And thence through desolate spaces, wherein once 
 The noblest druids, bards, and warriors
 
 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Met in high council round their nobler king. 
 He wandered on, still lost in tearless grief. 
 So through the banquet-hall, where oftentimes 
 The noise of feast and dance and merriment 
 Had made the walls and roof-tree ring again, 
 He passed in tearless grief. But when at length 
 He reached the inner chamber, once the home 
 Where Caradoc the husband, son, and sire 
 Forgot to be a soldier and a king, 
 He bowed his hoary head and wept his fill. 
 But soon the eager thirst of grief for grief 
 ilade him uplift his eyes and gaze around 
 On all that was and was not, till at length 
 That pain was slowly quenched with greater pain. 
 
 Then rose the prince to seek the inland hills, 
 Where dwelt within a secret woodland hut 
 Cadair, his faithful hind, from whom he learned 
 That all was over true ; Siluria 
 Lay as a vassal province at the feet 
 Of the world's ruler ; Caradoc, betrayed, 
 Was home in triumph as a thrall to Rome, 
 The hateful city. 
 
 But it came to pass, 
 As each successive note of misery
 
 8 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Fell on his cars and sank into bis heart, 
 
 He grew the stronger. For his soul, drawn back 
 
 From her vast wanderings through the confused worlds 
 
 Of space and speculation, centred home, 
 
 And mustered all her forces for the field 
 
 Of actual and inevitable life. 
 
 Nor many days had passed, or ere, once more 
 
 In sordid weeds arrayed, ho took his way 
 
 To Venta by the coast, and finding there 
 
 A vessel bound for Gaul, set sail in her, 
 
 And through the Gallic forests and flat lands 
 
 Passed with unflinching foot until he reached 
 
 The broad Rhodane, whose barges carried him 
 
 To rich Massilia's many-masted port. 
 
 Thence rudely tossed on the Tyrrhenian waves, 
 
 He came to Ostia, and at length to Rome. 
 
 And clad in all his native dignity, 
 
 Which like a rich and ample robe of state 
 
 Concealed the mean and travel-stained attire 
 
 That hung upon his stately form, he stood 
 
 In Caesar's presence and besought of him 
 
 That Caradoc his heir, the chosen chief 
 
 Of all the Cymri, might return in peace 
 
 To Britain, while that he, his sire, remained
 
 CLAUDIA. 9 
 
 In Rome, a hostage for his fealty. 
 And Claudius seemed to listen to his suit 
 With favouring ears ; but many vexing forms 
 Hung on the wheels of action, and required 
 Hard proofs of most plain things. Till on a day 
 In the imperial presence sire and son 
 Met without warning ; and their mighty love, 
 Like a swollen torrent rising, bore them on 
 Into each other's arms with bursting sobs 
 Of joy and grief that could not be controlled, 
 And so the proof was plain to- all the world. 
 Then Cassar,— -thinking thus to pacify 
 The wrathful people of the Western isles, 
 Who held his legions still at bay, or else 
 Out of a mere infirmity of will, — 
 Granted the prince's prayer, or seemed to grant. 
 But the court favourites, greedy for a bribe, 
 Hampered the prince's business ; and the king 
 Remained a captive still ; and his sire's heart 
 Grew sick with hope deferred from day to day. 
 
 Thus then it was that Brfm, a British prince, 
 The son of Llyr, the sire of Caradoc, 
 Sat wrapped in sadness at Narcissus' gate. 
 
 And as he waited on the favourite,
 
 10 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Worn out with long delays, and still denied 
 By scornful menials, a stranger passed : 
 An aged man, who pausing near him made 
 Oheisance as the Easterns make and said, 
 
 " prince, — for all men know thou art a prince 
 From the far isle of Britain, — I beseech thee 
 Pardon thy sexwant. All my heart is moved 
 To see thee watch thus patiently in vain, 
 Day after day, year after year, to win 
 An audience of Narcissus. Verily 
 A tythe of all this thankless service paid 
 Unto the King of kings, would purchase thee 
 More fruitful hearing." 
 
 " Nay, thou knowest not," 
 Bran answered him, full courteously, but yet 
 With just a touch of coldness in the tone ; 
 For though most patient of his own disgrace 
 It galled his heart to think his fallen estate 
 Should cast a slur on Britain, being linked 
 E'en by a casual comment with her name. 
 
 " At my first coming I had audience 
 Of him thou rightly call'st the King of kings, 
 Though such he be not rightfully. Yea more, 
 Caesar allowed my suit. But none the less
 
 CLAUDIA. 11 
 
 The business lingers, in the greedy hands 
 Of this Narcissus ; wherefore I besiege 
 His still reluctant doors." 
 
 Then said the man, 
 " Pardon ! my lord, my words were over-dark 
 And failed to show my meaning. Know, prince, 
 I spake not of imperial Claudius ; 
 But of the Lord of heaven and earth, Who reigns 
 From everlasting on to evermore. 
 In "Whose vast hand the kings and emperors 
 Are pliant tools, Whose palace-doors stand wide 
 In every place, Whose kingdom is a home 
 For sorrowing exiles scattered through the world." 
 
 At that the languid eyelids of the prince 
 Were lifted suddenly, as if the words 
 Had touched a secret in his breast. 
 
 " Yea, true, 
 I missed thy meaning, friend ; yet none the less 
 That meaning was the meaning of my life 
 Until misfortune drove me from the calm 
 Of meditation in the Cymric wilds, 
 And led me to this vile tumultuous place, 
 This seething caldron filled to the hissing brim 
 With cruelty and luxury. Here all thoughts
 
 12 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Save those of indignation and despair 
 
 Have died within me. Yet how long I watched 
 
 Those heavenly palace-doors ! but never once 
 
 Did any streak of light show them ajar, 
 
 Nor any voice reply." 
 
 "Yet God has heard,'' 
 Broke in the stranger — " yea, and answered too, 
 Though thou hast thought Him deaf to thy desire. 
 He drew thee from the empty, voiceless wilds, 
 From that close gazing on the inner dark 
 Which bums the aching eye -balls of the soul. 
 But never pierces to the light beyond. 
 His hand has brought thee hither ; here, in Rome, 
 His servant waits to lead thee to His feet." 
 
 He ceased ; and Bran was silent for a space 
 As if he gathered up the golden words 
 And told them over. Then he rose from off 
 The clients' sordid bench, girded his robe, 
 Turned from Narcissus' door, and made as though 
 He would have joined the stranger, saying, — 
 
 "Friend, 
 'Tis well a man should know with whom he speaks. 
 Therefore I will not hide that I am Bran, 
 The son of Llyr, the sire of Caradoc,
 
 CLAUDIA. 13 
 
 Fain to become a hostage for my son. 
 Who then art thou ?" 
 
 " My name is Julius," 
 The stranger answered in an altered voice, 
 Saddened by nameless memories and regrets, — 
 " A name of little note or novelty. 
 Born of the Hebrew race in Lydia, 
 But disallowed by all my kin and creed 
 For this strange crime ; that when our God vouchsafed 
 To grant us our desire, to hear the prayer 
 Which swelled for ages Judah's yearning heart, 
 I would not slight His gift — no less a gift 
 Than that Deliverer sought by kings and seers, 
 And found at last in Christ of Nazareth. 
 Wherefore, cast out by all, I came to Rome ; 
 Where I have dwelt three years. Many are here 
 Of mine own nation, driven as I have been, 
 From kindred, home, and country, for His sake 
 Who bore worse things for ours, prince, and thine. 
 Others, the sons and daughters of the land, 
 Are joined with us. Some of great houses : more 
 Of the plebeian stock, but most of all 
 Of the disheartened slaves. Among the first 
 Is one of whom thou hast heard in other days,
 
 14 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Pomponia, wife of Aulus Plautius, 
 The general 'who aforetime held command 
 In Britain, ere the days when Caradoc 
 Rose in his strength." 
 
 " Yea ! yea ! " replied the prince, 
 ' ' I have heard men speak of her. A lady wrapt 
 In most mysterious woe, who never changed 
 Her mourning rohe, whose hah- was white with snow 
 That fell in summer. Some averred her grief 
 Grew from her childless state ; but others said 
 That soitow for a dear friend put to death 
 Because her beauty vexed the wicked eyes 
 Of Messalina, gnawed upon her still. 
 However this might be, thus much was clear, — 
 That she was stricken to the hopeless heart. 
 Yet though so stricken that all the tears she had 
 Seemed but too few for her own misery, 
 She spared full many a precious drop for ours. 
 Many a captive owed his rescued life 
 To her kind pleadings. Many a trembling town 
 Was spared the cruel rifling of the troops 
 At her entreaties. Yet the veterans, 
 Though muttering curses on the general, 
 J! ad not a threat for her; so sweet, so pure,
 
 CLAUDIA. 15 
 
 Were all her manners towards them.*' 
 
 " "lis most true," 
 The old man answered, as with laboured breath 
 He overtook the eager- striding prince ; 
 Who, stirred as was his custom by the thought 
 Of generous natures and their gentle deeds, 
 Forgot his new companion in the theme. 
 — ;t Pomponia was all and more than all 
 That thou hast said ; and since those days the Lord 
 Has had compassion on her, drawing her 
 Close to Himself; and has moreover blessed her 
 With a fair daughter, bom in Britain, one 
 As wise as she is fair ; yet no less meek, — 
 ! meeker far ! and far more tractable 
 Than softer natures ; with a heart at one 
 With God in all things."— 
 
 So the old man spoke 
 And sighed in speaking, as a father sighs, 
 Who numbers up the lovely qualities 
 Of a dear, dying child. And then he paused, 
 And when he spoke again, his words recurred 
 To the first theme : — 
 
 " It seems Pomponia's grief 
 Grew from a deeper root than childlessness ;
 
 16 CLAUDIA. 
 
 For though less wild and hitter than in days 
 Of heathen gloom, it hangs about her still, 
 And mars perchance the meaning of her life 
 To her impatient lord." 
 
 " All this I heard 
 By common rumour," said the prince, " and more 
 Was told me by my faithful herdsman's wife, 
 The daughter of a servant of our house ; 
 Who, taken captive as a little maid, 
 Had served Pomponia many happy years 
 Within the alien camp, set free by her 
 When she returned to Rome. Estrildis spake 
 Of some new worship, pure and spiritual 
 Beyond all other worships of the world, 
 Which her dear lady practised, and the which 
 Herself had learned to love. A worship paid, 
 By a new life of holy thoughts and deeds 
 And solemn prayers and praises, to one God, 
 Revealed in him of whom thou spak'st anon, 
 Jesus the Christ ; but wherefore called the Christ, 
 I know not." 
 
 Then the other was not slow 
 To answer fittingly, with words that met 
 The faithful witness in the prince's soul,
 
 CLAUDIA. 17 
 
 And ended thus : — 
 
 " This faith whereof I speak 
 Is no new thing, but eldest born of all : 
 The truth whereof the rest are counterfeits. 
 These base their shadow}' fabrics on the sands. 
 The shifting conscience of the varying race, 
 Whereon arise, to glitter for a day, 
 Frail shrines of worship paid to fancied powers : 
 Shrines open only to a favoured few. 
 This, like a city founded on a rock, — 
 The home of generations passed away, 
 The home of generations yet to come, — 
 Rests on the deep foundations of the past. 
 The solid substance of the storied years 
 That slowly settle from the thoughts of God. 
 And in her temple-courts and round about 
 Her fragrant altars, all the tribes of men ; — 
 The Greek, the Jew ; the unshorn, the civilized ; 
 The bond, the free ; the simple, and the sage ; — 
 Are welcome ; and her choicest mysteries 
 She opens to the meekest of the earth." 
 
 Thus speaking, Julius led the thoughtful prince : 
 Leaving the broad streets and the dazzling dome- ; 
 The temples, columns, statues ; leaving too 
 
 2
 
 18 CLAUDIA. 
 
 The flowery, fragrant gardens ; till they came 
 By ever-narrowing ways to Julius' home : 
 A humble lodging by the Tiber's side ; 
 Whose waters, ever rushing by the wall, 
 Subdued the strife and clangour of the town. 
 
 And here with quiet modesty, unspoiled 
 By any false shame for his mean abode, 
 He bade the prince be welcome, while he spread 
 His best upon the board. Then, after meat, 
 They sat and talked until the air grew dim : 
 Until the lights on the opposing shore 
 Streamed out their long reflections on the stream 
 Until a glory never to be quenched 
 Broke on the soul of Bran. 
 
 At length he rose 
 And laid his arms about the old man's neck, 
 In kind farewell, and passed into the street. 
 And threading now the ever-widening ways, 
 •Through less and less of sordid on to more 
 And ever more of sumptuous, he reached 
 The temples and the palaces again, 
 Where columns, arches, statues, stood aloft 
 In glittering moonlight, amidst gardens sunk 
 In depths of fragrant shade. Yet every step,
 
 CLAUDIA. 19 
 
 From that poor chamber by the river side 
 
 Towards this central splendour, seemed to him 
 
 To bear him farther from magnificence 
 
 Nearer to meanness. And when last he reached 
 
 The palace on the Palatine, assigned 
 
 By Claudius to the royal hostages, 
 
 The small and plaintive questions of the queen, 
 
 The wife of Caradoc his son, — whose heart, 
 
 Loving, but ever fretful in its love, 
 
 Misgave her, that his lingering meant mishap 
 
 To her or her's or him, — fell on his ears, 
 
 Though seasoned to such sounds, as something strange. 
 
 Something most needless and most pitiful. 
 
 For were not all his goings and returns 
 
 Guarded divinely ? was not every thread 
 
 Of all the tangled interests of his house 
 
 Held smooth by hands kinder than kindest hands 
 
 Of fabled fate ? And yet he answered her 
 
 With meeker patience than his wont (though Bran 
 
 Was ever famed for patience) ; for his soul 
 
 Had risen into the higher calm which stills 
 
 All angry pulses. Thus his prayer was heard ; 
 
 And thus his eyes, long faithful in the dark, 
 
 Found at the last they had not watched in vain. 
 
 2—2
 
 20 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Soon as the morning broke the prince arose 
 Alert and strong, as if a second youth 
 Quickened his veins ; and through the silent streets 
 He bent his steps again to Julius' home. 
 
 There scarcely had he entered and received 
 The old man's welcome, when a hurried knock 
 Startled the door, which opening instantly, 
 Ere Julius could reply, — a fair young girl, — 
 Half child, half woman, — all her delicate face 
 Flushing with eagerness, all her features strung 
 To some set purpose, — sprang into the room. 
 Her bearing had a wild and sylvan grace 
 That seemed most strange in one whose raiment spoke 
 Of noble lineage. For her tunic, woven 
 Of finest Syrian wool, bleached by the dews 
 Of summer nights upon the emerald plains 
 That frame Damascus, was all box'dered round 
 With Tyi'ian purple ; and was looped above 
 On each fair shoulder with a gleaming pearl, 
 Large as a linnet's egg ; and over this 
 Hung loosely draped about her slender form 
 A robe of equal richness ; and her hair, — 
 Crisp, golden hair that ran in rippled waves 
 Back from her rounded temples, — flowed behind
 
 CLAUDIA. 21 
 
 Into a silken network, strung us thick 
 With pearls as autumn gossamers with clew ; 
 Her very feet, that trod the homely floor 
 With such a dainty firmness, were encased 
 In shoes of creamy kid skin, rougli with pearls. 
 
 No sooner was her hasty entrance made 
 Thau seeing Bran, she started and drew back 
 Half timidly ; yet with her gaze still fixed 
 Upon his face, with a child's look of keen 
 Unconscious scrutiny. 
 
 " Fear not, my child," 
 Said Julius, rising with a tremulous haste 
 And laying softly on her sunny head 
 One wrinkled hand in blessing; while she kissed 
 Its fellow, lifting it up reverently 
 With her long fingers. " Fear not, Claudia, 
 This stranger will not harm thee, nor betray 
 Thy coming." 
 
 Then he turned him to the prince, 
 Baying, — " This maid is she of whom I spake : 
 The child of Plautius and Pomponia." 
 And Bran kept gazing on her tender face 
 As if it held a mystery ; while he heard, 
 As in a dream, the voice of Julius say,
 
 '22 CLAUDIA. 
 
 " Alas ! my daughter, wherefore art thou come ? 
 For though my banished heart yearns after thee. 
 Dear one, as well thou knowest, none the less 
 I tremble that thou thus shouldst disobey 
 Thy sire's commandment." 
 
 " Nay, my master dear," 
 Answered the maiden, with a sudden flash 
 Of indignation, — " never adjure me more 
 By any father's claim from Plautius. 
 He never gave nie any father's love, 
 Only a mockery of a father's pride. 
 And now I know it ; — my dim guess is true : 
 Plautius is not my father ; nay no more 
 The sire of Claudia than this stranger here 
 Is Claudia's grandsire." 
 
 " Peace, my child,"' in haste 
 Julius broke in, " I charge thee, listen not 
 To this slaves' gossip." 
 
 " Nay, my father dear," 
 She answered, tempering her passionate voice 
 To meekness, " only hear, and thou wilt own 
 That this is no slaves' gossip. Yesternight, 
 Pomponia, — she whom I will ever call 
 Mv mother ; who has won the name by more
 
 CLAUDIA. li:'. 
 
 Thau mother's love and mother's sorrow too : — 
 
 Thrown from her guard hy grief that Plautius 
 
 Refused her prayer to bear me company 
 
 At a gay festival, wherein she knew 
 
 I should be sore bested, — let fall a word 
 
 Which told me that my guess had touched the truth. 
 
 No : I am not their child." 
 
 " Even were this so," 
 Said Julius, striving to discern the right, 
 Yet baffled still, so that his words became 
 Feeble and void of faith : — " He is thy sire 
 In the law's sight, and thou art bound to heed 
 All his commands. Unless that he command 
 To disobey thy God. Then, not till then, 
 The bond gives way before the greater bond. 
 But let that pass : surely thou hast not braved 
 His anger, merely thus to tell me this, 
 That thou art not his child ? " 
 
 " Nay, surely nay," 
 She answered with a pretty shamefaced smile, 
 Which faded quickly, as her features took 
 An air of settled purpose once again, 
 " I come to warn thee of a fearful snare. 
 Alas ! my father, never, never more
 
 24 
 
 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Can any dear occasion come to me 
 
 Of disobeying Plautius for thy sake. 
 
 Or rather for His dear sake Whose thou art, 
 
 And Whom thou servest ; Whose I also am 
 
 And Whom I fain would serve. Listen to me, 
 
 And little Claudia like the fabled mouse 
 
 May free the lion from the hunter's toils. 
 
 Before thou earnest to Rome, four years ago, 
 
 The emperor, incensed by rebel deeds 
 
 Of certain lawless Jews, and with his fears 
 
 Wrought on by favourites, issued a decree 
 
 That every Jew and every proselyte 
 
 Should quit the city and the lands of Rome. 
 
 I was a child and scarcely read aright 
 
 The meaning of their grief ; but as I looked 
 
 From our high palace windows on the bands 
 
 Of plundered exiles hastening to the gates, 
 
 And saw the sorrow and dismay that sat 
 
 On every face, I wept aloud with them, 
 
 And angered Plautius. With them went, they say, 
 
 .Many who owned the Christ and worshipped Him. 
 
 Now since those days, amidst the cruel strifes 
 
 And ever-growing licence of the times, 
 
 This old decree against your tribe has fallen
 
 CLAUDIA. 25 
 
 Iii to forgetfulness. And some have crept 
 Back to their homes ; and others, knowing not 
 Of such a law, have come to Rome from far, 
 As thou, my father. So for a hrief while 
 All has seemed safe. But now the courtiers, 
 Sated with softer wickedness and fain 
 To try the taste of Wood, have plied the ears 
 Of the dull emperor with a false report 
 Of some conspiracy among your trihe. 
 This very night, at sunset, all your homes 
 Will be beset and every soul be slain. 
 Such is their fiendish scheme. 
 
 ' ' But God is good ; 
 And yesternight I, forced by Plautius 
 To join this banquet, overheard them talk ; 
 Such talk as curdled up my blood to hear. 
 But oh, what fervent thanks flew from my heart 
 Up to the Lord Almighty, who refused 
 My prayer to save me from that riotous scene 
 That He might grant my greater prayer : to save 
 Thee, my father, and thy people too 
 From the fell heathen." 
 
 Here her voice gave way 
 And suddenly, before she was aware,
 
 26 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Changed to a sob ; but pressing her fair bands 
 Hard on ber heaving breast, sbe wrestled down 
 Tbe rising passion, calmed berself, and stood 
 As meek before bim as a three years' child, 
 Waiting his answer. But he, all amazed 
 By this unlooked-for stroke, and tossed about 
 By many currents of suggestion, 
 Kept troubled silence. 
 
 Then he thought : — " Perchance, — 
 Nay doubtless, — they have played upon ber fears ; 
 For this thing cannot be : " then spake aloud, 
 " Tell me, my child, their very words and looks. 
 Who spoke the first ? who followed ? " 
 
 " I will tell 
 
 As clearly and as truly as I can," 
 
 She answered him, and girt her eager soul 
 
 With patience ; — " but, my father, while we speak 
 
 The precious moments fly, moments at most 
 
 Too few to spread the warning. 
 
 " Thus it was : — 
 Last night, as I have said, did Plautius feast 
 Three of his chosen friends, mere boys to him ; 
 For lately he has seemed to honour such 
 More than his grey compeers. One of the three
 
 CLAUDIA. 21 
 
 Was Martialis, of the Spanish race. 
 
 Of a most witty and most wanton tongue, 
 
 For ever stringing all things in the world 
 
 On slender threads of epigram. With him 
 
 Came his compatriot and fellow poet, 
 
 Lucauus ; of a grave and modest mien, 
 
 But with an eye to shrink from. And the third 
 
 Was Pudens, of the order of the knights.'' 
 
 Now when she named that name the maiden blush, d 
 
 And faltered for a moment ; at the which 
 
 The old man sighed, as at a token fraught 
 
 With danger to his darling. 
 
 Then Prince Bran 
 Discerning that his presence checked her speech, 
 Arose and stood apart a little space 
 Beside a windowed opening in the wall ; 
 And, looking on the stream, his busy thoughts 
 Flowed faster than the current of the stream . 
 " Thus, ever thus," he mused, " the tide of life 
 Flows on without a pause. Scarce have 1 met 
 The man of all the world who meets my soul, — 
 Who has the message ready on his lips 
 Which 1 have listened for so long in vain. 
 Ere the remorseless current sweeping on
 
 28 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Bears him beyond my reach. But if the tale 
 
 The maiden tells he true, and he must quit 
 
 This murderous city, — whither shall he go ? — 
 
 Ay, wherefore not to Britain '? Many ears, 
 
 Half opened hy the wisdom of the bards, 
 
 Await the message there, and many souls 
 
 Are sick to death of sin. Ay, let him go." 
 
 So mused the prince, watching the stream. Meanwhile 
 
 The maiden meekly stood by Julius 
 
 With folded hands, as if her mind were set 
 
 To say a weary task. And thus she spake : — 
 
 " And Plautius commanded me to bid 
 Four ladies to the feast, daughters of four 
 Of the great houses. So they came in state. 
 Haughty and vain they looked ; their scented locks 
 Made the air heavy, and their gorgeous robes 
 Trailed on the floor, tangling my feet, whereat 
 They frowned as if the injury were theirs. 
 
 how my heart longed for Pomponia, 
 My only mother, to be near me then ; 
 
 1 felt so shelterless and so alone. 
 
 But she was shut by Plautius' stern command 
 Within a distant chamber ; never since 
 That dreadful day when she was tried by all
 
 CLAUDIA. •!'.) 
 
 Her gathered kindred, tried for life and fame, — 
 
 Save in his presence, may I speak with her. 
 
 I will not weary thee, telling the talk 
 
 That wearied me. At length the purple folds 
 
 That hung between us and the central hall 
 
 Were drawn aside by slaves, all crowned with flowers, 
 
 Kevealing us to Plautius and his guests ; 
 
 Who greeted us full courteously, and begged 
 
 Of Plautius that the banquet might be graced 
 
 By our fair presence. So we passed along 
 
 To supper, marshalled by the bowing slaves. 
 
 My four companions soon reclined at ease 
 
 Beside the youths upon the couches placed 
 
 Around the board ; but Plautius, kind for once, 
 
 With some rough joke about my childish ways 
 
 Bade me be seated at his feet. Four hours, 
 
 Four endless hours, the feast crept slowly on 
 
 From costly course to course, with frivolous talk 
 
 And wanton songs between ; and ever more 
 
 When in these wanton songs there came a line 
 
 More dull, or more unmeaning than the rest, 
 
 It seemed to take the hearers' fancy most. 
 
 And then at every pause, — wine, wine, still wine, 
 
 Of every varied vintage of the South ,
 
 80 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Flowing at every turn ; until at length 
 
 These high-born women, most unwomanly. 
 
 Grew flushed and looked so strangely with their eyes 
 
 It vexed my soul to see them. And methinks 
 
 That Pudens read my discontent, and wished 
 
 To shield it by a pretext from the eyes 
 
 Of Plautius, lest he should be angered by it ; 
 
 For with a smiling face he turned and said, 
 
 ' Thy gentle daughter, sir, is scarcely ripe 
 
 For these late feasts. See ! sleep hangs in her eyes,' 
 
 And would have spoken more ; — but Plautius 
 
 Rose on his elbow with a sudden rage 
 
 Glaring upon me, as my furtive looks 
 
 Glanced towards the door, so much I longed to fly, — 
 
 And whispered fiercely in my startled ear, — 
 
 ' Beware ! for any rash discourtesy 
 
 To me or to my guests shall be repaid 
 
 With bloody interest to thy baseborn friends, 
 
 Julius and all his tribe.' 
 
 " And these his words 
 Were caught by the quick ears of Julia 
 Who lay beside him on the lower couch ; 
 For straight she lisped to him, while all the time 
 Her cruel smiles flashed sideways at my face,
 
 CLAUDIA. 31 
 
 ' Ah, my good lord, by this same hour to-morrow 
 Thy threat to Claudia will have lost its point j 
 For not a soul of all her chosen friends, 
 Search where thou wilt, will then be found alive, 
 To suffer thy just vengeance.' 
 
 " ' How ? what meanest thou ? ' 
 Said Plautius sternly. ' Claudius has no heart 
 To plan a sweeping clearance such as this, 
 Without the prompting of his favourites, 
 Without the knowledge of his generals, 
 And naught has reached my ears. ' 
 
 " ' May be, my lord,' 
 She answered ; ' for he fears to tell it thee, 
 Lest it should leak abroad ; for all the world 
 Knows that the ladies of thy house are pledged 
 To these vile Hebrews.' 
 
 " At that Plautius' brow 
 Grew sterner still — ' Be careful of thy tongue,' 
 He muttered, ' speaking of my wife and child : ' 
 Then louder, ' Tell me how it came to pass.' 
 
 " ' Most easily,' she answered with a laugh. 
 ' We of the court were weary of our lives 
 For want of some new zest. This Agrippina 
 Weighs on us all like lead : — no life — no play —
 
 32 CLAUDIA. 
 
 But a mere plodding merchant, counting gains 
 Of power from week to week. Her predecessor 
 Perchance did carry things a little far, 
 At least she was imprudent. But the court 
 Was twenty times more lively in her time ; 
 Or so they say, — of course the thing is far 
 Beyond my memory' — 
 
 " — here incautiously 
 Fanning her false face with an ostrich plume 
 On which the slaves had sprinkled essences, 
 The moistened feather swept the red away 
 From half her withered cheek. But knowing not, 
 She babbled on : — 
 
 " 'Of course the thing is far 
 Beyond my memory, being a mere child 
 When Messalina fell. But as I said, 
 We all were fit to die of weariness, 
 And therefore planned a pleasant tragedy 
 To stir our blood. We told the emperor 
 Tbat his decree of exile 'gainst the Jews 
 Was disregarded, many had returned, 
 And some had never gone ; and all were bound 
 With tbe house-slaves in a conspiracy, 
 Spread like a network underneath our feet
 
 CLAUDIA. 33 
 
 Throughout the length and hreadth of Rome, to rise 
 And slaughter him and his and all of us, 
 And overthrow the empire' 
 
 " Here she paused 
 To lift the wine-cup to her lips, and then 
 I heard Lucanus whisper under hreath 
 To Martialis, — 
 
 " ' Curse the woman's tongue ! 
 Spoiling our sport ! now Claudia without doubt 
 Will warn the game.' 
 
 " But Julia did not hear 
 Or did not heed, — 
 
 " ' Anything in the world,' — 
 So she went on, ' the merest lumber, placed 
 Upon the groove of fear, slides swift and sure 
 Into the brain of Claudius. Thus, you see, 
 Our little tragedy was soon arranged. 
 Those of the actors who had need to learn 
 Their parts are well instructed ; — for the rest, 
 Theirs will be better played in ignorance.' 
 And here she laughed again, and glanced at me 
 In cruel triumph : — adding, ' As I said, 
 By this same hour to-morrow not a soul 
 Of pretty Claudia's strangely chosen friends 
 
 8
 
 34 CLAUDIA. 
 
 "Will be forthcoming. Sunset is the time 
 Given to the guards.' " 
 
 Here Claudia ceased and drew 
 A choking breath. And Julius said, " Enough," 
 And rose up quickly, while with shaking hands 
 He girt his robe : — "Enough, God ! I see 
 The fearful tale is over true ; — but how 
 Hast thou escaped to tell it ? " 
 
 " I scarce know, 
 Myself," she answered : " Thanks to Him whose hand 
 Guides the most stubborn evils to good ends, 
 As wilder waxed the revel, Plautius ceased 
 To note me further ; — so I ventured forth 
 And found the fresh mom breaking purely down 
 Through the sky-centre of the outer hall. 
 Then with my faithful nurse, who waits without, 
 I left the palace. But the time flics on ; 
 And thou must hasten forth from house to house 
 To warn thy people. I too must be gone. 
 But, ! it almost breaks my heart to think 
 That I may never see thy face again, 
 Nor hear thy voice. The lessons of the Lord 
 May come to me, I know, by other lips, 
 Or even be taught in silence ; yet I fear
 
 CLAUDIA. 00 
 
 They will Boem hard, and I shall grow perverse, 
 And fail to learn them. Ah ! thou knowest not 
 What hateful snares are spread about my feet. 
 And, my father, — scorn not thy poor child — 
 The worst is this ; they do not always seem 
 Hateful to all my heart. lift me up 
 On thy strong hands of prayer, — as thou would'st lift 
 A drowning creature from the weltering waves ! " 
 Then Julius wrung her hands and wept aloud : 
 And hade her trust in God and watch her heart 
 As she would watch a treacherous enemy ; 
 And hade her stay her soul upon the thought 
 That the kind Christ was near her evermore, 
 That when the foe pressed closest, He would be 
 Yet closer. So with many sighs and tears 
 And prayers, they parted. But or ere she passed 
 Through the dark door, she turned, and stood therein 
 Like a fair statue in a gloomy niche. 
 Her face subdued into a solemn calm 
 While all her form dilated with the thought 
 That swelled her soul. And Bran who had stepped 
 
 forth 
 To give her salutation ere she went 
 Heard her last words : 
 
 3—2
 
 36 CLAUDIA. 
 
 " My father, ere I go, 
 Not knowing what betides me where I go, 
 I have a last request to make of thee : 
 Grant it as thou woukl'st grant it, were it made 
 By dying lips, sealed by beseeching looks 
 In dying eyes. Thou knowest I was bora 
 In Britain : doubtless of the British race. 
 I treasure many a dim remembrance still 
 Of fair green meadows, russet forest-paths, 
 And cooler skies than these ; and looks of love 
 That hung above my cradle, ere I dwelt 
 With Plautius and Pomponia in the camp. 
 Voices and visions haunt me in the night 
 Re-echoed from some far-off place and time. 
 My heart is bound so close to that dear land 
 That all her woes are mine, and make me feel 
 As if my mother wept and cried to me, 
 Calling across the melancholy seas. 
 But I — I cannot answer or return. 
 Wilt not thou go, my father '? when thou earnest 
 From Lydia's shore, thy course was like the sun 
 From east to west ; and now that thou art driven 
 From hence, be like the gracious sun once more : 
 Still further westward bear the blessed light,
 
 CLAUDIA. 37 
 
 Even to the islands of the utmost sea, — 
 
 To Britain. "lis my last request. Farewell." 
 
 So she passed out, not waiting for reply ; 
 "While Bran took up his staff to follow her, 
 Saying to Julius, " Hearken to her words. 
 For be assured the wisdom of the gods, 
 The wisdom of the God of gods is there. 
 The thoughts she uttered were the very thoughts 
 That held me as I watched the rolling stream. 
 I go to guard her steps, unseen by her ; 
 For by this time the city is abroad, 
 And dangers may beset her. There's a look 
 In her deep violet eyes that brings to mind 
 One whom I lost long since, my eldest bom, 
 Slain in the last fight of my sire, King Llyr. 
 Ere noon I will return." 
 
 And so the prince 
 Departed, following Claudia and the nurse 
 At distance silently. At first it seemed 
 A needless care ; for every street was still 
 And empty ; scarce a shutter was withdrawn 
 In all the lazy city. Here and there 
 A swarthy peasant, singing merrily, 
 Bound for the market-place with fruits and flowers,
 
 88 CLAUDIA. 
 
 From some green-nested hamlet in the hills, — 
 
 Would pass them, check his song, and turn to gaze 
 
 At Claudia's beauty, only half concealed 
 
 By her light veil ; — then shake his simple head 
 
 In sad rebuke, and go upon his way, 
 
 With careful thoughts about his girls at home. 
 
 But as they neared the house of Plautius 
 A band of drunken revellers noisily 
 Burst from Narcissus' palace-gates hard by, 
 Ready and ripe for mischief; and forthwith 
 They, seeing Claudia, but through wine-dulled eyes, 
 That saw not she was Claudia, with a shout 
 Reeled after her and caught her by the veil. 
 Whereat she flung it off, and stood erect, 
 Like an indignant queen, and cried aloud, — 
 " Stand back ! Methinks ye know not who I am." 
 At which they stared upon her, and two fled, 
 Muttering, " By Venus' eyelids, 'tis the child 
 Of the old general, Plautius. Let us begone ! " 
 While other two, past reason, mad with wine, 
 Pressed hard upon her and the shrieking nurse. 
 But ere their vile hands touched her — for the nurse 
 Had thrust her 'gainst the wall, and stood before, 
 To guard her darling, as the wild cat guards
 
 CLAUDIA. 39 
 
 Her young one, — Bran was on them unawares. 
 His vigorous age had left his sinews sound. 
 He would not honour thern, such dogs as these, 
 With huffets of his princely hand ; hut wound 
 A long, strong arm about the waist of each, 
 And tore them up and hurled them to the earth 
 Without a word ; and left them grovelling there 
 Like trodden worms. 
 
 Then Claudia, who had held 
 Her head so high in peril, voice so firm, 
 Finding the peril safely overpast, 
 Trembled like any leaf, ready to swoon ; 
 And dared not speak her thanks, lest the great sobs 
 That struggled in her throat should reach her lips. 
 Therefore, she only lifted grateful eyes 
 Upon the aged prince, who took her hand, 
 And led her gently to her father's door. 
 There parted from her, saying, " My fair ehild, 
 I heard thee speak anon to Julius 
 Of that dear island whose dishonoured name 
 I cannot breathe in Rome. And thou didst speak 
 As if thou lovest it : therefore, let this love 
 Be henceforth as a bond between us two. 
 I love that dear land nest to my own soul,
 
 40 CLAUDIA. 
 
 And bate her foes next to the evil powers. 
 
 Should any rumour reach thy father's ears 
 
 Of this encounter, tell him that Prince Bran, 
 
 The son of Llyr, the sire of Caradoc, 
 
 Has now avenged himself and all his house 
 
 Upon him, rescuing his only child." 
 
 So turned and went ; while she, with grateful eyes 
 
 Shining upon him through her unfallen tears, 
 
 Stood on the topmost marble step and watched 
 
 His stately form diminish and grow pale 
 
 Along the lessening street. 
 
 Meanwhile the slave 
 Who kept the gate — one with her in the faith , 
 And guessing of her mission by the talk 
 That passed among his fellows yesternight, — 
 Brought by a secret signal from the nurse, 
 Gave them safe entrance ; — saying, as she passed, 
 " Christ's blessing rest upon thy golden head, 
 Dear lady, dearest child ; — and as to-night 
 Thou hast braved many perils for the sake 
 Of those He loves, so through the darker night 
 That stretches on until He shine again 
 In everlasting morning on the world, — 
 May His good angels have a charge to keep
 
 CLAUDIA. 41 
 
 Thy tender feet in all their doubtful ways." 
 So with the blessing of the poor and meek 
 Warm at her heart, she passed into the house ; 
 And sought her little chamber, where she fell 
 Upon her knees before the unseen Shrine 
 That faithful hearts find everywhere ; and strove 
 In wordless agonies of prayer ; and poured 
 Her soul in- praise for rescue, safe return, 
 And a new friend. At length, arising up 
 With looks of full contentment, like a babe 
 Slow- turning from his mother's liberal breast, — 
 Summoned the nurse and gladly laid aside 
 Her festal .draperies and ornaments. 
 Then, clad in simple homespun, sat her down, 
 Distaff in hand, — and thought within herself, 
 " Here will I sit and spin and sing the while, 
 And through the open window shall my song 
 liise to Pomponia in her lonely room. 
 Which does she love the best ? Methinks it is 
 That pretty little song that Seneca, 
 Prince Nero's tutor, made for me last year, 
 When I lamented for the good old times. 
 For though the heathen gods are named in it, 
 Tis sure an innocent song ; and I can think,
 
 42 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Stead of Minerva, of the mighty One 
 
 Named in the sacred hooks of Julius, 
 
 The everlasting Wisdom, whom of old, 
 
 In the beginning of His wondrous ways, 
 
 The Lord, the God of heaven and earth, possessed. 
 
 And where the words fall short of revealed truths 
 
 In these last favoured days, my inward thought, 
 
 Can shoot beyond them to a better aim." 
 
 And so she sat and span and sung the while. 
 
 " Set within the gorgeous gloom 
 
 Of a purple-lined room, 
 
 like a jewel in its case, 
 
 Pearly robes and pearly face, 
 And all along a cushioned couch reclined at ease, 
 
 Mused Valeria fair and young, 
 
 Sadly mused and sadly sung. 
 
 ' Oh ! I would my lot were cast 
 
 In the grand days that are past ; 
 Their nobler manners better far my fancy please : 
 
 When the matrons of old Rome 
 
 Wrought amidst their maids at home ; 
 
 When their distaffs, deftly twirled, 
 
 Span the conquest of the world.'
 
 CLAUDIA. 43 
 
 So she sang a little space ; 
 
 But the meaning of her face 
 
 Grew all dim and drowsy soon, 
 
 With the languid afternoon : 
 Her eyelids drooped with slumber and the music died. 
 
 Then, the while she slept, behold 
 
 A Minerva, wrought in gold, 
 
 Seemed to leave the silver shrine 
 
 Freshly served with flowers and wiue, 
 And floated without footsteps slowly to her side. 
 
 There, dilated large and fair, 
 
 Breathed these words upon the air : — 
 
 ' Let thy distaff, deftly twirled, 
 
 Spin the conquest of the world.' 
 
 " ' Lo ! thy favoured hands are full 
 
 Of a softer, whiter wool 
 
 Than the gods have e'er before 
 
 Lavished from their boundless store. 
 Rise ! spin a finer thread to clothe a daintier age. 
 
 Let the father, husband, son, 
 
 Shine in raiment thou hast spun : 
 
 Self-denial, purity, 
 
 Learned at home and learned of thee, 
 So shall they pass with plaudits from the widened stage.
 
 14 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Spin theru girdles broad and fine : 
 Truth and justice learned from thine. 
 So thy distaff, deftly twirled, 
 Spins the conquest of the world.' " 
 
 Now, as she sang, and after through the day, 
 
 While with a habit half mechanical, 
 
 She went about her daily ministries, — 
 
 Those unobserved achievements, which if left 
 
 Undone, would rain all the house with wrong, — 
 
 Though well persuaded that the fear was vain, 
 
 A dreadful fear would seize her suddenly ; 
 
 So that her heart stopped beating, and she longed 
 
 To rash into the streets and cry aloud, 
 
 To warn the chosen people of the doom 
 
 That waited them at sunset. Yet, again, 
 
 Knowing that what was laid on her to do 
 
 She had done faithfully ; she calmed herself 
 
 And left the issue in the unseen Hand. 
 
 While thus she lived her anxious hours at home, 
 Prince Bran and Julius went abroad through all 
 The dazzling length and breadth of Rome, and 
 
 urged 
 The Jews to instant flight. Then all the few, 
 Who owned that Jesus was the Christ, arose
 
 CLAUDIA. 45 
 
 And fled with haste by twos and threes, and left 
 
 The bloody city, by all gates. Some hid 
 
 In the disguise of peasants. Some with wares 
 
 As travelling merchants. Here a brave man, pierced 
 
 To the heart's quick with agonizing fears 
 
 For those more dear to him than life itself, 
 
 Attired his face with harsh, tyrannic looks, 
 
 Driving his trembling wife and babes before, 
 
 As a slave dealer. So, by God's good hand, 
 
 Some in disguise, some openly, they passed 
 
 In safety. While the unbelieving Jews, 
 
 Judging the heart of Julius by their own, 
 
 Would heed no warning given by such as he ; 
 
 "Who cast their old traditions to the winds, 
 
 And in a fashion, new, heretical, 
 
 Worshipped their fathers' God. These loudly praised 
 
 Their own sharp wit that saw his subtle aim 
 
 To dispossess them of the synagogue : 
 
 Shut all their gates upon him, stayed behind, 
 
 And perished miserably. 
 
 Yet one of these, 
 
 Aristobulus, of the royal race 
 
 Of Maccabaeus, listened and believed. 
 
 And bore his dark-eyed Miriam and their babes
 
 46 
 
 CLAUDIA. 
 
 On some pretext of summer holiday, 
 In a gay pleasure-galley down the stream 
 To Ostia, where his favourite villa stood 
 On a green island southward of the port. 
 
 Now as the galley glided down the stream, 
 It passed the humble lodging by the shore 
 Where Julius dwelt ; and through the window came 
 The mournful chanting of a Hebrew psalm. 
 " Deliver me, my God ! deliver me 
 From those that rise against me." And the throng 
 Of full-toned vowels rolling down the air 
 Melted the proud heart of the Maccabee 
 To thoughts of brotherhood ; so giving charge 
 To steer the galley to the wall, he bade 
 The rowers pause ; then standing at full height, 
 He called aloud — 
 
 " man of God ! come down. 
 The sun is low already, and the gates 
 Are far for weary limbs. Come down and speed 
 With us to Ostia." And Julius heard. 
 As weary to the death with the long toil 
 Of that most mournful day, and sick at heart 
 To think how many of his stiffnecked race 
 Refused to flee, — he slowly moved about,
 
 CLAUDIA. 47 
 
 Filling his scrip, preparing to depart ; 
 But almost praying that his feet might fail 
 To bear him forth : so much to be desired 
 Seemed a quick entrance into life, though won 
 By the most cruel death. But when he heard 
 This friendly voice that in the Hebrew tongue 
 Called from the river, all his mind was changed 
 And opened kindly to the nearer warmth. 
 Therefore he looked forth gratefully and knew 
 The Maccabee, and swift-descending came 
 On board the galley. 
 
 Now when they had rowed 
 Two furlongs' length beyond the city walls, 
 The ominous sun sank down as red as blood, 
 Behind a black-barred vapour far to sea. 
 The crimson on the ripples faded out ; 
 The flush upon the cloudlets overhead 
 Died in a moment ; and the fiery glow 
 That lit the city's smoky canopy 
 Went out in darkness, as the light goes out 
 From an extinguished torch. Then at that sign, 
 Without a word, the rowers ceased their strokes 
 And pale with dreadful expectation stayed 
 The drifting galley on the ashy stream,
 
 48 CLAUDIA. 
 
 With backward oars. While all on board of her 
 Listened in breathless silence. 
 
 Soon, too soon. 
 The noise of sudden tumult shook the air, 
 Borne down the echoing water. Mocking shouts, 
 Shrieks of despair, and rush of rapid feet 
 In timid flight or fierce pursuit ; and cries 
 For mercy, shortened by the cruel sword ; 
 All these were there, and all by distance blent 
 To ghastly harmony ; but not a clash 
 Of meeting weapons : for the slaughter fell 
 Upon defenceless households, gathering 
 For evening prayer. Then Miriam clasped her babes 
 So closely to her straining breast, they woke 
 And wailed aloud ; and at the tender sound 
 Her dry-eyed horror melted into tears. 
 But Julius and the noble Maccabee 
 Flung themselves prostrate on the deck and cried 
 Within their stricken hearts — " How long, Lord I 
 " How long, shall bloody and unrighteous men 
 Afflict thy heritage ? " 
 
 At last the fear 
 Of overtaking night compelled them on : 
 The oars fell sadly in the darkening stream,
 
 CLAUDIA. 4U 
 
 And bore them downwards to the port, and thence 
 To the green island. 
 
 There did Julius dwell 
 For many days, preaching to all the house 
 That Jesus was the Christ. His noble host 
 Heard him in troubled silence for a while, 
 Distracted by strange thoughts ; then suddenly 
 A light shone round his spirit, like the light 
 That flashed on Saul of Tarsus ; and a face] 
 Looked forth upon him from the spirit-sphere 
 That bathes us all about, and smote him down 
 With sudden splendour to the earth, and turned 
 The pui*pose of his life. 
 
 Then, fired with zeal 
 To spread the conquests of the Crucified, 
 He sailed with Julius for the land to which 
 The last request of Claudia pointed them : 
 The island of the West, beloved by Bran. 
 But ere they sailed, they both adventured them 
 To Rome once more, finding a safe retreat 
 Within the palace on the Palatine, 
 Where dwelt the British captives. For the guard. 
 Won by the noble bearing of the king 
 And of the prince his father, and some bound
 
 50 CLAUDIA. 
 
 By common faith to Bran, were slow to vex 
 
 Their royal charge by prying in their ways ; 
 
 And for the most part closed their ears and eyes 
 
 To such as came and went. So these two men 
 
 Dwelt safely in the palace, practising 
 
 The Cymric customs and the Cymric tongue. 
 
 And in those days Bran and the Maccabee 
 
 Passed through the mystic waters, and received 
 
 The holy symbols of the feast of Christ. 
 
 And ere the pilgrims parted, Caradoc, 
 
 Though caring little for their faith, became 
 
 Their fast and fervent friend ; and when they went, 
 
 Grave them his signet ring : a talisman 
 
 Potent to charm the eyes and win the hearts 
 
 Of all the Cyniri. 
 
 So at length they sailed 
 For the far West, ordained by holy hands ; 
 While Claudia's ceaseless prayers smoothed all their 
 
 paths 
 Over strange lands and seas. Meanwhile the snares 
 Crew thicker round her feet. For Plautius, 
 Having betrothed her in her earliest years 
 To Pudens of the order of the knights 
 Whom Claudia would not, since he scorned her God),
 
 CLAUDIA. 51 
 
 Strove by all means, or fair or foul, to bend 
 
 Her boly purpose to bis beatben will. 
 
 Therefore sbe dwelt in sorrow and in fear 
 
 Almost alone ; or, worse tban loneliness, 
 
 Compassed by vain companions. Wben at times 
 
 Sbe saw Pomponia at tbe daily board, 
 
 Speech was forbidden tbem. Tbus, but for One 
 
 Who still is nearest to tbe loneliest, 
 
 Her heart had almost broken, or her steps 
 
 Had well-nigh slipped. And Julius mourned for her 
 
 As one who mourns an only, darling child, 
 
 Dying unsuccoured on a distant shore.
 
 PART II. 
 
 Thky sailed' from Ostia, whence their galley, vexed 
 
 By varying fortunes of the autumn seas, 
 
 Coasted the Tuscan and Ligurian shores, 
 
 Far as Massilia's many-masted port. 
 
 Thence in rude barges slowly toiling up 
 
 The broad Rhodanus, after many days 
 
 They reached the heart of Gaul ; and so at length 
 
 1 '> v weary marches through dim forest tracts 
 
 And wide monotony of grassy plains, — 
 
 With here and there a vineyard trellising 
 
 The sunny slopes, — they gained the Ligers banks. 
 
 Whose westering current bore them to the coast, 
 
 Washed hv the waters of the unknown sea.
 
 54 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Here, after brief delay, they found a ship 
 Bound for Siluria with a freight of bards 
 From Carnak on the upper coast : of old 
 A vast Druidic Temple of the Sun, 
 Winding its serpent-train o'er hill and dale ; 
 But now, when all the Druids of the land 
 Were banished by the Roman, only used 
 For lyric tourneys. 
 
 Therefore in this bark 
 Did Julius and the noble Maccabee 
 Take shipping ; and for many stormy days 
 Coasting by Gaul, then beating slow across 
 The channel currents, hardly reached at length 
 The headlands of the horned land. From whence, 
 Doubling the granite capes, the vessel turned 
 With favouring winds along the tawny sea. 
 So, gently home between the Cymric hills, 
 At moonset on the seventh night she gained 
 The offing of the old Silurian port, 
 And dropped her anchors, waiting for the day. 
 
 Now, as it chanced, at earliest dawn a chief, 
 Cynfran by name, was passing on the cliffs, 
 And paused to watch with melancholy eyes 
 The breaking of the day. He saw the sun
 
 CLAUDIA. 55 
 
 At first peer dimly through the mists that hid 
 The sleeping sea. He saw the sea by slow 
 And soft degrees shake off the steely hues 
 Of the cold dawn, while diamond sparkles flashed, 
 Faded and flashed again, on rippled lines. 
 Then broader levels shone with steadier beams, 
 And wet roeks glittered. Last, the brooding mist 
 Spread its grey wings and fled, and all the bay 
 Laughed to the laughing sky. At which the chief 
 But looked more sad, as one who says within, 
 " Dav follows night for all the world but me, 
 And sunrise drinks the tears of al) save me." 
 As thus he gazed and mused, a distant hail 
 Came sliding on the surface of the sea, 
 Small as a voice that whispers close at hand ; 
 Then hearing this, he rested on his spear, 
 Searching the clouded margin of the bay 
 With falcon eyes. And soon he spied far off 
 A shining speck, which, as the horizon cleared, 
 Became a vessel anchored motionless 
 Above her painted image, waiting there 
 For pilotage. But when he saw the bark, 
 Whose gilded prow spoke her an alien, 
 And saw too how with such an arrogant ease
 
 56 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Sbe sat upon the subject bay, his brows 
 Met in black wrath. 
 
 " 0, for a thousand arms ! " 
 He cried aloud, — unconscious of the swell 
 Of his barbaric phrase, shaking his spear, — 
 " To hurl without a pause their vengeful darts 
 Full in the insolent invader's face. 
 Alas ! Siluria's bravest hearts are cold, 
 Fallen are her heroes, and tbeir maugled limbs 
 Lie heaped in hasty graves beside the shores 
 Of the sad Sabren, mourning night and day 
 In oozy channels, which the ocean tides 
 Flush to o'errlowing with unneedful tears. 
 Our Caradoc, betrayed by treacherous hands, 
 \<i\v bows his head, stripped of its royal wreath 
 Beneath a dungeon-roof far oft' in Rome, 
 The hateful, envious city. — What of this ? 
 It is not tbis which gnaws me to the heart : 
 And I but mock myself, feigning to chafe 
 At general woes. The over- crowded griefs 
 That till the land with groans are trifles, weighed 
 With that one voiceless woe which slaughtered 
 
 thee, 
 O Angharad, my only love ! Even now
 
 CLAUDIA. -j 7 
 
 The Cymri may shake off the alien yoke, 
 
 Our Caradoe may yet again be king, 
 
 But not the gods themselves can right thy wrongs. 
 
 Yet though gods cannot right them, I, a man, 
 
 May well avenge them ; and through many a year 
 
 Have I avenged them well, and better yet 
 
 Will I avenge them ere this day be done." 
 
 At that the chieftain turned his course and dropped 
 Upon the levels of the western marsh 
 By stealthy paths. 
 
 Meanwhile upon the prow 
 Gathered an eager group of voyagers 
 To watch the clearing coast. And all unmarked 
 Among them stood the pilgrims : simple men 
 Encumbered by no shows of power, but yet 
 Bearing a seed whose overmastering growth 
 Should fill the world. In bardic legends still 
 Their names survive, but changed by lapse of years 
 To Hid and . 1 rwystli, barbarous sounds 
 That strive to* copy in the Cymric tongne 
 The graceful Greek. As Julius gazed he grew 
 Silent with many thoughts amidst the hum 
 Of eager voices. For as one by one 
 The features of the land revealed themselves,
 
 - r >S CLAUDIA. 
 
 He travelled back a thousand storied years, 
 
 And saw the splendid king, King Solomon, 
 
 On Israel's throne. He saw the ships of Tyre 
 
 Cross the Great Sea and thread the pillared straits, 
 
 And plunging thence athwart the unknown deeps 
 
 That wash the utmost border of the world, 
 
 Turn their bold prows to face the stormy North, 
 
 Seeking the metals of these distant isles 
 
 Wherewith to deck the temple. There his thought 
 
 Dwelt for a moment, ere with swift recoil, 
 
 Like a spent wave, it swallowed up itself 
 
 In musings on the miserable change 
 
 Since those proud times. And then as a white cliff 
 
 Gleamed from a sombre headland, swathed in mist, 
 
 A thrill ran through him, and a passing flush 
 
 Kindled the worn lines of his thoughtful face ; 
 
 For in that snow-white cliff his fancy found 
 
 Claudia all clad in pureness ; in its feet, 
 
 Fast rooted in the waves, her lonely faith 
 
 Standing in no calm waters like to these, 
 
 But in an ever-seething, stormy sea 
 
 Of fierce temptation ; yet still building up 
 
 A rampart of inviolable prayers 
 
 Around her fellows and the land she loved.
 
 CLAUDIA. 59 
 
 As thus he mused, with glittering eyes full fixed 
 Upou the nearing shore, the Maccabee 
 Marvelled what ailed the man. For Julius thought 
 His thoughts in silence ; silence known as well 
 To calmly tender friendships of the soul 
 As to her passionate loves. For who that feels 
 The fine, delightful sense of oneness thrill 
 His raptured heart, and is not loth to trust 
 The ears of casual comrades with the rare 
 And precious treasure of a friend's deserts ? 
 Who is not jealous of the thing he loves, 
 And prone to hide it in a secret place, 
 And tremble when another passes near ? 
 
 But while the Maccabee was marvelling, 
 The bards had left the tent upon the deck, — 
 Where through the voyage they had held themselves 
 Aloof from common contact, — and now stood 
 Shoulder to shoulder with the gazing crowd. 
 And seeing this, and being one who loved 
 Rather to speak than ponder, being too 
 Full charged with that gregarious warmth of heart 
 Which gushes now in streams of graciousness 
 And now outpours itself in vials of wrath ; — 
 And being therefore prone, as such are prone,
 
 00 CLAUDIA. 
 
 To seize occasion by the throat and claim 
 An instant payment of success, — he turned 
 To speak with them ; and chiefly with a youth 
 Wlio wore a. many-coloured robe and held 
 A wand as gaily-tinted, while a harp 
 Hung on his drooping shoulder. To this youth 
 The Maccabee began to give himself 
 In question and reply. Until the youth, 
 Being courteous and perchance a little vain, 
 Opened his heart in answer, telling him 
 He was a novice in the Sacred Schools, 
 Slow-training in the unwritten Druid-lore. 
 Told him, moreover, Llarian was his name; 
 That all the strength of all his soul was vowed 
 To wisdom and to beauty ; that each sense 
 And every inward faculty wherewith 
 The unseen Powers had blessed him, he had bent 
 To disentwine the master-key that rings 
 Through all the discords and the harmonies 
 Of nature and of man, and, having found, 
 To tune his life therewith in just accord 
 And utter forth that life in choicest song. 
 And then with many flourishes and shows, 
 But still a march of steady purpose heard
 
 CLAUDIA. 61 
 
 Behind them all, he spoke with kindling eyes 
 
 Of the three golden requisites of song. — 
 
 " Eye that sees nature, heart that feels her power, 
 
 And resolution that dares follow her : " 
 
 Moreover how he trusted all were his 
 
 And to he proved ere long. For sternest tasks 
 
 To Llarian's young pride and ardour seemed 
 
 Most easy. As a little tender child, — 
 
 Full softly shod, bearing a fairy sword 
 
 Of harmless wood, — slips from his mother's sight, 
 
 Resolved to fathom out the mysteries 
 
 Of the great world beyond his father's field ; 
 
 To slay all giants and disperse the spells 
 
 Of all enchanters, doubting not his power. 
 
 He told, moreover, how he journeyed now 
 From Carnak and the contest of the bards 
 To Mona's sacred island, in the train 
 Of the most reverend bard of all the bards, 
 Golden-tongued Idwal, whose melodious songs 
 In the good times of Caradoc the king 
 Were smoother than the smoothest stream that 
 
 glides 
 Through grassy levels of the lowland plains ; 
 But now in these last miserable days
 
 62 CLAUDIA. 
 
 They grew more rugged. And it might be too — , 
 Or so at least the fickle multitude 
 Began to whisper, — that this ruggedness 
 Concealed a waning vigour in the strain. 
 But for himself, — Idwal was Idwal still, 
 Without a rival. 
 
 As thus Llarian spoke 
 His looks reposed in loving reverence 
 On him of whom he spake, who stood apart, 
 Beside the foremast. In his lean right hand, 
 Brown as a leafless branch against the blue 
 Of April skies, he held an azure staff. 
 The left with a repellent gesture crushed 
 His robe against his heart. Far down his breast 
 A beard as white and crisp as a cascade 
 Seized by a sudden frost, flowed motionless. 
 
 But now the shout that Cynfran heard had 
 drawn 
 An answer from the shore. A dusky speck 
 Was seen to dance amid the whitening surf 
 That rose and fell in silence on the rocks 
 Far off. And as they watched the speck it grew 
 Into a sailing bird. But nearer still 
 Became the pilot's slight canoe in which
 
 CLAUDIA. 63 
 
 He sat at ease, facing the silver wake 
 He left behind him on the pliant sea. 
 Stroke after stroke he flung the waves behind, 
 Gathering the distance in his arms. And soon, 
 Closing beside the bark, he climbed aboard ; 
 While the crew shouted welcome, and besieged 
 His ears with eager questions as he passed 
 To take the helm. Then at the master's word 
 With measured cries the busy sailors spread 
 The weather-beaten sails, and plied the oars 
 That fringed the curving sides. Two paces back, 
 Two paces forward, the strong rowers strode 
 In even time upon the groaning deck. 
 
 While thus the bark, inspired with sudden life, 
 Shot swiftly to the shore, the Maccabee, 
 Turned upon Llarian with exultant looks, 
 Saying— 
 
 " I pray thee, add thy harp's sweet tones 
 To the melodious plashing of the oars, 
 And the shrill ciying of these white-winged birds 
 That wheel and hover round the nearing cliffs. 
 For now the dangers of the sea and land 
 Are over, over too the long delay 
 Betwixt resolve and action. For I too
 
 C'l CLAUDIA. 
 
 Have my resolve, young stranger. It is this. 
 
 To spend my life henceforth among your tribe, 
 
 Teaching the worship of the living God, 
 
 "Who in the ears of Israel has breathed 
 
 The master-key that governs all His works, 
 
 And rings through all their music. Now the hour 
 
 Is come at length, and therefore my glad soul 
 
 Exults within me. All the world is full 
 
 Of the renown of your heroic songs ; 
 
 Fain would I hear one." 
 
 " Nay, forgive me then," 
 Llarian replied with chilly loftiness ; 
 " How shall my shallow youth presume to sing 
 "When Idwal, bard of bards, the silver-haired, 
 Stands by in silence ? And for thy resolve, 
 Most liberal stranger, to impart to us 
 The overflowings of thy wisdom, — know 
 That all the highest wisdom of the Greeks 
 Came from our shores. The long-haired Samian 
 Whose golden verses still entrance the world, 
 The sage of sages, learned them at the feet 
 Of our Abaris, in those hoary times 
 When Koine was yet a meagre colony 
 Of squalid, ignorant outlaws."
 
 CLAUDIA. 65 
 
 Then ho turned 
 To Idwal, saying, — 
 
 " Master of my soul ! 
 The stranger craves to hear our minstrelsy. 
 Wilt thou not prove to his astonished ears 
 That fame for once has undertold the truth ?" 
 Without a word the aged bard outstrotched 
 His hand and took the harp. Blindly at first 
 His trembling fingers groped among the strings 
 And plucked in darkness music's choicest flowers, 
 Marring their tender bloom. But soon a flash 
 Of inward fire enlightened all his soul ; 
 And thus he sang, while the melodious strings 
 Answered his touch. Or somewhat like to this. 
 For though his lays lived in the Cymric tongue 
 For twice six hundred years, they perished then, 
 Perished for ever with the Cymric bards 
 Whom the first Edward slew, and naught remains 
 But a faint echo of his stirring songs. 
 
 " Across the shining sea 
 The dove-winged vapours flee 
 As with the sunrise from the East we come. 
 In outline clear and high 
 Against the sunny sky 5
 
 06 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Once more I see the cliffs that guard our home, 
 
 The hreastplate of the warrior- Queen 
 Emhossed with rocky points and laced with streamers 
 green. 
 
 " I see the inland hills 
 
 Inveined with milky rills, 
 Onr captive Mother's breasts of faithful love. 
 
 Majestic, motionless, 
 
 She lies in her distress, 
 And marks the changeful clouds that sweep above. 
 
 They troop before her stedfast eyes 
 That gazing upward fain would spell their mysteries. 
 
 " Musing on all her wrongs 
 
 Her gaze she still prolongs, 
 Until the heavens grow pale with sympathy ; 
 
 Then, as the clouds unroll 
 
 A vast and various scroll 
 Thick-writ with promises of vengeance nigh, 
 
 Fresh vigour throbs in every vein, 
 She sees the spoiler spoiled, she sees the slayer slain. 
 
 " Though gashed with many a wound. 
 With many a fetter bound,
 
 CLAUDIA. 67 
 
 Her royal limbs lie prone and helpless still ; 
 
 Yet sound and free and strong 
 
 Her inward forces throng 
 Around the colours of unconquered Will. 
 
 With that victorious standard hers, 
 The freedom that she claims, a righteous Heaven 
 confers. 
 
 " From many a mountain-cell, 
 
 From many a secret dell, 
 Borne in whose arms the prattling streamlets go, 
 
 From many a dim retreat 
 
 Untracked by alien feet 
 Her lurking warriors watch the careless foe, 
 
 Low- crouching for a space they stay, 
 Like the fierce wild-cat ere she bounds upon her prey. 
 
 " Woe to the robber Rome ! 
 
 I see the Cymri come 
 Like a wild torrent down the mountain side. 
 
 I see the hateful race 
 
 Whelmed in a last disgrace, 
 Their dying shrieks re-echo far and wide. 
 
 Woe, woe to Rome ! on rain's verge 
 She lightly seeks a song, but finds her funeral dirge." 
 
 5—2
 
 68 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Here, looking full upon the Maccabee, 
 He ceased. His features, which the while he sung 
 Quivered with passion, slowly re-assumed 
 Their rigid aspect, as the outraged soul 
 That lately at their loopholes threatened war 
 Withdrew into its secret citadel. 
 But scarcely had he ceased, when eagerly 
 The Maccabee began to answer him. 
 " My ringers cannot rule the harp," he cried, 
 " Nor have I skill to guide the stream of thought 
 Through soft-opposing marginals of rhyme. 
 Like your own mountain -streams, my untaught speech 
 Chooses the nearest, though a rugged way. 
 Listen, and pardon. 
 
 " Sirs, be well assured, 
 Although we voyage from the shores of Rome, 
 We come not to your island of the West 
 As Romans, flushed with pride of victory, 
 To flout at your disasters, or to mock 
 Misfortunes that but make you kin with us. 
 Our country and our home, alas ! like yours, 
 Are trampled down beneath the spoiler's feet, 
 Those iron feet tbat grind a shrinking world. 
 Sirs, we are Jews ; and but as aliens dwelt
 
 CLAUDIA. 69 
 
 Within the walls of Rome. My comrade drew 
 
 His earliest breath upon those sunrise shores 
 
 Whence sailed your fathers. As for me, whose eyes 
 
 First saw the light in Rome ; therefore, whose heart 
 
 Perforce must love her even to the last, — 
 
 As men will love their birthplace to the last, 
 
 Though in a foreign land, — I too with him 
 
 Am exiled from her gates for evermore. 
 
 Enough of this. Let us forget awhile 
 
 These petty strifes that vex the warring world, 
 
 Forget the differences of race and name, 
 
 Standing together "neath this open sky 
 
 That binds us in a common brotherhood 
 
 To one great Father. Lo ! in these last days 
 
 He speaks to us as never heretofore 
 
 He spake unto our fathers. Not by mouth 
 
 Of teacher or of prophet, but by One 
 
 Born from His boundless essence, His express 
 
 And perfect Image, Christ of Nazareth. 
 
 Who, wrapped in robes of veiling manhood, moved 
 
 Along the narrow track of this dim life 
 
 And passed into the outer gloom beyond, 
 
 Yielding His soul a faultless sacrifice 
 
 For our misdoings, and returning thence
 
 70 CLAUDIA. 
 
 En wreathed with victor}-. In His name we come 
 
 To every varied clime afar and near : 
 
 To ancient cities round the central sea, 
 
 And hither to the margin of the world. 
 
 And in His name we call the tribes of men 
 
 To turn and leave their evil ways, and pass 
 
 Through mystic waters to His conquering side ; 
 
 To gather to His standard, lifted up 
 
 Against the powers of darkness. Wherefore, sirs, 
 
 Forsake the fruitless service of your shrines ; 
 
 Forsake the false gods your frail hands have made ; 
 
 Turn to the Great Almighty and Unseen, 
 
 Who framed the worlds, and in our nostrils breathed 
 
 His breath immortal. Lo ! beside His throne 
 
 There stands the Crucified who lives again. 
 
 He beckons you with hands that bled for you. 
 
 His eyes are on you, eyes that once ran down 
 
 With bitter tears for you. Hark ! hark ! He speaks ; 
 
 The still, small voice is heard in every soul : — 
 
 4 Return, return, by Me the living Way 
 
 Down -trodden in the depths of death for you.' ' 
 
 Thus spoke the Maccabee. In eager haste 
 He seized the theme. But soon the faltering tones, 
 More solemn, more impassioned, showed a heart
 
 CLAUDIA. 71 
 
 Mastered thereby. And at the first, the bards 
 Listened and gazed in blank astonishment 
 At such untamed discourse, wide of all rules 
 Of rhetoric or rhyme. But in a while 
 Their keen discernments and their nice disdains 
 Passed out of sight. The rugged speech had roused 
 A silent war of thought in many a breast ; 
 Yet with impassive looks they strove to hide 
 The conflict from their fellows and themselves. 
 And when his voice ceased somewhat suddenly, 
 The well-instructed Llarian took the word, 
 Speaking from high to low in calm disdain. 
 
 " stranger ! thou art wise to cast away 
 The vain concernments of a noisy world. 
 Life is a shallow show. God only lives. 
 Into Whose essence we shall sink again, 
 Subsiding silently in soundless depths, 
 Unknowing and unknown. But for the rest : 
 For these strange stories from the sunrise land, 
 We hear them as we hear in after-times 
 The wonder-tales that pleased our babyhood." 
 
 And then he took the harp from Idwal's hands 
 And drew a dreamy prelude from the strings. 
 Innumerable, soft, melodious sounds
 
 72 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Arose and fell along the yielding air 
 
 Beneath his touch, as hillows rise and fall 
 
 When the wind plays upon the pliant sea. 
 
 And through the listening circle round him ran 
 
 Mute signs of admiration. Lifted hrows 
 
 Answered to silent lips that moving shaped 
 
 Large words of praise. But when at length his voice 
 
 Went sailing forth on those harmonious waves 
 
 In stately utterance, each listener grew 
 
 Forgetful of his fellow, and all grew 
 
 Forgetful of the singer in the song. 
 
 Rapt hy the rare enchantment far ahove 
 
 All thought of the enchanter's skill, their souls 
 
 Floated afar on visionary wings, 
 
 Until the world and all its pompous cares 
 
 Dwindled to nothingness, its ages shrank 
 
 Into a moment's compass. But, alas ! 
 
 Worn out tradition creeping slowly down 
 
 The wasteful centuries, long since has lost 
 
 The forceful thoughts and the melodious phrase 
 
 That took his hearers captive at his will. 
 
 " When the wild and stormy waves, 
 The white horses of the sea,
 
 CLAUDIA. 73 
 
 Rise from out their briny caves, 
 
 By the breath of heaven set free ; 
 How they marshal their array 
 For an onset through the bay ! 
 How then* restless pawings scoop 
 The sea- hollows ! till the troop 
 Dashes up the trembling beach : 
 Where an unseen line they reach 
 
 O'er whose goal 
 Not the proudest wave that ever 
 Charged the shore in mad endeavour 
 Dares to roll. 
 
 " As the foremost's foamy hoof 
 Touches that mysterious line, 
 Starting back, he rears aloof 
 Poised upon a balance fine 
 For a moment : — then with roar 
 Like the thunder, on the shore 
 Plunging headlong, breaks and falls. 
 From the cliff the echo calls ; 
 While, far up the pebbly steeps, 
 Wide the wat'ry ruin sweeps 
 Ere it tires ;
 
 74 CLAUDIA. 
 
 And with hollow, rattling moans 
 Shrinking hack among the stones, 
 Slow expires. 
 
 '• Yet the following wave as fast 
 O'er the qnivering relics flies ; 
 Curled aloft in volume vast 
 
 Tilts against the stormy skies. 
 Now once more, that viewless hand 
 Bids the daring water stand : 
 Hurls it with resistless force 
 On the shore, resounding hoarse. 
 Yet still rolling loud and long 
 On they come, a thousand strong, 
 
 Scorning rest ; 
 Till the slow- subsiding main 
 Draws them softly once again 
 To its breast. 
 
 " So with man : by breath divine 
 Lifted like a transient wave 
 From life's sea : in line on line 
 
 Rolled to break upon the grave. 
 Races, empires, towering rise ; 
 Each in turn collapsing dies :
 
 CLAUDIA. 75 
 
 Schools and systems proudly heave ; 
 Soon like them no vestige leave : 
 Far along the shore of Time 
 Swells and sinks the sounding chime, 
 
 Ceaseless, till 
 Gathered hack in calm repose 
 To the depths from whence they rose, 
 
 All are still. 
 
 When, like breakers on the shore, 
 
 Dying sink the Cymric race : 
 When our wars and songs are o'er 
 
 And you pass into our place : 
 Brief will then your glory be, 
 Brief as our adversity. 
 Merged in nations now unknown, 
 Risen again to claim our own, 
 We, as baffled Rome recoils 
 On the splendour of her spoils, 
 
 Conquering leap : 
 Higher up the glittering strands, 
 Farther round the golden sands 
 We shall sweep.
 
 76 CLAUDIA. 
 
 " Empty vaunt ! and idle fear ! 
 
 Soon the eternal calm shall come, 
 When the kingdoms disappear 
 
 And the shouting wars are dumb. 
 Then like some forgotten dream 
 All our puny strifes shall seem : 
 Lulled within that ocean, where 
 Comes nor triumph nor despair ; 
 Far in whose unfathomed deep 
 Alien races peaceful sleep 
 
 Side by side. 
 There, unquenched by storm or night, 
 Evermore the sacred Light 
 Rules the tide." 
 
 Now might be seen that as this languid close 
 
 Fainted away, a dull and dreamy look 
 
 "Was left behind on every listener's face. 
 
 Each felt a subtle network wound about 
 
 His quick affections ; while some palsying power, 
 
 That numbed the nerve of motive, crept along 
 
 The muscles of the mind, and locked it up 
 
 In chill indifference. Wherefore should we toil 
 
 To find the truth of nature and of God ;
 
 CLAUDIA. 77 
 
 To right the wrong in self and in the world ; 
 Why vex our souls with any careful aims ; 
 If life he hut a transient, barren show, 
 A trivial ripple on a boundless sea, 
 Soon smoothed for ever ? 
 
 Julius was the first 
 To free his spirit from these cobweb-chains, 
 And fling them to the winds. " sir," he said, 
 " Thine is a noble song and nobly sung ; 
 Alive with all the passion of the sea ; 
 Melodious with its mournful cadences ; 
 Yet with a calm heart like its central depths. 
 And ever, as thy touch inspired the strings 
 I seemed to hear ten thousand thousand waves 
 Dissolve in music on a distant shore. 
 
 " But yet methinks if all men steeped their souls 
 In these delicious languors ; which beat down 
 The strongest wing of hope, nay destroy hope, 
 Or level its high meaning with despair ; 
 Which puff the hollow heart and empty mind 
 With dull resistance, till they simulate 
 The force and fervour of a living soul ; 
 Which make good evil, making evil good, 
 And both a transient and unmeaning fomi ;
 
 78 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Rethinks if this dead-calm philosophy 
 Became the common faith of all mankind, 
 Soon none were left to hold it. Since, deprived 
 Of that main stimulus and spur of life 
 Which points to endless conquests and increase, 
 Life upon life remodelled, — sire and son 
 Linked in unbroken chain, — a noble race 
 Where he that wisely wins bequeaths his strength 
 To him that follows in the vast career ; 
 Deprived of this, the gross material frame 
 Might still increase and multiply, to fill 
 A sordid world with counterfeits of man ; 
 But the true man, God's viceroy in the earth, 
 Formed in His image, formed to conquer self, 
 To ravel out His secret ways in time 
 And win the better life that lies beyond, 
 Would wither in a lonely barrenness. 
 
 " Pardon, O bards, the freedom of my words ; 
 And let me crave of you indulgent ears, 
 While with ungarnished speech I utter forth 
 The burden of the message in my soul, 
 Touching the godlike destiny of man. 
 
 " Not as the waves arise upon the sea 
 Does man arise out of the depths of God.
 
 CLAUDIA. 79 
 
 But as the vapours which the sea exhales 
 
 That parting float along the yielding air ; 
 
 Now piled aloft in creamy battlements, 
 
 Now molten in a mass of threatening steel, 
 
 Now spread in snowy network on the blue, 
 
 Now lying scattered far in fleecy flocks, 
 
 Range beyond range, that narrow to the west 
 
 And bask in dying splendours of the sun. 
 
 Then, as the long processions of the clouds 
 
 Advance to bless the thirsty solitudes ; 
 
 To feed the vital juices of the soil 
 
 And live in all the myriad forms of life ; — 
 
 To trickle from the secret mountain- springs, 
 
 To blend in rills and gather into streams, 
 
 Until the vast collective rivers roll 
 
 Their wealth and beauty through the peopled plains ; — 
 
 So passes on the immortal breath of God 
 
 Outbreathed in the immortal soul of man. 
 
 What though the rivers run into the sea ? 
 
 The flowers remain ; the flocks have quenched their 
 
 thirst, 
 What though this transient life return to God '? 
 The separate essence of the soul He made, 
 Still unabsorbed, remains to praise Him still.
 
 80 CLAUDIA. 
 
 We are the offspring of His life and love, 
 Destined to people ont that life and love 
 Through yet nntrodden wilds of space and time. 
 Such was His charge to man, His delegate 
 Throned in the centre of a docile world. 
 
 " Alas ! dethroned as soon as throned, he fell, 
 Reaching too high ; and life's unsullied stream 
 Was poisoned by one subtle drop of sin 
 In its first springing forth. Alas ! alas ! 
 Let all the morning stars that shouted once 
 For joy, for ever weep their dewy tears. 
 
 " Yet how could finite spirits choose the right 
 Save through the tyrant discipline of wrong '? 
 And how could frailty learn that it was frail 
 Save by severe experience '? Therefore God 
 In foresight calm withheld His awful arm. 
 And now His image in the darkened soul 
 Grew dim and far, and in its stead arose 
 Base idols all distorted and defaced 
 By attributes of evil manifold 
 Reflected from an evil consciousness. 
 Then, worshipping these attributes, the soul 
 Grew baser yet, defiling and defiled, 
 For ever sinking deeper in the mire
 
 CLAUDIA. 81 
 
 Of yet more vile idolatry. At length 
 
 God from the thickest darkness stretched an arm 
 
 And summoned one from out the tribes of men, 
 
 And faithful Abram drawing near obeyed. 
 
 Abram the father of a chosen race 
 
 Stubborn and dull of heart yet fearing God. 
 
 But all the world besides rolled round in sin ; 
 
 For though He spake to these in sun and moon 
 
 And all the punctual bounties of the year, 
 
 They would not heed. Wherefore He gave them up 
 
 To foul disgrace, blackening and deepening still. 
 
 " But yet once more from dazzling depths which seem 
 To us but darkness, comes that beckoning Hand. 
 Not now to one, but all : not now to found 
 A sacred nation but to save a world, 
 Roman and Briton, Greek and Jew. 
 
 " sirs ! 
 Did I not speak of rivers, flowers, and flocks ? 
 Begone, begone, with tame comparisons. 
 The free soul mocks the grasp of simile 
 And bursts away to stand apart, alone, 
 More inaccessible than any star. 
 But bid her now to question of herself 
 And she will answer boldly — yea — I am, 
 
 6
 
 82 CLAUDIA. 
 
 And shall be through the widening worlds beyond ; 
 And in the buried seed of this small life 
 My boundless future lies, a pliant germ. 
 
 " Therefore awake ! arise ! shake off your dreams, 
 Stand before God and hear Him when He speaks 
 By us His servants and His witnesses. 
 Lo ! life and immortality are brought 
 To light at length by Christ the risen One. 
 The morn your ancient seers and bards desired, 
 But died or ere they saw, has dawned on you. 
 ! rise and follow to the perfect day. 
 Advance as men whom a great captain leads 
 To glittering heights of conquest. Then at last 
 When the loud shout of triumph rings afar 
 Through echoing worlds, when the great fight is fought, 
 The warrior rests upon his well-tried arms. 
 Not sinkiug in the depths of Deity 
 Unknowing and unknown, absorbed, diffused ; — 
 But all compact in full identity, 
 And welcomed to his spirit's father-land, 
 He dwells at peace, he knows as he is known. 
 There, in that genial clime, the royal flower 
 Of manhood shall unfold from age to age 
 Nobler and nobler yet for evermore."
 
 CLAUDIA. 88 
 
 Here Julius ceased. His animated hand 
 Sank by his side. And on his countenance 
 O'er which so many lights and shades of thought 
 Had flitted while ho spoke, there fell again 
 Its wonted radiant calm, full of the Heaven 
 His latest words portrayed. 
 
 But now the time 
 For song and for discourse was past. The ship 
 Neared the low beach, alive with villagers ; 
 Whose voices, mingled in a busy hum, 
 Swelled on the air as shoreward plunged the keel. 
 The fishermen, in eager haste to share 
 In her unlading, shouting drew their fleet 
 Of slight canoes and buoyant coracles 
 Down to the oozy verge, deeming the tide 
 Too low to lift her to the pier. Behind, 
 The ready- worded mothers and shy maids 
 Stood on the higher ridges of the beach. 
 These with round arms shading their curious eyes 
 Gazed at the vessel and the crowded pier. 
 While those would ever and anon break off 
 Their eager speech to glance along the shore 
 And shrill a warning to some heedless child 
 Straying too far upon the treacherous sand, 
 
 G— 2
 
 84 CLAUDIA. 
 
 That rose in spongy circlets round about 
 The little footprints. High upon the left 
 A guard of Roman legionaries stood, 
 Their bright arms flashing in the morning sun, 
 To question of the names and the intents 
 Of such as landed ; while with humorous taunts 
 • That showed small reverence for the conquering race 
 The Cymric crowd looked on. 
 
 And now full soon, 
 While yet the tide was deep about the pier, 
 The vessel neared it, and the sailors flung 
 The chains ashore, and laid a rugged bridge 
 Of planks between. Then first the train of bards 
 Attended by a pompous rctinuo 
 That bore the harps, the wands, the sacred sprigs 
 Wreathed in dark symbols ; and were bent beneath 
 Changes of raiment and the thousand things 
 Which meet, or fail to meet, the thousand needs 
 Of those whom fortune favours, swept on shore. 
 While lost within the shadow of their state 
 The pilgrims stepped behind them, bearing each 
 A staff and scrip, no more : saving in truth 
 His favour in Whose favour there is life 
 And more than wealth or fame. And hidden thus
 
 CLAUDIA. 85 
 
 They might have passed unnoticed by the guard, 
 But that they honoured law even in the hands 
 Of lawless usurpation and drew near. 
 And as it chanced, the captain, sorely chafed 
 By all the tangled business of the bards, 
 Worse tangled by the comments of the crowd, 
 Turned the side-glance of a distracted eye 
 To where the pilgrims stood, and glad to seize 
 A moment's respite, reached a hasty hand 
 To take their rolls of licence, set his seal, 
 And bade the soldiers let them pass in peace. 
 
 Now as they went in silence up the beach 
 They heard a step that followed hastily, 
 And turning, Llarian faced them. 
 
 "Sirs"— he said. 
 " Forgive me for this forced companionship, 
 And bear with me a moment. For I see 
 That spite of all your marvels and wild tales, 
 And spite of all our symbols, with the which 
 We give a solid form to certain truths 
 Too subtle for the vulgar mind to seize, 
 We yet are brothers in the inner faith. 
 For you err widely when you call on us 
 To leave the false gods our frail hands have made.
 
 80 CLAUDIA. 
 
 You take the sign for what it signifies, 
 The portrait for the person ; — even as if 
 You saw a lover kiss the written name 
 Of her he loves, and straightway counted him 
 A fool to pour the passion of his soul 
 Upon the senseless tracings of a reed. 
 
 " But while I speak, my own reproving words 
 Fly hack against me ; " — here he fixed his eye 
 Upon the Maccabee. — " Perchance the tale 
 The which thou toldest and I counted vain : — 
 Of one who was the offspring of a God, 
 And yet a mortal man ; yet after death 
 Within the self-same body lived again ; — 
 Is but the outward allegoric form 
 In which you fashion to the common gaze 
 Some lofty, incommunicable truth. 
 (Nay, let me speak a moment more), if so, 
 Thy gracious pardon ; but thy look and voice 
 Seemed so alive with living certainties, 
 They drew me from the proper scent of thought. 
 But now that we have left the crowd behind, 
 And no gross, undiscerning ears can hear, 
 Let us fling off reserve ; for we are one : 
 Bard, teacher, priest or Braid, — all are one."
 
 CLAUDIA. B 1 ? 
 
 • Nay," said the Maccabee, in outraged tones, 
 " TIV' worship oue Jehovah, the true God, 
 And strive to bring the nations to His feet : 
 You serve you know not what ; and what you know 
 You muffle up in mystery, and thence draw 
 Your own advantage." 
 
 " It were timer far," 
 Answered the well-bred Llarian, " and more kind, 
 To say we serve you know not what ; for we 
 Know well the God we serve : a God unseen 
 From Yvnom the streaming currents of the seen 
 Flow outwards, and to Whom they turn again : 
 The God Who in the infant days of time 
 Was worshipped in the groves and on the hills 
 Of Defrobani, whence our fathers came. 
 Here in the sacred islands of the West 
 His worship lingers, and His priests are we. 
 As to our own advantage, I perceive 
 That thou art shamed to own the graceless word, 
 Therefore I will but say, Alas ! 'tis true 
 That everywhere and always may be found 
 The evil-minded man ; and such a man, 
 If trusted with the sacred offices, 
 Grows yet more evil ; as a lifeless thing
 
 B8 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Corrupts tlie sooner in the sun's pure beams. 
 But lo ! " — he turned to Julius, — " on thy lips 
 Some utterance hovers : and thy silver hairs 
 Give hope of wisdom. Thy discourse was wise. 
 Speak then and I will listen needfully." 
 
 Then Julius, thus besought, said with a smile, 
 "lam not over-careful, courteous youth, 
 To claim thy meed of wisdom ; lest perchance, 
 When thou hast heard me further, thou reclaim 
 The rash preferment. That most precious pearl 
 Of wisdom, for the which I, having found, 
 Have bartered all I ever counted wise 
 Before I found it, might but seem to thee 
 A worthless bauble ; since the spirit's eye 
 Sees only what the pictured type within 
 Prepares her to perceive. So that none know 
 This heavenly wisdom as the wisest thing, 
 But those in whom a sacred craving forms 
 The mould that fits her. Therefore, my son, 
 Pray for this boon : without it, though I speak 
 As with an angel's tongue, I speak in vain. 
 
 " Now therefore be it known to thee, the talc 
 Which thou hast counted vain, must still be vain, 
 If that the sober truth be vanity.
 
 CLAUDIA. 8 ( J 
 
 For He of whom my comrade spoke, in Whom 
 
 The invisible glories of the God of gods 
 
 Dwelt visibly, Whose mortal body died 
 
 Even as we die, but rose as we shall rise 
 
 When the great gates of Hades roll away ; 
 
 He is no fable-fabric, shaped at will 
 
 To house a truth too delicate to bear 
 
 The common contact of the crowd ; far less 
 
 Is He a dazzling marvel, forged to chain 
 
 Their credulous obedience. But He lived, 
 
 Nor long ago, upon this common earth, 
 
 'Tis in the memory of living men 
 
 How amidst signs and wonders He was born 
 
 Of a pure Jewish maiden, in the land 
 
 Given to our fathers in the olden time. 
 
 In Him, a man among the sons of men, 
 
 The Godhead walked on earth, poor and despised, 
 
 Reversing all the maxims of the age. 
 
 His words of godlike power, if writ at full, 
 
 Would cumber up the world ; His deeds of love, 
 
 If told at large, would overlast the night 
 
 And leugthen out beyond the following days, 
 
 And still the half would linger on untold, 
 
 Yet none the less, nay far the more, for all
 
 90 CLAUDIA. 
 
 This ample raying forth of love and power, — 
 
 The bitterness of envy followed Him, 
 
 The hatred of the darkness thrust Him forth. 
 
 Into the cruel hands of lawless law ; 
 
 So that His mortal manhood died forlorn. 
 
 That thus it should be, seers had long foretold ; 
 
 And thus it came to pass ; and all I tell 
 
 Took solid shape within this outer life. 
 
 And be thou sure of this ; no fables, spun 
 
 By condescending brains for simple ears, 
 
 Can body forth with such vitality 
 
 The nature of the great Unsearchable, 
 
 As did the life He lived, the death He died." 
 
 " These are strange things," said Llarian, " which 
 you bring 
 To our astonished ears :" and as he spoke, 
 The war of light and darkness in his soul 
 Sent up its solemn gleams and awful glooms 
 To flash and darken o'er his troubled brow : 
 " Or, if they be not as you think, at least 
 They show strange cravings in the human hearts 
 That conjured up this tale to quiet them : — 
 Yet not so strange ; for I myself have heard 
 From out a hollow chamber of my heart
 
 CLAUDIA. 01 
 
 A sad voice issue ; as of one that pined 
 
 In bitter solitude ; deep, deep within ; 
 
 Too deep for utterance in articulate words, 
 
 But with a melancholy sound that said. 
 
 Oh, I am weary, weary to the death 
 
 Of all this vast, inhuman, Infinite, 
 
 Which men call God ; which never drops adown 
 
 One tear of pity ; never sheds below 
 
 One look of love ; and never reaches forth 
 
 A hand of help : — But when I heard this voice 
 
 I choked it down with wise remonstrances, 
 
 Nor dreamed till now it spoke the truth." 
 
 He ceased. 
 And on the sunny shore they sat them down, 
 And Julius spake again ; and Llarian 
 Answered again ; yea many times again 
 Each spoke and answered ; till the shaft of truth 
 Pierced deep within the heart of Llarian, 
 Healing the wound it made. An hour went by 
 Before he marked how far the ebbing tide 
 Had shrunk to seaward. Then he sprang to his feet, 
 Saying in softened and regretful tones, 
 " But we must part ; for see where Idwal stands 
 Upon the western cliff and beckons me.
 
 92 CLAUDIA. 
 
 I scarce would grieve that master of my soul 
 For all the light to which his eyes are hlind. 
 And yet I would ; for he has hid me seek 
 Truth hcfore all ; and in the after-world 
 Idwal himself will more than pardon me. 
 But now farewell ; perchance our threads of life 
 May cross again and weave a firmer bond." 
 
 Thus Llarian parted ; and the other twain 
 Followed his lessening shape along the sands 
 With eyes of silent blessing ; while their souls 
 Burned in an unseen sacrifice of prayer. 
 And when his many-coloured robe grew dim 
 Within the dusky distance, and his form 
 Had dwindled slowly to a gliding speck, 
 And they had turned them to their course again, 
 That unseen sacrifice was fragrant still 
 Upon God's altar. 
 
 Now it came to pass, 
 While yet the brief autumnal day shone warm, 
 They left the level shore for a rough track, 
 By which in weary plight they fared along 
 A marshy vale ; while faint and fainter grew 
 The sound of the deep breathing of the sea, 
 That panted far behind them on the sands.
 
 CLAUDIA. 93 
 
 And when tho sun sloped to the west, and all 
 The reedy pools on either side were red 
 With slant reflections from the flaming sky, 
 Their weary feet still traced a winding course 
 Along low hillocks plumed with faded grass, 
 On which their waving shadows rose and fell. 
 
 The misty breath of Autumn settled chill 
 Upon the plain, and not a sound was heard. 
 Save when a moor-hen, startled from her nest, 
 Fled through the rustling sedges ; or anon, 
 A nimble-batted water-rat discerned 
 The echo of their feet above his home, 
 And dropping in the pool with a soft splash 
 Ferried across to the opposing shore, 
 Clasped in the gleaming ripple that he made. 
 North-west they toiled along, intent to gain 
 A tufted mount that stood advanced before 
 The inland hills, and jutted on the plain. 
 They walked in silence ; for the bare, wild scene 
 Looked doubly wild and bare to alien eyes, 
 Used to the glowing beauty of the South. 
 Even the farewell glances of the sun, 
 That filled the sober aspect of the clouds 
 With lively red, seemed cold and watery
 
 94 CLAUDIA. 
 
 To Julius : to whose thoughts the dappled sky 
 Showed like the tear- stained face of one who parts 
 In sorrow and mistrust ; unlike the look 
 Of happy skies in Lydia. Often there, 
 Standing at evening on the fading shore, 
 His lengthening shadow sloping up the heach, 
 Had he heheld a path of glory span 
 The hlue Egsean ; from the moistened sand 
 Beneath his feet, on to the utmost verge ; 
 And in that path ten thousand thousand waves 
 That like a crowd of silken courtiers 
 Came thronging smoothly from the open gates 
 Of the air-palace ; whose foundations shone 
 With all the precious, many-tinted stones 
 That garnish forth the heavenly city's walls. 
 There, gazing far through aiiy colonnades 
 That lengthened still as still the turning earth 
 Rolled eastward darkly, he had seen within 
 The splendid presence of the setting sun, 
 Throned like a king, whose favourable smiles 
 Enrich his parting vassals to the last. 
 
 And then a contrast keener far than this 
 Or any other in the outer world, 
 Pressed on the Maccabce and silenced him.
 
 CLAUDIA. 95 
 
 How dainty- splendid looked their enterprise, 
 
 Seen from afar ! how rudely squalid now ! 
 
 Then in heroic unity it rose 
 
 And seemed to float mid-heaven, from crown to base 
 
 Clothed with immortal bloom, and delicate 
 
 By airy veils of distance drawn between. 
 
 Now, broken into trivial points, it stood 
 
 Based on low dust, the rosy tints were gone, 
 
 And the coarse grain of circumstantial life 
 
 Thrust itself all unflattered into view.
 
 PART III. 
 
 As thus the pilgrims mused, upon their left 
 
 A figure seemed to start as from the ground. 
 
 And Cynfran strode towards them. His curled locks, 
 
 Black as the seaweed left hy stormy tides 
 
 High on bleached ridges of the summer shore, 
 
 Were all aflame against the crimson sky 
 
 That burned behind him, and made yet more pale 
 
 The white wrath of his face ; while in his eyes 
 
 Flashed hate unquenchable : in his right hand 
 
 The ashen spear was poised, ready to fly. 
 
 At this strange sight the pilgrims held their breath: 
 They lacked not courage ; yet their manly hearts 
 
 7
 
 98 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Blenched for a moment, and each strove in vain 
 To thrust his fellow to the safer place, 
 Awaiting the assault. 
 
 But Cynfran checked 
 His fierce career, seeing them all unarmed, 
 And lowered the threatful spear and called to them 
 In deepest gutturals of the Cymric tongue, — 
 " Draw forth your weapons, for I scorn to take 
 Advantage of surprisal." 
 
 " Nay, good friend, 
 We bear no weapons, save a kindly will 
 i "■ thee and all mankind," said Julius then, 
 Advancing towards him with a gracious mien. 
 
 But Cynfran answered sternly, — " Stand aloof, 
 ( >r else my spear shall pin thee to the ground. 
 Say, what has brought you hither? Are ye not 
 Of that vile race that wrongs us, that has snared 
 Our Caradoc by treacherous woman-hands, 
 And bound him to your general's chariot-wheels, 
 And given him as a show to gaping Rome ? 
 
 and his sire besides, the generous Bran, 
 I bralling the prisoner and the hostage too ?" 
 
 •■ Knough," said Julius, " thou hast widely erred ; 
 comrade is a Roman, but he ov/es
 
 CLAUDIA. { .)'.) 
 
 No boon but exile to the Roman power. 
 
 For me : I first drew breath upon the shore 
 
 Whence sailed your fathers. For the rest : know 
 
 this, — 
 Although a shameful treachery has given 
 Your noble Caradoc to Cassar's hands, 
 Though a more shameful treachery still holds 
 The hostage and the prisoner both in Rome, 
 Yet sire and sou are treated royally, 
 And lodged and served right nobly, as becomes 
 Such noble captives. If in happier times 
 Thou hast fought in the king's forces, or hast served 
 In the king's council, thou wilt know this ring, 
 Which proves us trusty friends of Caradoc.'' 
 
 And while he spoke he lifted his right hand, 
 And straight the sunset flashed upon a gem, 
 Turned to the palm, clasped by a serpent wrought 
 In finest gold. Then Cynfran at the sight 
 Had almost fallen before them : for how oft 
 That gem had flashed upon the royal hand 
 That cheered the Cymric forces to the charge. 
 •' Pardon me, sirs," he faltered forth at length, 
 " I thought as much to see the sky descend, 
 The sea hang in its place above our heads, 
 
 7—2
 
 100 CLAUDIA. 
 
 As to find friends of Caradoc in you. 
 
 Lo ! I am yours : command me : I am nerved 
 
 By memories of inexpiable wrongs 
 
 To do more cruel and more desperate deeds 
 
 Upon the alien race than ever yet 
 
 Curdled vour blood to hear of or to dream. 
 
 You come to stir the smouldering fire of the land ? 
 
 To gather up the scattered Cymric strength 
 
 And hurl the invaders headlong ? I am yours, 
 
 Yours to the death." 
 
 " Nay," Julius sternly said, 
 " Our errand is as far from thy wild thoughts 
 As heaven is far above the howling storm. 
 This royal signet-ring was merely given 
 That the king's friends may trust us. Have not thus 
 Of memories of inexpiable wrong : 
 The most inexpiable: and most cruel wrong 
 That ever yet was done by man to man, 
 Shrinks into nothing by the monstrous growth 
 Of that vast wrong he heaps upon himself, 
 Who, wrenching off his soul from God and good, 
 Sells her pure beauty to the vilest ends ; 
 Whether revenge or some yet viler end, 
 If there be viler. Go and muse on this :
 
 CLAUDIA. 
 
 101 
 
 Veugeance belongs to God; and His revenge 
 
 Is love and mercy." 
 
 So they turned and went : 
 While dumb with manifold surprise, and pierced 
 To the soul's quick, Cynfran stood motionless, 
 All darkly drawn against the western sky, 
 Till they had passed the levels of the marsh. 
 But as they went upon their way, the heart 
 Of Julius smote him. For he thought : — ' Perchauce 
 This soul is sorely wounded, and its cry 
 That fell with such discordance on my ear 
 Was harsh through grievous anguish. Yea, he spoke 
 Of memories of inexpiable wrongs ; 
 And through his wildly melancholy eyes 
 Looked forth a miserable life. Alas ! 
 How have I failed to follow in Thy track. 
 Most pitiful Jesus ! who wouldst never break 
 The bruised reed, but bind it up with love.' 
 And then once more and for the thousandth time 
 He thought of Claudia. Of the gentle grace, 
 The meek, unconscious wisdom of her ways ; 
 Of that clear eye of a most single aim 
 Which -filled the body of her life with light. 
 So shamed his heart with stern comparisons,
 
 102 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Laid all his spirit open to the light, 
 Abased himself and won the power to rise. 
 
 Now as they left the fourth long league behind 
 They neared the tufted knoll, and found it stood 
 Amidst a steep and stony watercourse, 
 Down which the streamlet ran which fed the marsh. 
 It was an islet fenced about with trees, 
 And piled by Druids of forgotten days 
 About an oak of double sacredness. 
 Seeing that round its solitary roots 
 The homage of the parted stream was poured, 
 And that the healing plant had grown thereon. 
 Below the mount the waters met again 
 With gurgling welcomes, and the happy stream 
 Quickened its pace and hastened blithely on ; 
 Unguessing how tho melancholy marsh 
 Would spread a net to catch her silver feet, 
 And choke her tuneful voice, and hold her fast 
 Like a poor fly within the spider's web, 
 From the great mother-sea, that heaved afar 
 Her gleaming breast along the low-ridged shore, 
 (hiding and calling to her lingering child. 
 Crossing the brook, they set themselves to climb, 
 The turfy slope; when suddenly there broke
 
 CLAUDIA. 
 
 103 
 
 Upon their startled ears a mournful voice 
 That with wild guttural plainings filled the air : 
 And when he heard it, Julius paused amazed, 
 And with his right hand timorously checked 
 His fellow by the robe ; while with the left 
 Curved round his ear, he strove to catch the sounds 
 That wandered to and fro among the trees. 
 Again that piercing, melancholy cry ! 
 At which the Maecabee released his robe 
 From Julius' grasp, and springing up the knoll 
 He disappeared, while Julius' slower steps 
 Toiled up behind : but e'er he reached midway, 
 The younger rose upon the ridge again, 
 A hushing finger signing on his lips, 
 The bright defiance wholly melted out 
 From all his altered face, which wore instead 
 The pained and tender look of one who sees 
 A sorrow with an unknown history. 
 
 Soon side by side they stood, and looking down 
 Saw in the centre a huge oak that reared 
 A gnarled and knotted trunk, which held aloft 
 A roof of ponderous foliage. Tier on tier, 
 The twisted bough and branch and angular twig 
 Carried through great to small, through small to less,
 
 ^ CLAUDIA. 
 
 The image of a rugged earnest strength. 
 
 While like a man bent on a noble aim, 
 
 Who clothes himself with beauty unawares, 
 
 Each sinewy limb was wreathed with carven leaves 
 
 In graceful groups, that joined themselves again 
 
 In larger masses rich with gold and green 
 
 And leafy hollows filled with violet shade. 
 
 But Julius and his fellow only marked 
 
 A lonely woman sitting still as death 
 
 Among the bare roots of that ancient tree, 
 
 Beside a hoary sacrificial stone". 
 
 Her face was on her knees, around her knees 
 
 The clasp of ivory arms, and down her neck 
 
 A rippled fleece of dusky tresses hung 
 
 Over the ruined richness of a robe 
 
 That told of happier times. Above her head 
 
 The squirrel plucked the acorn, at her feet 
 
 The robin hopped and flitted unabashed. 
 
 But as the pilgrims questioned under breath, 
 
 11 Does she still live ? " " Was not that cry her last ? " 
 
 " Nay, see the vital tension of her hands :" — 
 
 As thus they whispered, suddenly she sprang 
 
 With a wild gesture to her feet, and waved 
 
 Her outspread arras on the regardless air.
 
 CLAUDIA. 105 
 
 The well-accustomed creatures of the wood 
 Marked her no more than if a harmless sheep 
 Had risen up from depths of dewy grass 
 Uttering her plaintive call for a strayed lamb ; 
 While in the Cymric tongue she cried aloud, 
 Awaking all the echoes with her song : — 
 
 " Gladys ! Gladys ! Gladys ! come to me ! 
 
 My soul cries after thee. 
 As from the crag the wailing eagle cries 
 After her eaglet, when the swift mist flies 
 Thick sweeping o'er Eriri, and her eyes 
 Have lost all ken of the weak, fluttering thing 
 
 Whose untried wing 
 
 Never again may come 
 To nestle underneath her breast at home. 
 
 " Gladys ! Gladys ! Gladys ! come to me ! 
 
 My soul cries after thee. 
 It cannot be that thou hast slipped aside 
 Into the life unseen, whose waters wide 
 Sweep round the life we see ; for had'st thou died 
 Thy spirit in its parting agony 
 
 Had turned to me : 
 
 But not a sound or vision 
 Has warned my watching soul of thy transition.
 
 10() CLAUDIA. 
 
 " Gladys ! Gladys ! Gladys ! come to me ! 
 
 My soul cries after thee. 
 Hear me ! Thou great, unutterable One, 
 To none save the white-bearded Druids known, 
 To whom along this sacrificial stone 
 Full many a victim's flowing blood has passed. 
 
 Hear me at last ! 
 
 ! end this weary pain, 
 Give back my nursling to my arms again. 
 
 " Alas ! no more a nursling ! twelve sad years 
 
 Washed by my stormy tears, 
 One after one have lost their bloom and died, 
 Since Gladys, my heart's darling, as blue-eyed 
 As speedwells are, was parted from my side ; 
 And as a stranger would she greet me now. 
 Yet where art thou ? 
 My soul cries after thee. 
 Gladys 1 Gladys ! Gladys ! come to me." 
 
 At this refrain she paused, and swept the sky 
 And all the grove and all the land about 
 With wild despairing eyes ; then sank again 
 On the cold ground among the wrinkled roots. 
 Now Julius bade his comrade by a sign
 
 CLAUDIA. 107 
 
 Remain aloof ; and with his eyes tear-dimmed 
 Went forward in compassionate courtesy 
 To warn the mourner of their presence near. 
 His footsteps rustling in the withered leaves 
 Plucked back her senses, self-withdrawn and drowned 
 Within the still depths of an absent mind. 
 A gleam of hope sparkled within her eyes ; 
 And rising calmly, her dilated form 
 Stood solemnly expectant ; but alas ! 
 When she saw nothing but a way-worn man 
 Advancing towards her, all her features fell, 
 Displeasure darkened in her gloomy looks, 
 And pride and sternness stiffened every limb. 
 
 " Sad mother," said he gently, " pardon us ; 
 In no officious freedom do we break 
 Upon thy sacred sorrow. Strangers here, 
 Seeking a pathway to the inland hills, 
 We chanced upon this mount ; and could not fail 
 To hear thee mourning for a long-lost child. 
 The words thou uttered'st touched a secret spring 
 Of grief in my own breast, and made it flow ; 
 For I too mourn a dear and long-lost child 
 Held captive by the snares of wicked men." 
 
 At this her proud eyes shot a spark of scorn,
 
 108 CLAUDIA. 
 
 And thus she answered — " If thy love were such. 
 So cold, so careless, as to leave thy child 
 Captive amid the snares of wicked men, 
 It is not worthy to sit down and mourn 
 Here in the dust hy mine." But Julius met 
 Her scorn with meekness, saying, " Let it be ; 
 We will not vex the soreness of our hearts 
 By any rash reproaches ; nor expand 
 Out tearful woes into a cloud of words 
 In bitter rivalry. Thy cup of grief, 
 Lady, I see, is full to overflow ; 
 And mine, God knows, has scanty room to spare. 
 Yet must I own, my loss has not that edge 
 Which wounds the instinct of the quivering flesh. 
 The life which throbs in my child's outward frame- 
 Called me not father ; but her soul's dear life 
 Was fed through mine from the eternal source. 
 And could I know that still that life is hers, 
 Our mournful parting I could almost hail 
 As a delightful meeting. Oftentimes 
 In silent messages at dead of night 
 Her spirit to my spirit witnesses 
 That so it is. Then trembling with the joy 
 I waken, and give thanks that my lost lamb
 
 CLAUDIA. 109 
 
 Is safe within the Heavenly Shepherd's fold." 
 
 These healing thoughts that touched with tender 
 hand 
 Her inward hurts, so fretted heretofore 
 With cruel fears and fancies of the hrain, 
 Softened her heaii at first : so that she stood 
 With lips half opened and with moistened eyes, 
 Hanging upon his words ; but when he ceased 
 Her brow regathered all its ominous shade, 
 And thus she answered him — 
 
 " Stranger, thou speak'st 
 Fantastic riddles to a broken heart : 
 I only know that I have lost my child. 
 Not mine by any fanciful conceit, 
 But by the close, quick tie of motherhood. 
 Mine, — for she drew her essence from my heart ; 
 Mine, — by an anguish, by a rapture too, 
 Endured, enjoyed, by me and me alone ; 
 Mine, — by the helpless, formless infancy 
 That lay unconscious in my arms and thrilled 
 Their veins with new, unutterable life ; 
 While in each finger that so gently pressed 
 Her fragile limbs, lay hid a giant's strength 
 To shield them from the faintest touch of harm."
 
 110 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Before the sacred passion of her grief 
 Julius a moment paused : then with few words 
 Emphatic, and a countenance that showed 
 Through its transparent veil the light within, 
 He strove to kindle a like cheering flame 
 Within the gloomy chamher of her heart. 
 " lady, rest assured, the All-seeing One. 
 On whom but even now thy spirit called, — 
 Who gave the child and gave the love she found, — 
 Still has her in His ken, though far from thine. 
 Yet tell me, was thy child stolen from thy side ? 
 Our business takes us far and wide, throughout 
 The Cymric lands, and we may chance to light 
 Upon some hints or traces of the maid." 
 
 At this a faint light struggled through the gloom 
 That shadowed all her face ; and with a voice 
 Changed as the worn-out wind changes its voice 
 When maddening storms abate, she answered him. — 
 " Like a sick sheep, whom all the butting flocks 
 Chase from the fold, have I, alas ! been long ; 
 My kindred would not bear with my complaints, 
 And drove me from their homesteads and their path-;, 
 And for the rest I scorned their proffered aid. 
 Thus dwelling outcast in the caves and woods, —
 
 CLAUDIA. Ill 
 
 Conversing only with the reckless winds 
 
 And tumbling torrents, — their monotonous sounds 
 
 Have sunk into my brain : till all I feel ; 
 
 All I remember ; all that once I was ; 
 
 And all the horror of the thing I am ; — 
 
 Has grown an inarticulate misery. 
 
 " Yet still it might be uttered, were this all, 
 Were I alone ; — but, — let me whisper it, — 
 A hateful thing is with mc in the woods. 
 It glares upon me from the noonday sky ; 
 It mocks me from behind the forest-trees ; 
 And when I stoop to drink at any brook, 
 Features more vile than any words can show, 
 Yet with a shocking likeness to the face 
 Worth more than all the world beside to me, 
 Are pictured in it close beside my own 
 And ripple in and out and mix with them." 
 
 Here Julius snapped the dark thread of her 
 thoughts : — 
 " lady, I bcesech thee, do not give 
 The Evil one this mastery over thee, 
 To speak as if his paltry trickery 
 Were truth and substance. Rather cast thyself 
 Into the strong arms of the God of gods ;
 
 112 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Gird up thy soul, and boldly trample out 
 This spark of hell. And truly when we heard 
 Thy sorrowing voice among these silent trees 
 Thy words bespoke a mind that knew itself." 
 
 "Yea! yea!" she cried, "but hear me, or my 
 heart 
 Bursts with its ghastly secret. Then at times, 
 When I have missed the horror for a while 
 And my crushed soul begins to breathe once more, 
 And, — like a hunted creature when the hunt 
 Has swept its cruel pageant out of sight, 
 Peers timidly from covert and begins 
 To venture forth into the light again, — 
 Just as calm thoughts, like clear, delicious springs, 
 Spread out their coolness through my burning brain , 
 Then from the very heart of that reprieve 
 Breaks forth the blackness of a deeper doom ; 
 A voice not mine rings from my loathing lips 
 In cruel mockery ; by the which I know 
 That through some unwatched door the enemy 
 Has stolen into rny citadel of life 
 And has me in its wicked will ; — " 
 
 " Nay, nay," 
 Said Julius, " none was ever yet, thank God,
 
 CLAUDIA. 113 
 
 Iu any wicked will save but his own. 
 Though like a cruel beast the Evil one 
 Roams for his prey, a greater far than he 
 Is still at hand to pluck the trembling soul 
 Out of his deathful jaws. Cry out to Him, — 
 To the great Father of the spirits of men, — 
 And He will hear and rescue." 
 
 " It may be : "— 
 She answered, — "for this quietness I feel, 
 By which I hear the tumult that is past, 
 And solve it into words, as I have done ; 
 This quiet fell upon me when I came 
 By chance on yonder cromlech ; which drew out 
 My longing soul in cryings to the God 
 Who lives unseen beneath the shows of things ; 
 And Who, perchance, w^ould succour me and give 
 My lost one to my longing arms again, 
 If but I brought an offering in my hand. 
 But all my wealth is seized by grasping men, 
 My treacherous kindred, who enrich themselves, 
 Saying that I am mad. There is not left 
 A single lamb of all my fruitful flocks 
 To bleed and bum upon the altar now, 
 In this my utmost need. But as I said, 
 
 8
 
 114 CLAUDIA. 
 
 This quiet fell upon me when my soul 
 Had cried to the Unseen ; and it may be 
 That He would save me from the hateful thing 
 If but I brought an offering in my hand." 
 
 " Ah, Lady," answered Julius, " He is not 
 A man, to do a favour for a gift. 
 Lo ! all the creatures of the wilderness, 
 And all the cattle on a thousand hills, 
 And all the fulness of the world, are His. 
 As well to take a single grain of sand 
 From all the myriads on the ample shore, 
 And with great pomp of servile sacrifice 
 Present it to the immeasurable sea. 
 The gift He asks for is a thankful heart 
 That owns His love in all things, and in days 
 Of trouble calls on Him, as calls a child, 
 With no misgiving, on its father's name. 
 And as for our transgressions of the law 
 Writ by His finger in the inward parts, 
 He wraps His love, like a vast mantle, round 
 Our naked souls and covers all our sin. 
 Yea, One that was to Him as much more dear 
 Than any son to any father's heart, 
 As God is more than man, — His only One, —
 
 CLAUDIA. 115 
 
 Who was before the eldest worlds were framed, 
 And was the Word by which He framed the worlds, 
 He did not spare in this our utmost need." 
 
 "Your words are strange," she answered; "and 
 anon 
 I would hear more ; but now that I am free 
 From that vile presence, let me tell my tale." 
 Then with authoritative looks that spoke 
 Of times when many served her signing hand, 
 She beckoned down the younger from the ridge 
 And looked beyond them both and spake and said, — 
 
 ' ' I was the bride of Owain, valiant Owain, 
 Golden-haired Owain, heir of all our tribe, 
 Grandson of Llyr, the ever-gracious king. 
 Dark as the dusky evening were my looks, 
 Fair as the morning his : and as the day, 
 The ruddy, lively, and lighthearted day, 
 Smit with his contrast in the gloomy night 
 Follows for ever on her silent steps, 
 So Owain, sunny-hearted, yellow-haired, 
 Pursued me, dark and moody Gwendolen. 
 And not more closely in the tender dawn 
 Are these two wedded than our hearts were wed. 
 Within that tender dawn a star arose : 
 
 8—2
 
 116 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Gladys our morning star. Those three hrief years 
 
 Seem like a lifetime ! thronged with pleasant cares 
 
 And careful pleasures. Every golden day 
 
 Held in its narrow bounds a whole July 
 
 Of warmth and sunshine, as I watched my child. 
 
 Fast, fast, in strength and loveliness she grew 
 
 Within my cradling arms ; until at length, 
 
 With something of a half regretful joy, 
 
 I felt her little hand escape from mine, 
 
 And saw her totter off across the grass, 
 
 Lured by some sunlit flower." 
 
 Here, memory-snared, 
 The mournful speaker dropped her dreamy eyes 
 To where beneath the sapling oaks streamed in 
 A ray of sunset light, and overflowed 
 The turf with liquid gold. 
 
 "Yes, even now 
 In my cold misery, I could almost smile, 
 When I remember how the slender stalk 
 Withstood her soft grasp at the first ; and then, 
 Yielding and suddenly snapping in her hand, 
 Disturbed the poise of her unpractised limbs, 
 So that she sank down in a rosy heap. 
 And how at that a filmy cloud of fear
 
 CLAUDIA. 117 
 
 Bedimmed her innocent brow ; yet scarcely seen 
 Before it vanished in more radiant smiles. 
 While her soft shout of babbling laughter hailed 
 The dear-bought trophy. 
 
 " But my thoughts have strayed : — 
 Thus busied with my horneborn happiness 
 I turned a deaf ear to the moaning griefs 
 That filled the hapless land. The dissonant clash 
 Of battle all about, the muttering roll 
 Of other wars to come, were naught to me. 
 When Owain spoke in passionate bitterness 
 Of the great strifes and treacheries of the times, 
 My lips alone replied, with eager words 
 Covering my absent thoughts, that still caressed 
 The child and father. But alas ! the while, 
 And none the less because I would not see, 
 There creeping came behind, near and more near, 
 The cruel hour that snatched them from my arms. 
 Silent, unfeared, it came ; like a fell beast 
 That glides on velvet paws from out a wood, 
 To where upon the sunny skirting bank 
 
 The kids sport merrily. 
 
 ' ' For now once more 
 As the white torrents hurry with fierce leaps
 
 118 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Adown Erin's grey, precipitous side, 
 
 To muster in the depths of Gwynant Vale 
 
 And in the rolling Glaslyn issue forth, 
 
 The Cyniri gathered up their scattered strength, 
 
 And pouring from their mountain fastnesses, 
 
 Swept down upon the foe. 
 
 "Among the rest 
 Owain arose, the heir of all his tribe, 
 To lead them to the field. Proudly I wreathed 
 The golden chaplet round the noble head 
 That almost quenched it with its yellow curls ; 
 Proudly I bound the shield upon his arm 
 And gave the long lance to his nervous hand, 
 While he stood silent, looking iu my face 
 With kind and pitiful eyes, that saw this mood 
 Was but a ripple on the sea of woe 
 That drowned my soul at parting with my lord. 
 One brief and firm embrace, and he was gone. 
 I saw his war-car smoking down the vale, 
 Saw through the dust the scythes flash in the sun. 
 Then anguish came upon me suddenly ; 
 But with a stubborn strength I forced it down. 
 I took the smiling Gladys in my arms, 
 And called my trembling maids, and followed on
 
 CLAUDIA. 119 
 
 After the wheels of Owain. As we went 
 We met the startled morning, freshly sprung 
 From the low hills ahove the Roman camp ; 
 While yet our weary way was half untrod, 
 Its burning wings had broadened into noon 
 Above our throbbing temples ; and or ere 
 Our dusty sandals threaded all the vale, 
 It passed away behind on curving plumes 
 And hovered in the west. And now we saw 
 Wide opened to the East a level tract 
 Through which the Sabren flowed, her unseen course 
 Traced by her misty breath that rising filled 
 The empty spaces of the cooling air. 
 There, at the valley's mouth, we paused ; and climbed 
 •A pine-fringed knoll, that like a sentinel 
 Kept watch to rearward of the Cymric host. 
 Mid- distant, by the river's farther shore, 
 On a green slope that faced the setting sun, 
 The Romans stood : fast-rooted like a rock 
 On which our surging ranks dissolved in vain. 
 Again, again the sparkling crest of spears 
 Arose and flew upon the solid mass ; 
 But harmless as the scattered spray they fell 
 Upon the close-locked shields, that like the scales
 
 120 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Of some huge monster guarded from assault 
 
 The legioned life within. Once and again 
 
 Our valiant Cymri charged ; once and again 
 
 Fell back repulsed and baffled to the ford. 
 
 There in the hollow, small as ants, they moved ; 
 
 And as we watched a sudden shaking seemed 
 
 To seize and scatter them ; whereat my maids, 
 
 All but the noble-hearted Angharad, 
 
 Wrung helpless hands and shrieked that all was lost. 
 
 But I, who marked still steadfast in the rear 
 
 My Owain's chariot, notable afar 
 
 By the white steeds whose manes flowed terrible 
 
 As meteors in the air, I trembled not, 
 
 But saw a martial method in the change. 
 
 And soon, more swift than speech, the scythed cars 
 
 Dashed from the rear between the opening lines, 
 
 And wheeling southwards on the Roman flank, 
 
 Cut deep into the legion's quivering heart. 
 
 The shouts came faintly to our ears across 
 
 The misty meadows ; and above the mist, 
 
 Small on tbe dark side of the distant hill, 
 
 Where the dim shadow of a purple cloud 
 
 Flitted across, I saw the snow-white manes 
 
 And the blue glitter of the well-known sword.
 
 CLAUDIA. 121 
 
 The legion wavered ; aucl the serried ranks 
 
 Of shining helms fell hack in hollow curves, 
 
 As fall the ripples of a sullen pool 
 
 Where, by the side, a runnel hastens in. 
 
 Then for a moment glancing down to still 
 
 The restless wailings of the drowsy child, 
 
 I lost the links of movement ; and before 
 
 My dazzled eyes could fit themselves again 
 
 To take the farther range, the snow-white manes 
 
 And the blue glitter of the well-known sword 
 
 Were lost, all trampled out confusedly 
 
 Like sparks upon the ground. Then wild with fear 
 
 I cast the child into her nurse's arms, 
 
 And springing down upon the level plain 
 
 Flew towards the river through the misty meads. 
 
 I ran as in a dream, on feet that felt 
 
 Nor weight nor weariness ; but only seemed 
 
 Like wings to the great fear that maddened me 
 
 And drove me forward. Now the mangled ground, 
 
 Furrowed and stamped where many wheels and feet 
 
 Had gathered closer, brought me to the ford ; 
 
 There, girding up my robes and flinging off 
 
 The slippery sandals from my feet, I plunged 
 
 Into the stream ; whose chilly waters numbed
 
 122 CLAUDIA. 
 
 My trembling ankles. Yet I struggled on 
 And gained the farther shore ; without a pause 
 Pressed through the clustered footmen ; flew between 
 The trampling horse ; threaded the perilous space, 
 Narrow and shifting, 'twixt the rolling cars ; 
 Caught at the bridles of the tossing heads 
 That scattered showers of foam, and held them back, 
 And sprang between the cruel hoofs and wheels ; 
 Deaf to the friendly shouts of those before, 
 More deaf to the fierce threats of those behind, 
 Warning me back. Above the thundering cars, 
 Clearer than all the clashing of the steel, 
 And more articulate than any speech, 
 I heard the terror whisper in my heart 
 That shaped its voice like Owain's dying moan. 
 But when I gained the spot where glittered last 
 His waving sword against the dark hill side, 
 The Romans had arisen, and charging down 
 The western slopes had left the southern strewn 
 With the dread wreck of battle. There I found 
 Him whom I sought ; but ask not what I found. 
 For while I speak once more the darkness comes, 
 The black, black night that then fell suddenly 
 On my stunned heart and brain."
 
 CLAUDIA. 123 
 
 Hereat she paused 
 And reeling, seemed about to swoqu away, 
 While her dark hair swept forward heavily. 
 But thrusting Julius' friendly arm aside, 
 She leant her trembling frame against the tree, 
 Flung the long locks behind, and gasped for breath ; 
 Tben gathering up her forces spoke again, 
 With pale but resolute lips. 
 
 " I knew no more, 
 Till the soft tears of pitying twilight fell 
 Upon my face, and I awoke again. 
 As one who walking in a pleasant place, - 
 In midst of sunshine, flowers, and singing birds, 
 And murmuring happy fancies to himself, 
 Suddenly falls into a treacherous pit 
 Hid by the smiling herbage, and drops down 
 Mangled and stunned upon the dreary floor ; 
 So from my pleasant path of life I fell, 
 Suddenly fell ; and as that wretched man 
 After a while begins to stir again, 
 Painfully moves his miserable limbs, 
 And marvels at the darkness and the pain ; 
 Then with dim eyes up-gazing to the brink, 
 Where the wide heavens show dwindled to a point,
 
 124 CLAUDIA. 
 
 By slow degrees draws through his shattered sense 
 
 The notion of his fall, so I awoke, 
 
 So slowly traced my anguish to its cause. 
 
 But in the midst of misery, the thought 
 
 Of Gladys glided in athwart my brain , 
 
 Even as a lonely star might glide across 
 
 That far-off speck and aperture of sky, 
 
 Revealed by darkness to the hapless man, 
 
 And seem to lure him from his last despair. 
 
 I looked around me ; but the deepening night 
 
 Hid all the distance ; save that far below 
 
 A trembling gleam showed where the Sabren fled 
 
 To hide her blood-stained waters in the sea ; 
 
 Save that beyond the stream the heavens turned pale 
 
 Behind the spectral pines upon the knoll, 
 
 Whose dusky arms seemed beckoning me to leave 
 
 The lifeless sire, and seek the living child. 
 
 Then down the slopes I went as in a dream, 
 
 Slow stumbling through the dark among the tracks 
 
 Of wheels and hoofs, slipping in blackened pools 
 
 That made me shudder, till I reached the ford 
 
 And climbed the knoll ; but Gladys was not there, 
 
 Nor yet my maids. But even then my heart 
 
 Held its dull peace ; and still as in a dream
 
 CLAUDIA. 12;" 
 
 I struggled up the windings of the vale 
 
 Through that long autumn night, until the dark 
 
 Began to fold and gather here and there, 
 
 Showing the blasted oak upon the crag, 
 
 Above our mountain home. Then in that hour — 
 
 That grey, foreboding hour when happy men 
 
 Fondly deceive their souls, and dream they hear 
 
 In the faint sounds and movements that begin 
 
 On every side to stir the quiet air, 
 
 Earth's drowsy answer to the call of hope 
 
 That wakens her to greet the rising sun ; — 
 
 In that most dreary hour I passed within » 
 
 The desolate door, and trod the silent hall , 
 
 Where never more should Owain's voice be heard, 
 
 Where never more his feet should come again. 
 
 Yet this I rather said for her who swooned 
 
 The yester-eve beside her husband's corse, 
 
 Than felt as she who mourned his loss to-day ; 
 
 For from the dust my soul had risen to leave 
 
 The lifeless sire, and seek the living child. 
 
 " Close in the corner of an inner room 
 A figure crouched, that neither moved nor spoke, 
 Yet looked like Angharad, — my fairest maid, 
 Promised to valiant Cynfran as his bride, —
 
 12(5 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Like, yet how different ! For some ghastly change 
 Had passed upon her : some mysterious cloud 
 Hung on her face, and dulled the laughing eyes 
 That once were clear as day. Yet from behind 
 That conscious cloud there sparkled out the light 
 Of a most innocent, indignant soul. 
 Some wrong that writhed out of the reach of words, 
 Yet still clung close to loathing memory, 
 So seemed to gnaw her heart, I feared to ask 
 Its shape or name ; and for a moment's space 
 My toiling anguish paused to pity hers. 
 ♦Then did I speak to her ; — ' Angharad, 
 
 Angharad the clear-eyed, answer me ! 
 Where is my child ? ' Slowly she lifted up 
 Her heavy looks and brought them to my face ; 
 So, — poring on it like a child who pores 
 
 On a familiar form in some disguise, — 
 Found me at length behind my mask of woe, 
 And in her startled glance I read my change. 
 Then, maddened with suspense, again I cried, 
 ' By the three sacred rays which Einig saw 
 
 1 charge thee, — tell where I may find my child.' 
 ' I know not,' she made answer, sinking back 
 Into that sullen, self-devouring mood :
 
 CLAUDIA. 1'27 
 
 Then bowing down her face upon her knees 
 Till the long waves of shining chestnut hair 
 Fell round her like a veil, she spoke again : — 
 ' thank the gods that she is yet a child.' 
 
 " I did not weep ; hut close and closer still 
 The leaden weight pressed down my sinking brain, 
 The senseless slumber lay upon my soul : 
 A slumber broken by the mournful cries 
 And wild upbraidings of some second self 
 That dwelt within the tomb of what I was. 
 Life ceased to flow like as the Hebsta flows, — 
 Now over sounding falls, now in calm pools, 
 Here glancing in the sun, o'ershadowed there 
 Below the hanging woods, but always seen, 
 And always linked in one unbroken course ; — 
 It fell apart disjointed from itself. 
 Even as the Mellta, that mysteriously 
 Slips underground, — to pour her amber waves 
 Through caverns where the cheerful beams of 
 
 day 
 Come never, issuing to the light again 
 Unlooked for in some far-off valley's side ; — 
 So did the mournful current of my days 
 Begin to lose its sequence in the dark,
 
 128 CLAUDIA. 
 
 And spring to daylight once again, at wide 
 And unexpected intervals, as now. 
 
 " In that same hour I turned my weary feet, 
 Forth wandering, all unwitting where I went, 
 To find my child. Twelve times the flowing sap 
 Has settled in a larger ring around 
 The girth of the great forest trees ; yet still 
 I seek my child, and still have found her not, 
 Thus still I wander on, unwitting where, 
 To find my child : and this is all my tale.' ? 
 
 She ceased : the last vibration of her voice 
 Died out upon the air, that settled smooth 
 In utter silence. Then that silence roused 
 The listeners like a trumpet call ; for lo ! 
 They had not seen the setting sun withdraw 
 The level ray that gilt the grassy ridge 
 When the sad mother's dolorous tale began. 
 They had not heard the faint, unfinished songs, 
 The small, soft rustlings of the wings and feet, 
 Of nesting birds among the underwood ; 
 Nor felt the chill, moist air, whose poisoned rob< 
 Was folding close and closer round their limbs. 
 For far away to other scenes and times 
 That mournful voice had lured their pitying souls.
 
 CLAUDIA. 129 
 
 So that the vacant senses left behind 
 Saw not, nor heard, nor felt. Now with a start 
 The wandering powers were at their post and knew 
 That night had fallen. 
 
 Then did the Maccabee, 
 True to himself, shake off the irksome weight 
 Of powerless pity ; and with a light spring 
 Mounted the cromlech, crying, 
 
 " It were well 
 To find our pathway to the sheltering hut 
 Ere the last streak of day fades in the West. 
 This is the mound, the altar, and the tree 
 Of which prince Bran at parting spake to us. 
 1 Stand on the stone,' he said, ' and looking North 
 Mark well the western edge of the huge oak 
 That faces you. So marking, you shall find 
 A wound upon the bark ; telling the spot 
 Whence in old times a Druid's hook, they say, 
 Severed the sacred plant. If a keen eye 
 Take aim through this, so shall it deftly light 
 At a league's distance on a crooked ash 
 That bends beyond the corner of a wood. 
 Thither press on, and you shall find a track 
 
 Leading to shelter and a faithful friend.' 
 
 9
 
 1 30 CLAUDIA. 
 
 But if we tarry longer, I misgive, 
 
 'Twill take a keener eye than mine to light 
 
 At a league's distance upon anything." 
 
 " I come," said Julius, paying slender heed, 
 And thinking more of mournful Guendolen, 
 Who now again was sitting motionless 
 As first they saw her ; her close folding arms 
 Clasping her knees ; her coldly woful looks 
 Silently saying, — ' This my grief is mine 
 And not another's, therefore stand aloof.' 
 
 But Julius sighed and laid a gentle hand 
 On the dark wreaths of her disordered hair, 
 Saying, — " My daughter, may the Highest One, 
 He whom your bards and Druids blindly serve. 
 Bless thee, and bring thee all thy heart's desire." 
 Then paused, withdrew his hand, and spake again : 
 " The All-mighty is All-merciful. Our pain 
 Is not His pleasure. Love, and joy, and peace, 
 Such are His whispers in the soul of man, 
 Heard in all times though seldom understood. 
 But now tbe whisper swells into a voice 
 That tops all sound beside. For wondrous tbings 
 Have happened in the far-off Summer-land 
 That lies in ligbt beyond tbe central sea,
 
 CLAUDIA. 131 
 
 The land whence sprung the fathers of your race. 
 
 There God, a suffering man with suffering men, 
 
 Has walked the weary pathways of the world, 
 
 Alluring by majestic tenderness 
 
 All longing, restless souls to lean on Him. 
 
 Behold ! He beckons now : the mighty hand 
 
 That in its secret hollow holds the sea, 
 
 Scoops out the heavens, feeds the fire of the sun 
 
 And rolls the planets, is a friendly hand 
 
 That delicately guides thy small concerns. 
 
 It flings away the robe of mystery, 
 
 Lessens itself to suit thy feeble grasp, 
 
 And fain would lift the burden of thy cares. 
 
 Trust it : ay, trust the skilful hand of Him 
 
 Who made thee : trust the pitiful heart to which 
 
 Thou art more dear than Gladys to thine own. 
 
 Speak to Him now : He needs no noise of words, 
 
 But hears the silent wishes of the heart. 
 
 He knows the darkened eyes and erring feet 
 
 Are weak to find the way to His embrace, 
 
 And comes Himself to fetch the wanderer home.'" 
 
 She answered nothing, and the drooping wing 
 Of silence sank again. Then a low sob 
 Lifted it tremblingly, her fingers loosed 
 
 9—2
 
 132 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Their straining clasp, and all her sultry griefs 
 Broke up in showers of kindly tears that fell 
 Unseen, behind the shadow of her arms. 
 
 Then Julius feared to touch the tender bloom 
 Of these first-fruits, or mar with meddling words 
 The happy wonder of a waking soul ; 
 And therefore sealed his lips, except to say, 
 " Farewell ; but when this moon that glimmers now 
 A narrow crescent through the shifting clouds, 
 Has rounded to the full, her light shall fall 
 Upon the path that leads us here again." 
 
 Meanwhile the keen eye of the Maccabee 
 Had found the ancient wound upon the bark, 
 And deftly lighted on the bending ash 
 That marked the promised shelter ; and he stood 
 Impatient to depart. But when he heard 
 Julius' farewell, — as ever quick to feel 
 Tbe need and find the expedient of the hour, — 
 He turned with hasty gestures to his friend, 
 Saying in voluble phrases of the Greek 
 That wrapt the sense from Guendolen, 
 
 "Not so: 
 All thou hast taught, all she has learned were vain, 
 If now we leave her in tbe wilderness
 
 CLAUDIA. 13 ; ~ 5 
 
 Alone, and at the mercy of herself, 
 
 The prey of dark conceits. Didst thou not mark 
 
 How at the very outset of her tale 
 
 She spake of Llyr as grandsire to her lord ? 
 
 If this be so, his sire was Bran himself; 
 
 His brother, royal Caradoc ; and thus 
 
 The shelter we are bound for were as fit, 
 
 As open, for her homeless head as ours." 
 
 " Yea, true," said Julius meekly, " I am shamed 
 Of this my blindness. Verily, it is hard 
 To balance the nice scales of thought and fact, 
 Action and meditation. Evermore 
 We find that we have cast a grain too much 
 Into the right or left, and this or that 
 Flies to the beam." 
 
 But waiting not to hear 
 These fine discernments delicately drawn, 
 Thus spake the Maccabee to Guendolen, 
 " Lady, with a brother's faithful heart 
 I crave to serve thee. Far across the sea 
 A gentle wife thinks of me ; lovely babes 
 Are taught to lisp their absent father's name. 
 Therefore my heart grows tender at the thought 
 Of sorrows such as thine. We go from hence
 
 134 CLAUDIA. 
 
 To find a friendly roof in yonder wood. 
 Now hearken to rne, Lady ; come with us ; 
 And change this wildly-mournful solitude 
 For kindly faces of thy fellow men." 
 
 She fastened on his face a searching gaze 
 As thus he spoke. Then when he ceased arose, 
 And girt the ruined richness of her rohes 
 About her stately form ; saying the while, — 
 " Yea, I will follow : all my soul is bent 
 To leam the worship of the God you serve. 
 But pass before ; and while I follow on, 
 Speak not nor look behind ; for if perchance 
 The hateful thing should track me, I must face 
 Its last assault alone." 
 
 She waved them on, 
 And they set forward. But a shadow sat 
 Upon the Maccabee ; — " Far be it from me," 
 He cried, as Julius joined him on the path, 
 " To soften down, as thou, the hellish freaks 
 Of their false priests and falser gods ; as if 
 Falsehood were but another name for truth ; 
 Foulness for purity ; blood-thirstiness 
 For love and pity. Rather let my arm 
 Strike boldly at the bitter root, and cast^
 
 CLAUDIA. 1 86 
 
 The impostors down, and grind their trickeries 
 To powder, scattered on the ruthless winds. 
 Then room were made to point the people's eyes 
 Up to Jehovah in the heaven of heavens." 
 
 " llight :" said the elder, " right yet wrong, my son. 
 Show me the priest whose wicked wilfulness 
 Misleads the people, — such, alas ! there are ; — 
 Who knows the inner truth that contradicts 
 The outer lie he puts into its place ; — 
 Yet for his own base ends withholds the truth 
 And sets the lie upon a pedestal 
 For men to worship, offering at its shrine 
 Poor bootless prayers ; — and I will show to thee 
 A man on whom I will not spare to heap 
 The curses of the law ; the wrath of Him 
 Whose voice re-echoed through the temple courts, 
 ' Woe unto you, blind leaders of the blind.' 
 But shall I thus assail the worshipper, 
 Whose dim desires slow turning after good, 
 Urge him to bow before the specious thing 
 That has usurped its place ? who knowing not, 
 Save in some half-drowned sense or memory, 
 His soul's true rest, hangs on the nearest prop 
 That promises support '? Shall i rush forth
 
 186 CLAUDIA. 
 
 And hurl him from his knees, as if I scorned 
 His sacred yearnings ? Shall I snatch the straw 
 Out of the drowning hand, before I guide 
 Its eager clasp to the far-reaching boughs 
 Of the strong tree of Life ? " 
 
 " To hear thee speak," 
 The younger answered, " one would think that all 
 The vilest worship of the vilest gods 
 Of heathendom, were something sound at base ; 
 A gentle error, not a damning sin. 
 Bold-faced rebellion, foaming out its shame 
 In loud defiance, ranks in thy soft phrase 
 As something specious. Thou would' st call the swine 
 That tramples in the mire the tender plant, 
 The prop that stays its weakness. Thou would'st call 
 The cruel reptile lurking in the reeds, 
 A straw at which the drowning man may catch, 
 With small advantage but as little hurt." 
 
 " Alas,"' said Julius, " thou but beat'st the wind ; 
 Or at the best the empty robe of words 
 From whence the spirit of my argument 
 Flits forth unscathed, untouched, unrecognized. 
 But let us tempt it back. As far from me 
 As thee, to soften as thou scem'st to fear
 
 CLAUDIA. 137 
 
 The hellish freaks of heathendom : as if 
 
 Falsehood were but another name for truth ; 
 
 Foulness for purity ; blood-thirstiness 
 
 For love and pity. Yet be well assured 
 
 There never was successful counterfeit 
 
 But bare a certain semblance to the true, 
 
 Was framed on the idea of the true, 
 
 And by that semblance and idea kept 
 
 Its hold upon the world. The false, the foul, 
 
 The cruel, of the heathen gods would soon 
 
 Fall of themselves and crumble into dust ; 
 
 But that beneath there lurks a vital Truth ; 
 
 So strong that even the most crashing weight 
 
 Of error heaped upon it but benumbs 
 
 Its outer workings, cannot quench the life 
 
 That throbs and glows within. That truth is this : — 
 
 That there is Power above us, felt not seen : 
 
 A Power before whose breath we are less strong 
 
 Than the light chaff of summer threshing-floors 
 
 Before the hurricane, a Power to which 
 
 We owe allegiance. Let our task be this : — 
 
 To tear asunder the corrupting veil, 
 
 And let the struggling life escape, to find 
 
 A home in purer forms. Meanwhile, my son,
 
 138 CLAUDIA. 
 
 We know not, truly, if our brother's fault 
 
 Be gentle error or a damning sin. 
 
 But this we know ; — that what we rightly call 
 
 The one true knowledge of the one true God, 
 
 Revealed to Moses, perfected in Christ, 
 
 Is but a shadow of the Truth itself, 
 
 A finite symbol of the Infinite. 
 
 Yet if a symbol, one divinely given ; 
 
 And therefore to be hoarded in our hearts 
 
 As sacred treasure : yea, more precious far 
 
 Than all our fine-spun after-thoughts : a thing 
 
 In which to live our life ; or, if needs be, 
 
 For which to die ; with holy modesty 
 
 That dreams not we have scaled the heavens, that owns 
 
 "We see not Him who is invisible, 
 
 Save as reflected in the small, dim glass 
 
 Of our low thoughts ; which still is small and dim 
 
 Though his enlightening Spirit pour thereon 
 
 Its condescending beams. Perchance, my son, 
 
 Our noblest thoughts of God fall farther short 
 
 Of the pure splendours of His Infinite 
 
 Than does the meanest heathen thought, of ours." 
 
 But still the other answered — " Pardon me 
 For harping still upon this weary string ; —
 
 CLAUDIA. 139 
 
 But speaking thus, thou mak'st our sacred ark 
 That rides alone above a drowning world 
 One of a happy fleet, all homeward bound. 
 Yea, speaking thus, may God forgive the word, 
 Thou mak'st Jove true, only less true than Christ, 
 Or else Christ false, only less false than Jove." 
 
 Then Julius, under breath, — " Nay, God forbid !" 
 And pausing on the rugged path he sighed, 
 Sighed out of utter loneliness of soul : 
 That deepest and most desert solitude, 
 That farthest exile, when the chosen friend 
 Is close beside, to hand, and eye, and ear, 
 Yet severed from us by a boundless gulf. 
 His baffled spirit stretched her empty arms, 
 Despairing, to the vague and cold embrace 
 Of nature ; but she held upon her way, 
 Vast, inarticulate, immoveable, 
 Brooding on deeper sorrows of her own. 
 And darker still the sombre twilight fell ; 
 The faint moon-crescent glimmered fainter still 
 Behind the murky vapours ; a white bird 
 Flitted half seen across the watercourse ; 
 And the sad earth sighed through the fading trees 
 That loomed in masses on the farther shore.
 
 140 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Then thought the other, — to whom Julius' mood 
 Was as a colour to a hliud man's eye, — 
 ' Something has chafed him ; let me change the 
 
 theme.' 
 So when the old man turned serene looks round 
 And they went forward, with a softened voice 
 Began the younger : — " Thou did'st speak anon 
 To this lorn mother of some spiritual child 
 Held captive in the snares of wicked men. 
 Prythee, who is this maiden ? never yet 
 Hast thou so much as named her name to me." 
 
 " Friend," answered Julius, " she is one of whom 
 My heart speaks rather than my lips, and more 
 To God than man." "- Nay," said the Maccabee, 
 ' ' The nearer that a matter lies to the heart 
 The fitter to be shared by the heart's friend." 
 " True," groaned the other, " if that your heart's friend 
 Be capable to share it ; but like love, 
 Friendship full oft cleaves to its opposite, 
 And cleaves the closer for the difference. 
 Yet in this mystery do partings lie, 
 As well as meetings : dangerous variance, 
 As well as safe accord : mournful farewells 
 Of soul to soul across a widening gulf
 
 CLAUDIA. 141 
 
 As well as clasped hands and eternal vows. 
 But for this girl, in whom is garnered up 
 My childless heart, hers is a tale soon told, 
 And since thou crav'st to hear it, I will tell. 
 
 " She is the child of Aulus Plautius : 
 The veteran general who when Llyr was king 
 Beat back the British forces, and returned 
 In proud ovation ; with the emperor 
 Biding at his right hand ; the mellow flutes 
 Warbling around ; his charger's pawing hoofs 
 Deep in strewn flowers ; and far as eye could see, 
 From the field of Mars on to the Capitol, 
 His army, rich with trophies, myrtle- crowned, 
 Pouring through ranks of shouting citizens. 
 All unaware how at that very hour 
 The cry of battle rang along the coasts 
 Of the white island ; that the Cymric powers 
 Had risen again ; and Caradoc had won 
 More than his grandsire lost. 
 
 " Now since that day 
 Has Plautius dwelt in Rome, and with him dwell 
 His noble wife Pomponia, and their child, 
 The bright-haired Claudia. It is said in Home, 
 She is not theirs by any tie of blood ;
 
 142 CLAUDIA. 
 
 But let that pass. She was a wondrous child, 
 
 Full of still radiance. When Poinponia 
 
 Turned from the heathen rites to worship God, 
 
 And with a tremhling heart hegan to break 
 
 The mighty change to Claudia, — telling her 
 
 Of God and Christ — or ere the child had heard 
 
 More than the briefest outline, she arose, 
 
 And with a calm face answered, ' Yea, I know : 
 
 This is the God who hears me when I pray. 
 
 He dwells beyond the incense and the shrines, 
 
 And draws me closer, eloser, up to Him. 
 
 I have loved Him always, knowing not His name ; 
 
 But now I know it I will serve Him too.' 
 
 And this Pomponia told me ; and I came, 
 
 Saw the fair child, spake with her, and did find 
 
 Most surely that the Spirit of the Lord 
 
 Had taken of His truth and shown it her 
 
 In the transparent silence of her soul. 
 
 But ever with most sweet humility 
 
 She sat as at my feet, desiring still 
 
 To learn : ungucssing how I craved the while 
 
 Rather to learn from her. So time went on ; 
 
 And evermore the promise of her soul 
 
 Grew riper, till I saw that she was one
 
 CLAUDIA. 143 
 
 Fashioned for glorious ends. But as a frost 
 
 Descends untimely on the buds of March, 
 
 So did the blighting breath of a merciless world 
 
 Fall on this flower of Heaven. Her plastic soul 
 
 Moulded a most fair dwelling for itself. 
 
 I have no skill to paint in gaudy words 
 
 A maiden's beauty. This is all I know ; — 
 
 That she was lovelier than the loveliest, 
 
 As gentle and as graceful as a fawn, 
 
 As soft in tint and outline as a flower ; 
 
 And the still star-like radiance of her looks 
 
 Maddened all Rome with love, weary to death 
 
 Of brazen brows, and lavish smiles, and eyes 
 
 Bright with base meanings. So while yet a child 
 
 Her father promised her without her will 
 
 To Pudens of the order of the knights : 
 
 The best of all her suitors ; yet as far 
 
 From Claudia as a muddy pool is far 
 
 From the pure planet shining on its face. 
 
 Then when with quiet tears and earnest words 
 
 She craved to be Left free, he turned his wrath 
 
 On me and on Pomponia; swore by Jove 
 
 That we had plagued her fancy with crude fears 
 
 Bred of our gloomy faith, and bade me go
 
 144 CLAUDIA. 
 
 And never more darken his palace-doors. 
 
 As for his nohle wife, he prisoned her 
 
 In her own dwelling, holding her apart 
 
 From converse with the darling of her soul. 
 
 And now the illustrious lady's enemies, — 
 
 For many hated her, whose holy light 
 
 Reproached their darkness, — finding that she lay 
 
 Under the fierce displeasure of her lord, 
 
 Took heart against her, who had seemed before 
 
 Too high a quarry for their mean assaults. 
 
 Now they accused her that she had embraced 
 
 A foreign superstition, and required 
 
 That she should answer for it to her lord. 
 
 So Plautius, following the ancient law, 
 
 Summoned her kindred, and before them all 
 
 Tried her for life and fame. But in the end, 
 
 The majesty and meekness of her words, 
 
 Given in that hour by Him who ever walks 
 
 Beside His chosen in the baffled fire ; 
 
 And her unspotted life, that shone the more 
 
 The more they pried into her secret ways ; 
 
 So wrought upon him that he cast aside 
 
 The accusers' charge, pronounced her innocent 
 
 Of any wrongful courses, and restored
 
 CLAUDIA. 145 
 
 His favour to her. But still resolute 
 That Claudia shall not suffer further taint 
 From this uew faith, he holds her sternly yet 
 From her illustrious mother ; circles her 
 With gay companions, fills her nights and days 
 With songs and dances, garlands, gay attire, 
 And passionate wooers whispering vanity 
 In her unguarded ears. Then say, my son, 
 Have I not lost my child ? — and is she not 
 Held captive in the snares of wicked men ?" 
 
 " Alas, my father, thou hast cause to grieve," 
 The other answered; " 'tis a grievous thing 
 To see a dear soul for the which Christ died 
 Tossed as a plaything in the enemy's hand. 
 Yet what were thine own words to Guendolen ? — 
 That ' the all-seeing One, who gave the child 
 Still has her in His ken though far from thine.' 
 Thus medicine thine own grief : rememhering too 
 That even our Captain's armour was annealed 
 By fiery conflict in the wilderness, 
 Then how much more should ours ? If, as thou 
 
 deem'st, 
 She has heen lashioned for a glorious end, 
 Most needful was it that her spiritual strength 
 
 10
 
 146 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Be tested Bharpry. Yet I marvel much 
 What glorious end she can be fashioned for, 
 A mere, weak woman." 
 
 When he heard these words 
 A slow smile breaking over Julius' soul 
 Rose like the dawn and overflowed his face, 
 As thus he answered, — 
 
 " Marvellest thou, my son ? 
 Truly the world and all the ways of God 
 Are full of marvels. Not the least is this, 
 That all the mightiest forces that compel 
 Matter and spirit in their destined grooves 
 Are silent and unseen. " Perchance, my son, 
 Your ' mere, weak woman' may be one of these. 
 Truly she is the mother of us all. 
 All noble thoughts and pure imaginings, 
 Incarnated in her, swell in her soul 
 In darkness, till the growing time is rife 
 For birth in the activities of man. 
 Yea, it is possible the Wisest One 
 May not have erred in trusting to her hands 
 The fortunes of our race, trusting to her 
 The pregnant, pliant years of infancy." 
 
 So Bpake the generous Julius ; while a spark 

 
 CLAUDIA. 147 
 
 That almost looked like scorn brightened his eyes, 
 And to his words the voluble Maccabee 
 Answered in such unanswerable sort 
 He could but smile once more and hold his peace. 
 
 10—2
 

 
 PART IV. 
 
 Now as they talked, a turning in the path 
 Revealed a crooked ash which bent beyond 
 The corner of the wood. Cheered by the sign 
 They crossed the stream, and round about the tree 
 Searched the close thicket. But the place was dark, 
 Dark with the double shade of eventide 
 And overhanging trees, and baffled them. 
 Till bending to the ground the Maccabee 
 Found a faint track, and following the traek 
 The trees withdrew, leaving a level turf 
 Between their ranks, grateful to way-worn feet. 
 Now too their ears grew happy with a sound 
 That made them hasten, gathering as they went
 
 150 CLAUDIA. 
 
 The growing clue, until at length they saw 
 
 A rustic lodge, dim-outlined in the dusk, 
 
 But all alive within with rosy light 
 
 That sparkled through each crevice in the walls, 
 
 And drew them on the faster. From this lodge 
 
 The music came ; which as they drew more near 
 
 Divided to a douhle melody : 
 
 The voice of one who made herself a child 
 
 To please her hahe, and the babe's dovelike voice 
 
 In wordless answers. Then the Maccabee, 
 
 Heart-tendered with the thought of those at home, 
 
 Crept noiselessly towards the wedge of light 
 
 That split the darkness near the unlatched door; 
 
 And Julius following, they both stood mute 
 
 Peering within. Unconscious of their gaze 
 
 A peasant woman stood before the hearth, 
 
 Erect, clastic ; and her rounded arms 
 
 Shone in the firelight as she tossed a babe, 
 
 That held its fluttering breath at each ascent, 
 
 Bui crowed and babbled as her careful arms 
 
 Caught it again in safety to her breast. 
 
 Again, again, she tossed the laughing child, 
 
 And answered it in baby- syllables, 
 
 With merry turns of voice and flashing smiles.
 
 CLAUDIA. 151 
 
 But soon the child's voice faltered, aud soft clouds 
 
 Began to gather in its drooping eyes. 
 
 At which the mother ceased her merriment 
 
 And pressed it to her hosom, sinking down 
 
 On a low stool. Then waving to and fro 
 
 With slumberous movement, sang a lullaby 
 
 Framed in her first delight of motherhood. 
 
 " Aye, sleep, my darling, sleep ! 
 
 Thy tender soul soon tires 
 Of this our life. Though large and bright to me, 
 
 'Tis small and dim to thee, 
 Fresh from the Heaven to which my soul aspires, 
 
 But has forgotten long. 
 And therefore often thou withdraw'st and diest 
 Out of thy little temple here, and flyest 
 
 Back to thy glorious home ; 
 
 Beneath whose dome 
 happy, swift-winged, homeward flying swallow, 
 
 Thou hast thy lasting rest. 
 
 A softer, fairer nest 
 Than even this which lies upon my breast 
 
 So vacant and so still. 
 
 But over which I will,
 
 
 152 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Whilst thou art absent, faithful watches keep. 
 And all the time thy blissful flight I'll follow 
 In a soft murmured song. 
 
 " Aye, sleep, my darling, sleep ! 
 
 I see thee mounting far. 
 The light grows brighter on thy earnest wings 
 
 And richer radiance flings 
 About thy path. Above the highest star 
 
 Thou risest easily, 
 Upward, still upward, through the pale blue 
 
 foldings 
 Of the air-curtains, till the golden mouldings 
 
 Of the ever open door 
 
 Glitter before 
 Thy quiet eyes, undazzled yet enraptured. 
 
 And through that open door 
 
 The angel- children pour 
 Their silvery songs of welcome evermore. 
 
 And now they crowd around 
 
 Their newly lost and found 
 To question if thy homely service keep 
 Thee longer from them, sorrowfully captured 
 
 By time, and sin, and me.
 
 CLAUDIA. 153 
 
 " Aye, sleep, my darling, sleep ! 
 
 Sun thy chilled soul awhile 
 In the warm splendour of the living ray 
 
 Which makes eternal day. 
 Yea ! sun thyself in the life-giving smile 
 
 Of the eternal love. 
 But ! I charge thee ! do not fondly hearken 
 To those bright playmates' pleadings : my eyes darken 
 
 With undropped tears, to think 
 
 How life would shrink 
 To nothingness if thou wert gone for ever. 
 
 Tell thein, — thy course though low 
 
 Slips with a softened flow 
 Through banks of sweetness theirs can never know ; 
 • Tell them, — thou hast but done 
 
 As did the Holy One ; 
 Who left the calm of Heaven that he might reap 
 Out of the fields of sorrow, joy that never 
 
 Could else be stored above. 
 
 " Aye, sleep, my darling, sleep! 
 Meanwhile thy silent lips, 
 Left open like the cage to tempt the dove, 
 Are eloquent with love.
 
 154 CLAUDIA. 
 
 And from their pure, fresh fountain my soul sips 
 
 Lessons of peace and rest. 
 From these dear arms, for ever fondly turning, 
 Even in slumher, towards me, I am learning 
 
 In every time and state 
 
 Meekly to wait 
 Upon the care of the eternal Father ; 
 
 And to feel after Him 
 
 When all besides is dim, 
 When in a sea of doubt my fancies swim 
 
 And faith's strong arm grows numb. 
 
 When hurtful phantoms come 
 And through the curtains of thy slumber peep, 
 Thou dost not struggle from me, but dost rather 
 
 Cling closer to my breast." 
 
 As the song ceased, a heavy hasty step 
 Came crashing through the brushwood ; and Cadair, 
 The faithful herdsman of the captive prince, 
 Strode sternly towards the pilgrims. But the ring 
 On Uid's finger cleared his brow, and turned 
 The fierce demand that started to his lips 
 Into a cordial welcome. At his voice 
 Estrildis rose, laid down the sleeping babe,
 
 CLAUDIA. 155 
 
 And flew to greet him, glancing bashfully 
 At those two strangers. 
 
 But as thus she came, 
 The meaning of her countenance was changed, 
 And with a startled look that overshot 
 The pilgrims and Cadair, she fixed her gaze 
 On something in the rear. Then, — as they turned 
 To see the scope of those wide-opened eyes, — 
 She sprang beyond them all, fell down before 
 The feet of Guendolen, embraced her knees, 
 And cried aloud amidst her happy tears ; — 
 " is it thou ? my lady Guendolen ! 
 How have I prayed for this ! and wilt thou deign 
 To shelter 'neath our roof the stately head 
 That I have mourned as houseless, bare to all 
 The buffets of the storm without, within. 
 My soul is lost in joy and gratitude 
 That cannot speak in words." 
 
 Then Guendolen 
 Lifted her up and pressed her in her arms 
 With kind caresses ; saying, — " Yea, I come, 
 But not as deigning, Estrild ; not to bow 
 A stately head : that pride has passed away. 
 The father-God has found me : He has sent
 
 156 CLAUDIA. 
 
 His servants and has brought me home to Him. 
 
 If He himself walked as a man with men 
 
 Along the common pathways of the world, 
 
 What then am I, to wrap my wounded soul 
 
 In solitary state of proud disdain, 
 
 And waste to death away from all my kind ? 
 
 Therefore I leave the desolate wilds wherein 
 
 My soul has been the prey of evil thoughts. 
 
 Sorrow may still be mine, but not despair. 
 
 For if I find my child or find her not, 
 
 She is not lost ; and in the after-world 
 
 Gladys shall nestle in my arms again. 
 
 And as for thy lost daughter," as she spoke 
 
 She turned to Julius, " she whom thou dost mourn 
 
 As captive in the snares of wicked men, 
 
 The light that blends the future with the past 
 
 And makes one lucid present of our lives 
 
 Has shone for me, and shows that in the hour 
 
 I clasp my child, thine will be rescued too. 
 
 Or here or in the blessed after-world 
 
 The parents and the children meet again." 
 
 Here then in Cadair's hut for five long years 
 The pilgrims made their central home ; while far 
 Along the terraced mountain-paths, and down
 
 CLAUDIA. 
 
 157 
 
 The deep secluded vales ; over bleak heaths, 
 
 And through the tangled marshes of the coast ; 
 
 From southern Isca by the tawny sea 
 
 To where the Sacred Island fronts the north ; 
 
 From th' eastern streams to where the unknown main 
 
 Breaks on the western shores ; their patient feet 
 
 Passed and repassed, blessing the land they trod. 
 
 From time to time, with many an anxious space 
 
 Lengthening between, came news from distant Rome. 
 
 Letters from Miriam, full of tender talk 
 
 Of babes and home and kindred. Letters too 
 
 From Bran the prince and Caradoc the king, 
 
 Who ere a year had passed avowed himself 
 
 A willing vassal of the conquering Christ, 
 
 And passed through mystic waters to His side : 
 
 Letters from all save Claudia. But of her 
 
 Nothing but dubious rumours of the snares 
 
 That thickened round her feet : nothing to cheer 
 
 The heart of Julius, who still mourned for her 
 
 As one who mourns an only, darling child 
 
 Dying unsuccoured on a distant shore. 
 
 But whether they rejoiced for Caradoc, 
 Or wept for Claudia, still their steadfast souls 
 Were true to their high calling ; still they sougbl
 
 L58 CLAUDIA. 
 
 The scattered Cymri in their secret haunts, 
 
 And found them stern and sad, rent off hy force 
 
 From the old rule and worship of the land ; 
 
 Scorning their conquerors much ; but scorning more 
 
 The childish herd who, dazzled by success, 
 
 Grovelled before them ; scorning most of all 
 
 The few, base-hearted, howe'er nobly born, 
 
 Who, guessing at the issue ere the fight, 
 
 Had knit a shameful treaty with the foe ; 
 
 And now reaped golden harvests from the fields 
 
 Watered with Cymric blood. 
 
 In such a mood 
 The pilgrims found the noblest of the land : 
 Whether the simple herdsman who scarce knew 
 His grandsire's name, or prince whose long descent 
 Baffled the practised memories of the bards : 
 Herdsman or prince, still noblest of the land. 
 And fitting well their words to such a mood, 
 And fitting well their actions to their words, — 
 Not by a painful piecing here and there, 
 But by the easy outgrowth of the heart, — 
 They drew from many a deeply wounded soul 
 The venom of its misery, and poured 
 [nto its smarting hurts a triple balm :
 
 » 
 
 CLAUDIA. 159 
 
 The balm of trust in the Eternal Power 
 That fashions all things to their fittest end : 
 Of trust in the Eternal Love that lives, 
 And dies, and rises ever in the worlds ; 
 That late had taken human form to live 
 More lovingly among us, and to die 
 More sadly for us, and to rise again 
 More radiantly before us : and of trust 
 In the Eternal Holiness which breathes 
 A rarer life within the soul, nor rests 
 Till all the being is attuned to God. 
 
 And ever as they taught would Julius hang 
 His teaching on the teachings of the bards ; 
 Would note the solid beams that still upheld 
 Their tottering temple, and essay to drive 
 The nail of doctrine in the surest place. 
 While, true as Julius to the differing type, 
 The Maccabee tore down the old beliefs, 
 And built the shining palace of the King 
 Sheer from the earth on unencumbered ground, 
 With uo misgivings of the depths below. 
 Yet not in craft, but by a natural choice 
 Thus did the pilgrims. Even as the pine, 
 Shooting abruptly to the gracious sun.
 
 160 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Fringes his spiry height with russet cones ; 
 While standing in close brotherhood, the oak, 
 Slow-rising on his broadened base of roots, 
 Thoughtfully bends his knotted arms, and moulds 
 A polished acorn finely here and there. 
 
 So each was faithful to his proper trust ; 
 So each was fruitful in his proper kind. 
 And as they passed about the Cymric wilds 
 They sowed immortal seed. But then as now 
 Not all the soil was fruitful. Then as now 
 The many who with open hearts embraced 
 The heavenly message, seemed but few to those 
 Who held them closely barred. For some were loath 
 To satisfy the hunger of their souls 
 With any Bread of Life unless they knew 
 The title to the field where grew the wheat, 
 Though all the while the inner instinct cried, 
 " Alas ! I perish while thou cavillest." 
 Some closed their hearts through jealous reverence 
 For all their fathers reverenced of old. 
 Unmindful that the present sees the past 
 Such as it would, and throws a shifting light 
 Now here, now there, upon the narrowing track 
 Unrolled behind, while vaster intervals
 
 CLAUDIA. 1G1 
 
 Lie buried in the shade. Unmindful too 
 That not the distant years that are no more, 
 Hut these, the very days in which we live, 
 Are earth's old age : — that not our sires but we 
 Are the true ancients, on whose hoary heads 
 Time heaps his snows- But more, even as now, 
 Held back through utter earthliness : they saw 
 No beauty in the things unseen, nor felt 
 Their thrilling touch reach to the inmost soul, 
 Nor heard their still small voice, that overtops 
 To hearing ears the thunders of the world. 
 
 Thus through the mourning land the pilgrims went. 
 And on her mountains swathed in tearful mists 
 Their soiled and weary feet were beautiful. 
 But in the midst of mighty thoughts, and aims 
 That stretched beyond the confines of the world, 
 They still remembered Guendolen, and still 
 Sought for her long-lost child. Yea, more than once ; — 
 When worn with months of pilgrimage they came 
 To rest awhile within the herdsman's hut, 
 Where still she dwelt with Estrild and Cadair, — 
 Some glimpse of gold upon a maiden's head 
 Shining among the dark Silurian girls, 
 As shines some sunny-blossomed tree among 
 
 11
 
 1G2 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Its sombre woodland peers, turned them aside 
 To learn its owner's history. And in days 
 So gloomed with exile, treachery, and war, 
 Full many a Cymric orphan might he found 
 Whose brief life held a world of mystery. 
 Whose memory faintly traced benignant forms 
 That moved and smiled about her infant years, 
 Then slipped into the dark and came no more. 
 But ever as they searched into the tale 
 Some ruthless fact destroyed the lengthening clue, 
 And fair-haired Gladys, almost grasped, was gone. 
 
 Meanwhile how slowly crept the days, the months. 
 The fearful years to Claudia, far away 
 Within the wicked city of the South. 
 For on her shrinking spirit closely pressed 
 The evil powers : the creeping hosts which haunt 
 The lower grounds of our frail being, and those 
 Whose proud wings darken all the upper air 
 Where the mind breathes. Not only in her home 
 The shadows deepened on her daily life, 
 The snares grew thicker round her trembling feet ; 
 But all the broad horizon of the times 
 Now gathered blackness. Vilest cruelty 
 And viler luxury sapped the state, till Borne
 
 CLAUDIA. 168 
 
 Became one ghastly pitfall, ill- concealed 
 
 By glittering shows. The dull-souled Claudius 
 
 Had passed away ; and in his stead arose 
 
 A madman hy whose whitest deeds the worst 
 
 Wrought by his sire seemed pure and merciful ; 
 
 Yet the degenerate city fawned and crouched 
 
 At Nero's feet. An ever-dwindling few, 
 
 Still faithful to the spirit of the past, 
 
 Might worship virtue secretly and mourn 
 
 The apostate times. But growing throngs on throngs, — 
 
 Senators, ladies of the noblest lines, 
 
 Knights of great name, rich freedmen, and a host 
 
 Of hired plebeians, — courted greedily 
 
 The gilded wheels that ground them in the dust. 
 
 In such a scene she dwelt : as much alone 
 
 As a sane man immured with maniacs : 
 
 And but for Him whose presence like a dove 
 
 Brooded for ever on her troubled thoughts, 
 
 The wild despairs and fearful merriments 
 
 Had with a horrid fascination drawn 
 
 Her soul into the gulf. But still through all 
 
 His strength upheld her. Yea, at times it took 
 
 A shape of human succour. More than once 
 
 When her last spark of hope was almost quenched, 
 
 11— '2
 
 164 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Her latest door of rescue seemed fast barred, 
 
 The spirit of Bran would reach her through the dark 
 
 Divine her perils, and provide escape. 
 
 Or else Pomponia by a faithful slave, 
 
 Or by a sign when at the daily board 
 
 They met in terror of the watchful gleam 
 
 That shot from under Plautius' shaggy brows, 
 
 Would warn her darling. Or more strange than all, 
 
 Pudens himself, her dearest, worst of foes, 
 
 Would shine as her deliverer. For the knight, — 
 
 Though armed with all her sire's authority 
 
 To seize on Claudia and to bear her home, 
 
 His promised bride, spite of her wilfulness ; 
 
 And urged yet more by his own passionate heart 
 
 That doted on her beauty, doting still 
 
 Through years of disappointment ; — ever found 
 
 His resolution daunted and withheld 
 
 As by an unseen power, so that he shrank 
 
 Out of her sight abashed. 
 
 So passed the years, 
 Four seeming endless years, since Julius went. 
 And in the fifth the evil powers closed round 
 Her trembling spirit for a last assault. 
 
 The spring breathed softly on the flowery world
 
 CLAUDIA. 10o 
 
 Around the pleasant farm at Tusculum 
 
 Where Plautius bore her, and it seemed to melt 
 
 The firmness of her purpose. Then a voice, 
 
 A flattering voice, said sweetly in herself, — 
 
 1 Do I not wrong kind Nature ? Can it be 
 
 That these melodious musics of the world ; 
 
 These lovely forms and hues that swell and shine 
 
 On every side ; these most delicious scents 
 
 And flavours ; these caresses of the breeze, 
 
 And of this soft turf where my limbs subside 
 
 With such an easy languor;— can it be 
 
 That all these things are prophecies in vain ? 
 
 Lo ! I have fasted many days, and made 
 
 This fruitful world a barren wilderness ; 
 
 But God made all things good, and good for me. 
 
 Let me fling back the fivefold door of sense 
 
 And look abroad ; yea, taste and handle all 
 
 That makes life worth the living. Why ? my heart, 
 
 Why wast thou framed so softly, but to take 
 
 Impression from another, stronger heart ? 
 
 When Pudens speaks, why does my every nerve 
 
 Tin-ill at his voice ? Who strung my being thus ? 
 
 Not I but God ; Whom yet I think to serve 
 
 By flat denial of the tender claim.
 
 166 CLAUDIA. 
 
 If Pudens' love were like the lawless love 
 
 Of others, there were cause to shrink from it ; 
 
 But is he not my own betrothed, and I 
 
 Bound to him by the will of Plautius, 
 
 Whom God has set above me as my sire ? 
 
 My disobedience and my wilfulness 
 
 Drive him to deeper darkness, make him hate 
 
 The light that* leads me from him ; but methinks, 
 
 My hand in his upon the path of life, 
 
 He were a ready convert to my zeal.' 
 
 And Claudia listened while the flattering voice 
 Poured on, with many a pensive pause between, 
 Its subtle music in her secret ear. 
 Music more ravishingly sweet than songs 
 Of the shy bird whose fitful, luscious notes 
 Thrill the rich twilights of the early June. 
 And as she listened her young heart confessed 
 Its weakness, and implored her to relent. 
 But dumbly resolute her spirit fell 
 Before the unseen shrine, and rose again 
 Renerved and vigorous, armed with holy thoughts. 
 Then thus she answered to the tempting voice : — 
 ' Nay, liar as thou wast from evermore, 
 Man lives not by the lifeless bread alone, |
 
 CLAUDIA. 107 
 
 But by the living word. Each several sense 
 
 May revel in a full satiety, 
 
 And yet the essence of the man grow lean 
 
 And starve to perishing. And each may lack 
 
 Its object, yet the inner soul rejoice 
 
 In rich abundance of delight and peace. 
 
 But one thing thou say'st truly. God has made 
 
 All Nature good ; yea, good for me, for all : 
 
 Good, not the best : a more transcendent good 
 
 He sets before the senses of the soul : 
 
 To grow through discipline of loss and pain, — 
 
 Yea, may be through a discipline of joy, — 
 
 Into His likeness. Dost thou mock at me ? 
 
 cruel tempter ! asking of my heart — 
 Why not for thee this discipline of joy ? 
 My heart is weak and cannot answer thee ; 
 But my soul answers boldly to thy face, 
 
 1 know not ; but I know that earthly joy 
 For me as yet is a forbidden thing : 
 
 A blooming fruit which my rash hand would crush 
 To bitter ashes. Wherefore get thee hence.' 
 
 The tempting voice that spoke within her heart 
 Was silent after this a little space. 
 Tbe days passed on, the heavy April rains
 
 1G8 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Saddened the skies, and all her spirit sank 
 
 In chill depression. Then it spoke again : 
 
 No more in flattering tones, hut with a hard, 
 
 Metallic ring of self-ahandonment : — 
 
 ' Yea, 'tis too true. I erred, wooing myself 
 
 To taste the sweetness I must never know. 
 
 I am a miserahle, orphaned wretch 
 
 Without a home, a country, or a name. 
 
 Doubtless my Maker has forgotten me. 
 
 What boots to Him my petty faithfulness ? 
 
 I, a poor atom in the rolling mass, 
 
 The long procession of the lives of men, 
 
 Of what account am I in such a sum, 
 
 Whose reckoning runs beyond my farthest thought ? 
 
 Can the light feather of my littleness, 
 
 Laid here or there, be strong to discompose 
 
 The balance of the skies ? And if my God 
 
 Cared for my safety, would He snatch away 
 
 My main support, my father Julius, 
 
 Yea, and Pomponia, mother of my love, 
 
 And leave me all unguided and alone ? 
 
 That were mere madness. Nay, it is most plain 
 
 Sooner or later I must yield and fall. 
 
 Then why not now, and save myself at least
 
 CLAUDIA. 169 
 
 The miserable dread ? Moreover too, 
 If that I am, as once I fondly dreamed, 
 One of His chosen children, I am safe.' 
 
 And Claudia listened while the jarring voice 
 That spoke within the chamber of her heart 
 Rang its harsh changes on the true and false, 
 Until her soul grew dizzy and confused, 
 Until the solid ground of consciousness 
 Reeled round and seemed to open. Yet her soul, 
 Though sinking, sank before the feet of God 
 And rose re- strengthened, armed with holy thoughts. 
 Then thus she answered — 
 
 ' Dost thou think to fright 
 My weakness thus, coward enemy ? 
 True, God has given His angels charge to keep 
 My feet in all my ways, but not in thine. 
 My way lies only where my Lord appoints, 
 I may not tempt Him, choosing other paths. 
 And darest thou to whisper in my heart 
 He loves me not, He cares not for my love, 
 My lord, who died a thousand deaths for me ? 
 Nay, though He slay me will I trust in Him. 
 The longest night must issue in the day, 
 The morning breaks already in my soul.'
 
 170 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Again, a little space, the voice that spoke 
 Within the chamber of her heart was still. 
 The days passed on, the glorious summer hurst 
 From clear Italian shies, and Claudia felt 
 The pride of the rich season swell within. 
 
 Then spoke the evil spirit once again. 
 But neither in soft, flattering tones, nor yet 
 With a harsh ring of self-ahandonment ; 
 But with a stirring, trumpet-like appeal, 
 That echoed from some higher place and seemed 
 To summon her to follow. Then she rose 
 Out of her meek ahasement and went up 
 The mount of exaltation, while the voice 
 Sounded superbly, saying in her heart, — 
 ' Methinks not many would have safely borne 
 The tests that try the temper of my mind, 
 Try but to prove its strength. But I begin 
 At length to know myself. The softnesses 
 That vanquish others come not near my soul : 
 They touch but on the surface of the sense 
 Like wandering birds that skim the unfathomed sea, 
 But leave no trace behind. And solitude 
 And sorrow do not conquer my resolves. 
 I feel within a self-contenting strength
 
 CLAUDIA. 171 
 
 Which never fails, though all things round me fail. 
 
 It were a moat ungrateful modesty 
 
 To douht my difference from my peers, and this 
 
 Hints at a difference in our destinies. 
 
 Tis said they speak of me at Caesar's court ; 
 
 That Martialis framed an epigram 
 
 Touching the gold locks and the violet eyes, 
 
 And how the Roman and the British dames 
 
 Disputed for the honour of my hirth. 
 
 Strange things have happened in these days. Perchance 
 
 I yet might he Augusta, were it not 
 
 For this exclusive, almost sullen faith. 
 
 But 'twere an aim beneath me : deep within 
 
 I feel the stirring of strange powers that mock 
 
 At thrones and empires. Bather let me be 
 
 One of those rarely royal souls that take 
 
 Their times and fellows captive at their will, 
 
 By the resistless thought and winged word : 
 
 Nor only so, but stretch their sovereignty 
 
 O'er distant ages, races yet unbom. 
 
 How gloriously Apollo's statue stands ! 
 
 Fair image of the thought that fires my soul ; 
 
 A graceful god ; divinely beautiful ; 
 
 Divinely free from sorrow ; whom no touch
 
 172 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Of rude hands dare assail. But yet no need 
 
 To quit the service of the Crucified. 
 
 I well might worship Him in secret still : 
 
 He looks hut at the heart. These foolish gods 
 
 Of heathendom are nought but empty names. 
 
 Sprinkling a little incense on their shrines, 
 
 I bind myself to nothing, while I win 
 
 The glory of the kingdoms of the world.' 
 
 And Claudia listened while the trumpet voice 
 Thus sounded in the chamber of her heart. 
 Her pulse beat strangely, and the mounting blood 
 Kindled her cheek and flushed her breadth of brows, 
 While her eyes flashed ambition. But at length 
 The wily tempter overreached himself, 
 A horror seized upon her shuddering soul, 
 And at the feet of God she fell, to rise 
 Strong in His strength ; re-armed with holy thoughts. 
 Then thus she answered to the evil one : — 
 
 ' False, boastful spirit, all thy potent skill 
 Fails to conceal thee. Thy bold blasphemy 
 Stands forth unveiled and hideous, breaking through 
 Its thin disguise. But were I all thou say'st, 
 Would that give cause to turn against the hand 
 That made me such ? Would that thy swelling words
 
 CLAUDIA. 173 
 
 Of flattery were true ! that I were more 
 A thousand-fold than thou hast dared to say ! 
 Then were my life a worthier offering 
 On the pure altar of the God of gods, 
 My Father, my Kedeemer. Yet e'en then 
 How worthless a return for His vast love ! 
 How torn and hlemished in His holy eyes ! ' 
 
 Then, baffled utterly, the voice was still. 
 But Claudia, like to one who in the games 
 Strives for the mastery with a cruel foe 
 And hardly wins, lay prostrate, almost dead. 
 For many days her weary soul crept through 
 Its little round of duty and of love, 
 Feebly, and almost blindly. But the while, 
 The unseen messengers of God encamped 
 About her lonely path, and held her steps, 
 And strengthened and renewed her inmost heart 
 With costly cordials from the heavenly store. 
 
 And in those days she prayed, and said, 
 
 " Lord ! 
 Thou knowest all things, Thou dost know I love 
 Thee above all. Not as I ought to love, 
 Not with the joyous instinct of Thy saints, 
 Yet still sincerely : with a love that longs
 
 174 CLAUDIA. 
 
 To grow beyond its feeble self, and change 
 
 Its languid preference for a glowing zeal. 
 
 Yea, Lord, Thou knowest all things : Thou dost know 
 
 I have been sorely pressed on every side : 
 
 My feet have almost gone from under me : 
 
 My steps have well-nigh slipped : the enemy 
 
 Has fought against me furiously ; and though 
 
 Thou through Thy strength hast made me conqueror, 
 
 Yet am I sorely bruised and broken now. 
 
 Pity me, Lord ! Thou knowest all my frame : 
 
 Remember I am dust ! and therefore prone 
 
 To cleave thereto. Thou who before I was 
 
 Didst choose the mould wherein it pleased Thee 
 
 To cast my being, Thou dost fully know 
 
 The yearning weakness of my woman's heart. 
 
 Save me, my Father ! save me from myself. 
 
 Let not my foes assail me suddenly, 
 
 While thus I languish. most tender heart 
 
 Of Christ ! have pity on my feebleness, 
 
 And send me succour, ere it be too late ! " 
 
 Meanwhile fax off upon the Cymric shores, 
 Through all the early and the later spring, 
 And through the glowing centre of the year, 
 The pilgrims pushed their peaceful victories.
 
 CLAUDIA. 175 
 
 But when the summer waned aud all the vales 
 
 Stood thick with golden sheaves whose tasselled heads 
 
 Drooped in the sun, there came a messenger 
 
 To Cadair's hut ; where as their custom was 
 
 At harvest tide, although with unused arms, 
 
 They swayed the sickle in the narrow field 
 
 Won from the forest hy the herdsman's skill. 
 
 Thrice welcome was the word that messenger 
 Had borne within his girdle, writ at large 
 On creamy vellum, sealed with the king's seal. 
 
 " Greetings be multiplied, friends beloved, 
 To you and to the faithful household round, 
 And chiefly to our sister Guendolen. 
 Know that our exile ends, and that we seek 
 The mist- wreathed isle again. With us our sire, 
 Our queen, our daughter, and her Roman lord, 
 With others dear to us and dear to you : — 
 The spouse and children of the Maccabee, 
 And one beside. We charge you, spread not forth 
 The fame of this our coming, lest the few 
 That still have held their fealty should arise 
 To greet us as their king, and shed their blood 
 For that which cannot be ; for we have sworn. 
 " Now when this reaches you at harvest time
 
 176 CLAUDIA. 
 
 In Cadair's hut, then know in that same day 
 
 Our galley grates the shore. Forthwith arise : 
 
 Beyond Trefran, beyond Dunraven's hill 
 
 Pursue the sunset, till a river bars 
 
 Your farther steps. Thence turning inland track 
 
 The river's course along a winding vale 
 
 For nigh three leagues. Then will the valley's head 
 
 Branch out in antlers to the right and left. 
 
 Adown the open vale upon the right 
 
 A still stream glides below a rock-crowned hill. 
 
 Adown the narrow glen upon the left 
 
 A torrent roars among huge tumbled rocks. 
 
 Follow the torrent till its calming voice 
 
 Yields to the murmur of a waterfall. 
 
 Cross at the ford below the fall and search 
 
 The wooded heights above, and you shall find 
 
 A rustic dwelling. There await in peace 
 
 Our coming. These are writ by Caradoc." 
 
 Speechless with joy and wonder at the first, 
 Then with a tangled tide of questions, poured 
 In the confused ears of the messenger, 
 They heard the thrice-bless'd news, and straight arose 
 To follow where the king had pointed them ; 
 And Guendolen would fain have followed too,
 
 CLAUDIA. 177 
 
 But hearkened to their counsel, and delayed 
 Until the lodge were fitted to receive 
 Its royal guests. 
 
 Upon the second morn 
 They tracked the vale helow the rock-crowned height 
 That lifted grey and ivied battlements 
 Against the purple heath of distant hills. 
 But since the unshorn forest filled the land 
 It was but here and there between the boughs 
 They caught a distant glimmer of the crags ; 
 But here and there athwart the underwood, — 
 Thick with tall ferns, and hemlocks silvery green, 
 And flecked with flakes of sunlight, — could they see 
 The glitter of the river in the sun. 
 Along a rough and tangled forest-track 
 They pressed with eager steps. The Maccabee 
 With vigorous limbs beat back the encroaching boughs. 
 Clearing the path for Julius' reverend form, 
 Bent low with years and toils ; and as he snapped 
 The shining toughness of the hazel stems, 
 And crushed the giant hemlocks under foot, 
 And flung back brief directions and replies 
 To Julius in the rear, he seemed inspired 
 As with a double life. Wnene'er he spoke, 
 
 12
 
 178 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Although the theme were trivial, his deep tones 
 Were mellow with a secret joy, his looks 
 Shed on the meanest things a gorgeous light. 
 A ray shot outwards from the dazzling hope 
 That glorified his heart ; the hope that soon, — 
 So God preserved her in the hours between, — 
 His eyes so long divorced from her sweet looks, 
 His ears so long bereft of her sweet voice, 
 His life so long the restless widower 
 Of her meek wisdom, should be filled once more 
 With Miriam's presence. 
 
 So the Maccabee 
 Pushed onwards eagerly, and Julius' heart 
 Was light, and lightly rose on wings of praise. 
 To both the myriad myriad leaves and flowers, — 
 Each happy with its sparkle of the sun, 
 Or with its cool nest of translucent shade ; — 
 And all the countless creatures of the wood, 
 Insects and birds and nimble-footed things 
 That glanced across the dappled ground, or sprang 
 From bough to bough, seemed like an instrument 
 Of many strings, played by a master's hand, 
 Toned to the joy that sang within their hearts. 
 - went the dewv morning-hours. But now
 
 CLAUDIA. 179 
 
 The languor of the limbs began to steal 
 
 Upon the watching brain, began to numb 
 
 Its active workings ; till at length one thought 
 
 Repeated in the same unvaried chime 
 
 Was all it could. Then for the Maccabee 
 
 Rang to and fro the king's heart-thrilling phrase : — 
 
 " With others dear to us and dear to you." 
 
 And if a playful wavelet of the stream 
 
 Swerved to the side against a mossy root 
 
 It softly said to him, — ' and dear to you.'' 
 
 While ever in the ears of Julius rang 
 
 " And one beside ; " and all the teeming life 
 
 Within the woods re-echoed, — ' one beside.' 
 
 Thus then they fared along ; and when they reached 
 The antlers of the vale, the drowsy noon 
 Lulled all the warm earth and the glowing sky. 
 Each bush that greenly dotted the hill side 
 Slept on its own blue carpeting of shade, 
 And all the tender voices of the wood 
 Drooped faint and low. Yet onward, onward still 
 The pilgrims pushed unflagging, through the glen 
 Where the white torrent poured through tumbled rocks. 
 And when the creeping shadows might be seen 
 To have veered a little eastward, they could hear 
 
 12—2
 
 180 CLAUDIA. 
 
 The deep-toned murmur of a waterfall 
 
 Above the jangle of the nearer stream. 
 
 And when the sun, aslant through sloping boughs, 
 
 Trickled in jewels down the enamelled bark 
 
 Of beech and ash and ruddy sycamore, 
 
 They saw beyond the border of the wood 
 
 The tremulous, silvery flashing of the fall. 
 
 And now the path, emerging from the trees, 
 
 Led its white track across a pebbly beach 
 
 That floored the hollow scooped by the cascade. 
 
 Here for a space the stream unrolled itself 
 
 Smooth as a riband on the level stones, 
 
 And narrowed by the drought. Behind, the cliffs 
 
 Were streaked and stained far upwards ; for the storms 
 
 And thaws of winter filled the hollow gulf 
 
 With eddying whirlpools, whose long swell upswept 
 
 Against the rocky walls, now greenly gay 
 
 "With ivy-wreaths and fringes of the fern.
 
 PART V. 
 
 Here then the pilgrims plucked their sandals oil 
 And girt their garments close to cross the ford. 
 Which having done they climbed the rocky heights 
 And gained the upper stream. But as they searched 
 Its shores, thinking to leap from rock to rock 
 And gain the thicket on the farther side, 
 They saw a wasted figui'e totter forth 
 From out the thicket to the water's edge, 
 And sink exhausted. 
 
 Then the Maccabee, 
 His muscles strung by sudden impulse, sprang 
 Across the stream and hastened to the spot
 
 182 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Where lay the man, lost in a deadly swoon. 
 His lean and haggard frame was scantly clothed 
 With miserable shreds. His long black locks 
 Streaked with the grey of sorrow, more than time, 
 Hung by his hollow cheeks and cavernous eyes. 
 But with a hand as gentle as the hand 
 With which a mother tends a sickly child 
 The Maecabee upraised his head from off 
 The last year's leaves, saying within himself, 
 ' Sure, I have seen or dreamed of such a face 
 As this before ? ' And as he thought thereon 
 And wondered, Julius had reached the place, 
 And drawn a flask of cordial from his belt, 
 And touched the breathless nostrils and pale lips ; 
 Until at length with a long, fluttering sigh 
 Tli. eyelids opened, and the startled soul 
 Looked forth bewildered. Then he filled a cup 
 That hung upon the flask, and bade him drink. 
 
 Now when the wine had roused his languid pulse 
 I [i looked from each to each with eyes that grew 
 More happy as they gazed; and gazing thus 
 His deathlike features quickened somewhat, while 
 Id faintly murmured to himself, — " Thank God 
 It is no dream. These are the very men
 
 CLAUDIA. 1 88 
 
 In living shape and substance." — Then more loud, 
 Yet still in weary and exhausted tones, 
 Looking above, — " God, dweller in heaven, 
 I thank Thee who hast thought upon me thus." 
 And as he spoke, they said within themselves, 
 ' Sure, I have heard or dreamed of such a voice 
 As this before '? ' 
 
 But now their chiefest care 
 Was how to find the woodland lodge, that so 
 Ere nightfall they might safely shelter him, 
 This helpless wretch, whose trust in the true God 
 Made them more marvel at his misery. 
 But when he heard them question of the place, 
 He raised his heavy eyelids once again, 
 And bade them ' stay him upon either side 
 And he would guide them thither ; for himself 
 Had dwelt there half a life-time — dwelt alone.' 
 So having lightly raised his wasted frame, 
 They bore him on the track he showed to them, 
 And found the place they sought. 
 
 It was no hut 
 Like Cadair's, but a many-chambered hall. 
 Once a fair summer-palace of the king, 
 But now half ruined by neglect and time.
 
 184 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Yet was one chamber habitable still, 
 To which he pointed them : where entering 
 They found the smouldered ashes of a fire. 
 Against the wall flapped sadly here and there 
 Fragments of frayed, discoloured tapestry, 
 And scanty wrecks of household moveables 
 Stood on the sloping floor. A heap of fern 
 Strewed one dark corner. A dry (h'inking-horn, 
 An empty trencher, and a broken lamp 
 Lay on a tottering table. Here they stayed 
 Their steps, and Julius unclasped his scrip 
 And fed the stranger ; while the Maccabee 
 Revived the smouldering embers ; for the night 
 Was closing, and the chilly woodland dews 
 Fell through each gaping crevice in the roof. 
 
 Now when the wretched man was wanned and 
 
 cheered, 
 They asked him, — " Who art thou ? what strange 
 
 mishap 
 Has brought thee to this miserable state ? 
 And wherefore art thou dwelling thus alone ?" 
 Then thus he answered : — 
 
 "lam Cynfran : he 
 Who met you in the marsh five summers since,
 
 CLAUDIA. 185 
 
 The da}' you landed. But I marvel not 
 You should not know me." 
 
 Here he lifted up 
 A pale, transparent hand against the fire, 
 And faintly smiled to see the red flame dance 
 Through the thin muscle, saying, — 
 
 "This frail hand 
 Then swung the heaviest broad- sword easily 
 As you might swing a hazel wand ; and threw 
 Straight to its aim the iron-pointed spear 
 For half a furlong. But 'twere long to tell 
 What brought me to this miserable plight ; 
 Or rather to that miserable plight 
 In which you found me : all is altered now, 
 Thanks be to God above. And long to tell 
 Why thus I dwell in utter solitude, 
 Or have been dwelling : all is altered now, 
 Thanks be to God, to Llarian, and to you." 
 
 " But tell us none the less," the pilgrims said, — 
 (Whose wonder grew to hear of Llarian) — 
 " And tell us, more than all, how thou hast learned 
 To call on the time God." 
 
 At that he dropped 
 His hand and gazed into the fire's red heart
 
 186 CLAUDIA. 
 
 As if the story of his life were traced 
 In its fantastic forms : while a fierce spark 
 Shot suddenly from out his hollow eyes, 
 Fading as suddenly : — 
 
 " Ah, sirs!" he said, 
 " You know not what you ask. I dare not turn 
 The hlack page of the past, lest from its grave 
 The spectre of revenge should lise again 
 To grapple with my newly rescued soul. 
 Let this suffice. I was a chieftain's son. 
 While yet a slender boy my heart rejoiced 
 In battle : the shrill trumpet-call ; the roll 
 Of scythed cars ; the rattle of the spear 
 Against the hollow buckler ; — were to me 
 Sweeter than sweetest music. The long roar 
 Of host encountering host more flushed my heart 
 Than softest greetings from the rosiest mouth. 
 The close fight hand to hand ; the deadly grip 
 Of desperate foes ; — thrilled my delighted sense 
 More than the warm clasp of the whitest anus. 
 So in my youth I followed with my sire 
 To the king's camp, when Aulus Plautius 
 Assailed him with the veteran hosts of Gaul. 
 For three stern years we strove, but strove in vain
 
 CLAUDIA. 187 
 
 To curb the conquests of the aliens ; 
 And in the end they crushed us in the West, 
 And made the land beyond the eastern streams 
 A prey to rapine. In that third sad year 
 I bore a message from Prince Owain, — son 
 Of Bran, grandson of Llyr the gracious king, 
 And elder brother of our Caradoc, — 
 To his dark princess, Lady Guendolen : 
 For whom and for their child the boding prince 
 Had found a mountain refuge in the north, 
 A June day's journey from the royal camp. 
 Then first I learned that love is something more 
 Than pleasure in a woman's loveliness. 
 I saw among the maids of Guendolen 
 One whose clear beauty was but as the veil 
 That tempered down the shining of her soul. 
 Straight my heart clave to her, and hers to me ; 
 And when on the third day, my errand done, 
 I slowly rode adown the winding vales, 
 Lost in fond musings, — like a man possessed 
 With some new life that almost slays the old, 
 Yet makes him twenty-fold the man he was, — 
 And sought Prince Owain in the royal camp, 
 1 asked of him the hand of Angharad,
 
 188 CLAUDIA. 
 
 She being an orphan, and he next of kin : 
 He did not say me nay ; and all my heart 
 Leapt onward to the happy time to come. 
 
 " I could not speak of those delightful days 
 Whose cruel sweetness only mocks me now, 
 But that this languid pulse, slow settling down 
 To an eternal stillness, cannot rise 
 In dangerous throbs. 
 
 " Moreover," here he cast 
 His looks on Julius, " I have learned, though late, 
 That the most vile, inexpiable wrong 
 That ever yet was done by man to man, 
 Shrinks into nothing by the monstrous growth 
 Of that vast wrong he heaps upon himself, 
 Who, wrenching off his soul from God and good, 
 Sells her pure beauty to the vilest ends ; 
 Whether revenge, or some yet viler end, 
 Tf there be viler." 
 
 At this Julius rose 
 Astonished and transfigured by the light 
 That flashed upon him. " Can it be," he said, 
 " That bitter utterance, which broke from me 
 Before I was aware, and for the which 
 How often have I fasted silently
 
 CLAUDIA. 189 
 
 And wept in secret, was the voice of God 
 Unto thy soul '? Perchance 'tis often so : 
 That the first impulse of a heart whereon 
 His spirit hroods, may lead a nearer way 
 To His great ends than colder afterthoughts. 
 But, I beseech thee, do not check thy tale." 
 Then Cynfran spoke again : — 
 
 " The autumn came 
 And Llyr's last fight was fought ; the alien bands 
 Slew or dispersed our hosts ; the ancient king 
 Died broken-hearted, happier far than I 
 Who lived to curse my life. The morrow morn 
 I gathered from the forests and the wilds 
 The scattered troops of Owain, who had fallen 
 First in the battle, as he led the charge 
 Of the scythed chariots on the Roman flank. 
 And as with these I sought the mountain cell, 
 My heart was heavy with the heavy news 
 That must be borne to Lady Guendolen. 
 But for myself! — Oh mortal blindness, cooped 
 In a stone's throw of space, a point of time ; — 
 As for myself ! the bitterest of my grief 
 Was that I did not grieve more bitterly- 
 For evermore mv untamed heart rebelled
 
 190 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Against the burden of the land undone, 
 
 Against the burden of Prince Owain slain, 
 
 And danced for rapture, thinking of my love. 
 
 As one who gaily takes a poisoned cup, 
 
 Unguessing at the fate that lurks within, 
 
 And drinks a torturing death with nods and smiles, 
 
 So as we neared the place, I spurred my horse 
 
 Before the rest, eager for Angharad, 
 
 And caring not that common eyes should note 
 
 Our greetings:" — 
 
 Here he ceased, and slowly rose 
 To his full height, and staggering to a seat 
 In the far comer, sank down heavily ; 
 Then spoke from out the darkness with a voice 
 Half strangled, awful : — 
 
 " 'Twas a needless care : 
 No light step flow to meet me : no shy arms 
 Fell soft about my neck. But as my path 
 Made its last turn, there, full before me, stood 
 A wan and ghastly image ; with bright hair 
 Blackened with blood ; with arms that thrust me back, 
 As horror-struck I lighted from my horse ; 
 And a changed voice, that uttered, ' Touch me not ! 
 For I am lost ; — ruined for evermore.
 
 CLAUDIA. 191 
 
 All ! woukl that thou hadst slain me with thy sword 
 
 Ere thus I died to thee, died to myself, 
 
 To all the fair earth and the pleasant skies. 
 
 I have striven to take my life, here is the wound 
 
 Deep in my temple, hut my hand was weak. 
 
 O Cynfran ! I was blameless as the lamb 
 
 In the wolf's jaws. But yet I cannot live, 
 
 Cannot look on thee, never can be thine : 
 
 All that has passed : the sweetness of our love 
 
 Is drowned for ever in this bitter close.' 
 
 Then sank she to the earth ; and as I strove 
 
 To lift her, scarcely knowing what I did, — 
 
 For right, and wrong, love, pity, and revenge 
 
 Whirled in a mad confusion through my brain, — 
 
 She snatched my sword, or ere I was aware, 
 
 And fell upon the point, and so she died." 
 
 Here Cynfran paused : while those two held their 
 breath 
 In speechless awe and pity. For a space 
 Nothing was heard except the sobbing flame, 
 The mournful heaving of the tapestry, 
 And far aloof witbin the midnight woods 
 The howling of the wolves. He spoke again : 
 " Then fearful darkness fell on me, through which
 
 192 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Shot gleams of light more fearful, for I learned 
 By timid answers wrested from the troops, 
 That some before they left the battle field, 
 And some by flying rumours since the fight, 
 Had gained the key to this black mystery. 
 They told that ' on the morning of the fight 
 The Lady Guendolen,' (how bitterly 
 I cursed her rashness !) ' left her mountain-cell 
 Goaded by dark forebodings for her lord, 
 And with her maidens came to watch the field : 
 That on a knoll to rearward of our host 
 They took their stand : that Guendolen ere long, 
 Missing the glitter of Prince Owain's sword, 
 Dashed down into the thickest of the fight : ' 
 
 But here they checked themselves and cast scared 
 
 looks 
 Each on his fellow : looks that seemed to say 
 ' Tell thou the tale, I cannot.' But I urged 
 And threatened, till they thrust a frightened boy 
 To the front rank, who told me, stammering, 
 ' His mother was the nurse of Owain's child ; 
 That he, her son, stood by her on the knoll : 
 That when the Lady Guendolen sprang down 
 Into the battle, she had flung the child
 
 CLAUDIA. 193 
 
 Into his mother's arms ; that afterwards — 
 
 When the great legion, covered with locked shields, 
 
 liose like a huge sea-tortoise from its place 
 
 And moved upon the ford, driving our troops 
 
 To right and Left, and slaying as it came — 
 
 The frighted maidens, all save Angharad, 
 
 Fled shrieking ; hut she said she scorned to flee 
 
 And leave her dearest lady succourless. 
 
 Then up the valley came the roaring tide 
 
 Of flying Cymri, driven before the foe, 
 
 And all the knoll swarmed over, black and bright 
 
 With the swart aliens and their flashing arms ; 
 
 The air rang round with shrieks and mockery 
 
 And he was trampled down and knew no more ; 
 
 Save this ;' — and here his boyish voice was choked 
 
 With sobs and tears ; — ' that now he sorely feared 
 
 His mother must be slain ; for one had seen 
 
 A Roman soldier bearing off the child, 
 
 The little bright-haired Gladys, and he knew 
 
 His mother ne'er had yielded up that child 
 
 Save with her own last breath.' " 
 
 Here Cynfran paused 
 Once more ; and when he spoke again, his voice 
 Fell feebler yet : — 
 
 13
 
 194 CLAUDIA. 
 
 " But I must hasten on ; 
 For this strange strength which props my sinking frame 
 Is hut the ruddy gleam that flashes out 
 From the wild sunset of a stormy day. 
 My night is near ; yet not an endless night ; 
 Beyond I see a calmer day-spring dawn. 
 But help me now to lay my weary limhs 
 Upon this hed of bracken." 
 
 So they came, 
 And laid him on the hracken, spreading out 
 Their upper garments on his trembling frame, 
 With tender hands ; then raised his sinking head 
 And held the cup of cordial to his lips ; 
 And sis he drank thereof, his soul revived, 
 So that he spoke again. 
 
 " Within the cell 
 We found the other maids of Guendolen, 
 All scared and stricken by their fellow's fate. 
 Scared too by a weird vision they had seen 
 Of Guendolen herself at earliest dawn, 
 Stalking in dumb, unnoting misery 
 Through all the chambers to an inner room, 
 Where Angharad lay crouched : with whom she held 
 A brief discourse : and then with wilder looks
 
 CLAUDIA. 195 
 
 Hushed forth into the passes of the wood, 
 Calling on Gladys ('twas her lost child's name), — 
 On ' Gladys ! ' ' Gladys ! ' — till her distant voice 
 Died in the leafy depths, and all was still. 
 " Upon a golden bier of autumn boughs 
 We placed my Angharad. I would not let 
 A hand except those virgin hands and mine 
 Lay finger on her, nor would let an eye 
 Gaze on her beauty, saving theirs and mine. 
 How calm she lay ! all shame and bitterness 
 Wiped from the solemn sweetness of her looks. 
 Then ere we bare her out, adown her face 
 We drew the shining veil of chestnut hair. 
 With my own hands I dug her little grave 
 In the pine grove where first we plighted troth, 
 And there we left her. But before I turned 
 To leave her grave, I wrung from out my heart 
 The last slow drop of human kindliness, 
 (0 God, forgive me ! — yea, thou hast forgiven), 
 And swore a fearful oath by the three Rays, — 
 The sacred Rays that speak the unspoken Name, — 
 Henceforth to live apart from all mankind ; 
 To make my life one long revenge ; nor rest 
 From that revenge until my life was done ; 
 
 13—2
 
 196 CLAUDIA. 
 
 To abjure the perils of the open fight 
 And so to lengthen out that long revenge. 
 
 " Thus through the nine brave years -while Caradoc 
 Repulsed the aliens, with a fiendish joy 
 I wrought my will upon them, day by day 
 Dooming my spirit to a deeper death. 
 When Caradoc defeated and betrayed 
 Was borne to Rome, I made my secret haunt 
 Within this summer palace of the king, 
 Hence only issuing forth as a wild beast 
 To seek his prey. And so the years went on, 
 Each darker than the last ; for the high God 
 Was slowly wreaking out his vast revenge 
 Upon me ; that revenge, which as thou saidst, 
 I • love and pity. 
 
 " But there came a day 
 When from the cliffs above the tawny sea 
 I watched an alien vessel in the bay, 
 With hatred in my heart, and fierce desin 
 That craved the more the more I pampered it 
 With foul and cruel deeds. I saw you land ; 
 Judged you were Romans ; tracked your steps until 
 We met upon the marsh ; — the rest you know. 
 Thy stern rebuke like midnight lightning lit
 
 CLAUDIA. 1 97 
 
 My darkened heart, and showed me to myself ; 
 And loathing all things, and myself the most, 
 I sought my solitary lair again ; 
 There evermore I straggled to forget ; 
 But evermore came sounding in my ears 
 That stern rebuke. And evermore my soul 
 Reproached me with the vast and cruel wrong 
 Of selling her pure beauty to revenge, 
 And making her the shrinking paramour 
 Of all she loathed the most. And evermore 
 I strove to struggle forward to the light 
 And see the face of God ; but could not go : 
 A thousand dark suggestions plucked me back. 
 And in those days the Druids of the land, 
 As now, were prisoned in the sacred Isle, 
 So there was none to guide. 
 
 " Then I recalled 
 A tale, which lightly heard in happier times, 
 Had lain as dead within my memory, 
 But now, requickened by occasion, rose 
 Alive with meaning. 'Twas a Druid's tale, 
 A legend from that far-off Indian clime 
 Which sages say lies in the utmost East, 
 Bevond the sunrise of the sunrise land.
 
 198 CLAUDIA. 
 
 It told of a fierce man of many sins 
 
 Who, when his sins had grown and multiplied, 
 
 And turned upon him like a troop of wolves, 
 
 liending his soul, until he cried aloud 
 
 To God and man for help, — but there was none, — 
 
 Had met with one who hade him make his home 
 
 Within some drear and solitary place, 
 
 And there subdue himself with toilsome days 
 
 And sleepless nights ; to seek no grateful shade 
 
 From the hot sun of summer, neither fire 
 
 In the keen cold of winter ; to abuse 
 
 Hi* palate with all bitter meats and drinks, 
 
 And these in scanty measure. Farther yet ; 
 
 To scourge his shrinking flesh, and, if needs be, 
 
 Thrust cruel hooks through all his quivering limbs ; 
 
 That so the sin which loves an easy home 
 
 Should find no rest in him. All this I did : 
 
 My strength would fail mo now to utter half 
 
 The torments that I gathered to myself 
 
 With greedy hands, and bore without a groan ; 
 
 Witness these scarred limbs, and this wasted frame 
 
 Dying untimely. But 'twas all in vain ; 
 
 For while I slew the sin upon the right, 
 
 Upon the left the unslain self arose,
 
 CLAUDIA. L99 
 
 More vigorous than before. I could not lift 
 Myself above myself. And evermore, 
 As thus I vainly strove, the thicker grew 
 The veil upon my heart, and farther off 
 Glimmered the awful face of the Unseen. 
 And evermore a colder horror crept 
 Through all my spirit, as the fear of fears 
 Drew closer, showing ghastlier lineaments. 
 The fear that death instead of leading me 
 To the calm circle of eternal bliss 
 Would plunge me deep within the lowest sphere, 
 Penning my wretched soul within the husk 
 Of some brute form, to expiate my sin. 
 
 " So passed the miserable years, until 
 This harvest gilt the valleys ; and I heard, 
 Far off, as one entombed alive might hear, 
 The voices of the reapers, and the songs 
 Of happy maidens binding up the sheaves. 
 Then did a subtle fever creep within 
 My almost empty veins, and the thin blood 
 Rose in a steamy cloud, and dimmed my brain ; 
 While mortal heaviness that was not sleep 
 Glued down my burning limbs. Time passed no more 
 On those alternate steps of night and day
 
 200 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Which freshen even misery, but writhed 
 
 In hideous indistinguishable length. 
 
 Thus had I lain — how long I know not — when 
 
 I heard a rustling sound within the room, 
 
 Which moved a wish in me to ope mine eyes, 
 
 Had not the weight of mountains held the lids. 
 
 Then cooling moisture touched my lips, a draught 
 
 Of blessed water met my parching thirst, 
 
 And a man's voice spake kindly ; but my voice 
 
 Refused to answer, as my eyes to look : 
 
 For all my vital force had sunk as low 
 
 As the last drop within a wasted well. 
 
 Yet over all my heart a still content 
 
 Spread at that voice. 
 
 " Strength fails me now to tell 
 Of all his patient watching by my bed ; 
 Of all the tender offices of love, 
 Hard for a man to show to a dear friend, 
 In which he spent himself unsparingly 
 On me, a stranger. After many days 
 The fever left me ; and I woke from sleep 
 Like a new man, yet feeble as a babe. 
 Then first I saw him plainly ; for before, 
 Twas a dim dream, in which a hand, a face,
 
 CLAUDIA. 201 
 
 A robe of many colours, moved obscure 
 Among tbe visions of my wavering brain. 
 He was a graceful youtb, clad like the youths 
 Who learn the subtle mysteries of the bards ; 
 And with a face as clear as summer skies. 
 He told me how that journeying down the glen 
 He chanced upon this place, and found me laid 
 Sick unto death ; and so had staid awhile 
 To tend me in that sickness : making light 
 Of his great service. 
 
 "As he moved about 
 With noiseless steps, and watched for every wish, 
 And day by day, unwearied, sought abroad 
 Among the Hocks gone wild among the hills, 
 And in the garden, choked with rankest weeds, 
 For all I needed, how my heart upswelled 
 With wonder at the patience of his love ! 
 And when at length I found a feeble voice 
 This wonder reached my lips, and, ' Oh,' I sighed, 
 ' Would that the great Unseen, Unsearchable, 
 Would have compassion on my soul, as thou 
 Hast had upon my body ! ' 
 
 " ' Then,' said he, 
 ' Thou hast thy wish. The pity I have shown
 
 202 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Is but a spark enkindled by the flarne 
 Of His compassion.' 
 
 " So be spake, and drew 
 My sad tale from me, till I told bim all ; 
 Told of the bitter blighting of my youth ; 
 Of the vile vow kept but too well ; of how 
 Your words had burnt asunder like a flame 
 The bondage of that vow ; yet left me bound 
 In thraldom full as hopeless though less vile. 
 At that a glow of glad astonishment 
 Flushed all his face, as thus he answered me : — 
 
 " ' Now God be thanked. These are the very men 
 From whom I learned the things that set me free. 
 They taught me that the great Unsearchable ;— 
 He whom the Druids name not ; who they say 
 Dwells inapproachable, immoveable, 
 Far off among the vast eternities, 
 Shut in serene self-glory, heeding not 
 Our sighing waves that break about His feet ; 
 Or, at the best, as elder sages taught, 
 Whose boundless being is the sea whereon 
 The transient ripples of our lives arise, 
 In which they sink, unknowing and unknown :— 
 That Ee is Father of the souls of men ;
 
 CLAUDIA. 203 
 
 As much, yea more a thousand, thousand fold 
 
 Than earthly sires are fathers of our flesh ; 
 
 And as a father pities us. That still, 
 
 As earthly sires who wisely love their sons 
 
 Will seek for them a strenuous discipline 
 
 To mould the plastic mind and stuhhorn will ; 
 
 So has the Heavenly Parent built for us 
 
 This schoolhouse of the world, wherein to learn 
 
 The long laborious lessons framed to fit 
 
 Our inner manhood for the life beyond. 
 
 Nor this alone ; but that a blessed One, 
 
 Visible image of the unseen God, 
 
 Had late, within the memory of man, 
 
 Been born, and lived, and died upon the earth 
 
 To show these things. That now the time was passed 
 
 For gifts of pain, and sacrifice of blood, 
 
 Since all men in His gift and sacrifice 
 
 Were gathered homeward to our Father's heart, 
 
 If so we willed it.' 
 
 " Thus he spake, and more. 
 I cannot set it forth in ordered words ; 
 I cannot trace the way it wrought on me ; 
 I only know that all my fetters fell ; 
 That while my spirit slept the sleep of death,
 
 •H)4 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Ami only saw wild phantoms, only felt 
 A freezing nightmare holding me from God, 
 His eye was resting on me. And at length, — 
 As when a watcher hends a steadfast gaze 
 Upon the close-locked lids of one that sleeps, 
 His gaze awakes the sleeper, — so beneath 
 The Eye of love that lights the unseen world, 
 My wondering spirit woke from death to life." 
 
 Then said the Maccabee, " Let God be thanked. 
 But where is Llarian ? he who succoured thee ? " 
 And Cynfran answered. " When my sickness turned 
 He went his way along the downward vale ; 
 For he was bent to find you, and had gone 
 Upon your track in vain for many a moon. 
 But on the third day after that on which 
 I watched his many-coloured robe grow dim 
 Within the woods, my sickness came again. 
 Again the subtle fever crept within 
 My almost empty veins ; again the blood 
 Rose in a steamy cloud and dimmed my brain. 
 Then driven by raging thirst, I staggered forth, — 
 But all was like a dream, a feverish dream, — 
 To seek the coolness of the stream below." 
 
 With that he closed his eyes ; and turned his face
 
 CLAUDIA. 205 
 
 To the blank wall, and said, " I can no more ; — 
 I weary to the death and fain would sleep. 
 The burning pain has left me. Yea, who knows 
 But that I yet may live ? Well, life is sweet, 
 And what an altered thing would life be now." 
 
 And so he murmured till he slept. All night 
 The pilgrims watched alternate by his bed ; 
 And when his spirit stirred in sleep, the sense 
 Went wandering back to times long passed away. 
 As relics of a wreck which after- storms 
 Wash on the shore, the fragments of the past 
 Came sadly into sight. Again he rode, 
 Lost in fond musings, down the winding vales ; 
 Again he seemed to talk with Angharad. 
 Her name returned for ever to his lips 
 And dwelt upon them, like the sweetest phrase 
 Of some old melody. So went the night ; 
 Hut when the day began to break, they saw 
 A solemn and unutterable change. 
 No sunrise could uplift the leaden veil 
 That masked his features. Then they thought, — 
 
 ' perchance 
 His soul has passed ;' — and touched hiin ; but at that 
 He slowly opened eyes in which the light
 
 20G CLAUDIA. 
 
 Was quenched for ever ; made a feeble sign 
 That they should raise hirn ; and when this was done 
 I jay leaning upon Julius' breast, his arms 
 Drooping on either side, as droop the boughs 
 Of blasted trees. Then, — in an altered voice, 
 Whose plaintive hoarseness seemed the pining ghost 
 Of the deep tones of other days, — he said — 
 "Last night I thought, or dreamed I thought, per- 
 chance 
 I yet might live. That thought is gone : and gone 
 The wish that gave it birth. For now I know 
 Such lives as mine are like to precious drops 
 Spilled on the ground : they mock recovery. 
 But in my heart of hearts a surer hope 
 Takes root among the ruins of the past. 
 The Hand that made me will not cast me off ; 
 The Love that through my darkest wanderings, 
 When least I dreamed of it and least desired, 
 Has followed me with whispers in the soul, 
 With touches reaching from the outer life, 
 Will follow still, beyond the unpierced dark 
 That fronts me now with scarce a step between." 
 
 II'- paused ; and even the Maccabee himself 
 Felt hands of silence laid upon his lips :
 
 CLAUDIA. 207 
 
 Yet an officious conscience, — prone to think 
 
 We do God service when we violate 
 
 The heart's fine instincts, — forced him into speech : 
 
 So with constrained voice and disordered looks 
 
 That showed the lack of inward harmony, 
 
 He spoke abruptly to the dying man : — 
 
 " Nay, friend, not so, there is no after-chance ; 
 Lose the soul here and all is lost beyond, 
 But save it here, and all the life is saved : " 
 And would have babbled more ; — but Julius laid 
 A warning finger on his lifted arm, 
 Saying :— 
 
 •' And canst thou not entrust this soul 
 To Him who died to win it ? He has dealt 
 In secret with it, whispering as of old 
 To those that were the closest to his heart, 
 ' Lo ! I have many things to say to you, 
 But now ye cannot bear them.' Yet there comes 
 A pentecost to every waiting soul, 
 And therefore, soon or late, or here or there, 
 It comes to him." 
 
 Meanwhile, the dying man 
 Heard not nor heeded ; but with radiant smiles, 
 Shed forth on that which seemed but empty air.
 
 208 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Looked out beyond them ; slowly raised his hand 
 
 As one who waves a signal to a friend, 
 
 And called aloud : — " I come ! " Then the hand fell, 
 
 The head sank forward, and the feeble breaths 
 
 Came feebler yet and farther each from each, 
 
 Till one as gentle as an infant's sigh 
 
 On which none other followed. 
 
 In that hour 
 The liquid sunrise, dropped through dewy trees. 
 Fell by the rained casement to the floor ; 
 And rested on the russet couch, and reached 
 The shrunk and colourless hand, and wove a crown 
 Of flickering rays about the faded brow. 
 Amidst the utter stillness of the room 
 They heard the soft sounds of the waking woods, — 
 The insects' hum, the small birds' twittering, — 
 Nearer and clearer ; till at last a lark, 
 Pierced to the heart with joy, sprang from the grass 
 Of the neglected plot, and poured his soul 
 In floods of music, rising as he sung 
 Higher and higher in the brightening heavens. 
 Now when a second evening gilt the woods 
 And painted clouds were glassed within the stream. 
 I'm- pilgrims who had toiled all day to lit
 
 CLAUDIA. 200 
 
 The ruined lodge to hold its royal guests, 
 
 Flung their tired limhs upon the grassy hank 
 
 Beside the ford. But scarce the Maccabee 
 
 Had lain a moment, scarce had time to note 
 
 How motionless the birch- sprays' tracery hung- 
 
 Against the amber sky, when such a flood 
 
 Of fearful rapture, — held in check awhile 
 
 By strenuous toil and death's stern presence, — rushed 
 
 Into his heart, he leapt upon his feet, 
 
 Saying within himself: — ' This very eve, 
 
 Perchance this very hour ! perilous joy, 
 
 Whose cup uplifted to my thirsty lips, 
 
 May yet be spilled untasted ! ' At that thought 
 
 He turned a troubled face upon his friend, 
 
 Crying : — " My father, all my heart is torn 
 
 With cruel fears ; call thou aloud on God." 
 
 Then instantly the soul of Julius 
 Girt up her loins to climb the shining steps 
 Let down from heaven to earth. And as she rose 
 His worn-out bodily frame arose with her, 
 Unconsciously uplifted by her strength. 
 And when he ceased a calm ineffable 
 Sank on the Maccabee ; and in his soul 
 He set his seal to this : that God is true 
 
 14
 
 210 CLAUDIA. 
 
 And all-sufficing ; that come joy, come woe, 
 All shall be well ; well in the after-world 
 If evil here : well in the after-time 
 If evil now. 
 
 But ere the sun's last smile 
 Had faded from the topmost eastern ridge, 
 The sound of steps and voices in the glen 
 Greeted the pilgrims' ears. And as they rose 
 Trembling with eagerness, the king appeared, 
 Striding before his kin and followers 
 To front the edge of danger. Then they ran 
 To meet him, and the aged Julius bent 
 To kiss the faded border of his robe ; 
 But Caradoc, whose stem, still reticence, 
 Shaken by many sorrows, now dissolved 
 In nameless pangs at sight of a friend's face, 
 Caught him in troubled silence to his breast ; 
 Then, loosening his grasp, cried, — 
 
 " Pardon ! my Mend 
 U at this hour of meeting, after years 
 Of woful exile on my part, on thine 
 Of toils untold, I speak but moodily. 
 God knows I am not thankless for His gifts : 
 Liberty, safe return with all I love
 
 CLAUDIA. 211 
 
 To my own land, and such a friend as thou 
 Restored to me : and most of all, the gift 
 Too priceless to he named with even these : 
 Acquaintance with Himself, which should hring 
 
 peace, 
 And does in part. Yet bitter 'tis and strange, 
 That here upon the dear soil for the which 
 My fathers bled, and over whieh they held 
 A sway at least more righteous than the sway 
 Of other kings, their son should stand unknown, 
 Unrecked of, unlamented, undesired. 
 Here through this central fortress of our tribe, — 
 The tribe which hailed me sovereign, with a shout 
 That shook the Caesars from their purple rest 
 Far off in Rome ; which for nine glorious years 
 I led from victory to victory, 
 Until we hurled the veteran legions back 
 Beyond the Sabren and the tawny sea ; — 
 Here, through Siluria, these three desolate days, 
 I pass, the aim of every curious eye, 
 Yet not a soul has greeted me but thou, 
 And thou an alien. No, I have not found one 
 That had the grace, remembering Caradoc, 
 To pause and look upon me with a sigh, 
 
 14- 2
 
 212 CLAUDIA. 
 
 As if he thought : — ' This squalid wayfarer 
 Is like the King ; or would be like the King 
 But for the mighty difference.' No, not one ! 
 I am as much forgotten as the dead ; 
 Nay, more forgotten. Peace, I know full well 
 All thou wouldst say : how I commanded you, — 
 By that great oath I swore unwillingly 
 Before the hateful city of the south 
 Opened her gates to set me free, and which 
 Though sworn unwillingly must still he kept, 
 Because, if Rome be faithless, God is true 
 And hates a lie ; — ye should not spread the fame 
 Of this my coming, lest the faithful few 
 That still have held their fealty should arise 
 To greet mo as their king, and shed their blood 
 For that which cannot be. I might have spared 
 Such fine, fantastic scruples." 
 
 Here he laughed, 
 A dry, self-scoming laugh : — " "Why, I have been 
 As simple as a maid ; who, honest soul, — 
 A little vain but honest, — fears to spoil 
 The peace of some forbidden lover, and so 
 Weaves many a subtle, self- deceiving plot 
 To shun him, or greet coldly. While his heart
 
 CLAUDIA. 213 
 
 Is all the while freer by half than hers, 
 
 Which bleeds in secret at the chilling change. 
 
 Yea, I did charge you thus, and would again, 
 
 And mean it from my heart. But ah ! my friend, 
 
 Tis easier to deny a lover's prayer 
 
 Than rest contented when the faithless lips 
 
 That framed it have forgot their own desire. 
 
 " But shame upon the selfish heart that broods 
 On its own griefs in such an hour as this. 
 Behind me come my father and my queen, 
 The spouse and children of the Maccabee, 
 With faithful fi-iends and servants who have shared 
 Our exiled fortunes. Eirgen and her lord 
 Have taken second shipping at the port 
 Of Venta, thence to cross the tawny sea 
 To Avon and the City of the Cleft ; 
 So by the healing Waters of the Sun 
 To Sarrlog town beside the hanging stones, 
 Where lie his lands." 
 
 Then Julius, seeing the king 
 Answered himself, and turned to other themes, 
 Forbore to answer him. And Caradoc 
 Passed onwards to the ford, a lonely man, 
 With self but half subdued. And as he went
 
 214 CLAUDIA. 
 
 He waved a stately hand to Julius 
 To leave him and to meet the prince and queen. 
 And soon those frosty-haired, dry-wrinkled men, 
 Prince Bran and Julius, on each other's necks 
 Fell with right joyful greetings. For their hearts, 
 Kept fresh by sap of generous sympathies, 
 Were in mid-summer still. And Julius kissed 
 The hem of the Queen's robe, the sad-faced Queen ; 
 Who, worn with exile and the many woes 
 Which falling on the head of him she loved 
 Descended with a double weight on hers, 
 And wearied with rough journeying, had scarce 
 The life left in her that could frame a smile. 
 
 Meanwhile the Maccabee had hastened forth 
 To welcome his dear spouse and tender babes. 
 Deep in the wood he met with Miriam. 
 Then dumb at first even with excess of bliss 
 They hung upon each other's quivering lips. 
 Next, held apart the length of loving arms, 
 Gazed each on each, half doubtfully ; the while 
 Strange, painful laughter, mixed with painless tears, 
 Shook all their unnerved features. Till the babes, 
 Half shy, half jealous, only half assured, 
 Thrust their small hands into their mother's hands.
 
 CLAUDIA. 215 
 
 Then the vague rapture iuexpressible 
 Found voice and action ; as the mother held 
 The doubtful boy in reassuring arms, 
 And made him know his father ; who the while 
 Crushed all his dusky curls caressingly 
 With his large hand, and looked him in the face 
 With gentleness ineffable, and smoothed 
 And lessened the deep rolling of his voice 
 To suit his shaken spirits. While the girl, 
 One hand still clinging to her mother's robe, 
 Ventured the other in the broad brown palm 
 That courted its caress : then as if nerved 
 By its firm pressure, stood erect and raised 
 Her soft lips to the stranger's bearded mouth, 
 Sealing the triple bond that binds the world. 
 
 So passed they with their followers to the ford. 
 But Julius lingered, thinking in himself, 
 " Ah, wherefore did I let a casual word 
 Tempt me to long for that which cannot be." 
 
 But as he thought he lifted mournful eyes, 
 And saw — was it a dream ? — or did he see 
 A maiden standing where the path emerged 
 From the thick wood ? As motionless she stood 
 As any statue, gazing at the fall.
 
 216 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Then Julius stammered iu his very thoughts — 
 
 Thiukiug : — ' How like, — yet ah ! the difference ! 
 
 This is a woman, and my Claudia 
 
 Is but a child, a simple, slender child.' 
 
 But as he thought, and stammered in his thoughts, 
 
 She turned and saw him, and a rosy dawn 
 
 Of recognition overflowed her face, — 
 
 Her rare, sweet face ; — and forth she flew to him, 
 
 Embraced his hand and laid it on her head, 
 
 Crying :— " My father Julius !" 
 
 Then he wept 
 For joy and gratitude, and clasped her hands 
 Within his own, and gazed upon her face 
 To find the little Claudia of old times 
 In this fair woman. So with trembling lips 
 Thanked God between his tears ; and when at length 
 He found a settled voice, inquired of her 
 How this great wonder might have come to pass. 
 
 Then in a chastened voice she answered him, — 
 " Alas ! my father, 'tis a weary tale : 
 Let this suffice thee. In these five long years 
 Have I been learning that my direst foes 
 Are those of my own house. I do not speak 
 Of Plautius, — God forgive him, — but of things
 
 CLAUDIA. 217 
 
 In my own bosom : subtle enemies 
 
 Tbat lurk within the heart, and clothe themselves 
 
 With light like angels. I have been sore bestead ; 
 
 My steps have well nigh slipped ; but the kind Christ 
 
 Has still upheld my weakness. When the foe 
 
 Has pressed the closest, He was closer still 
 
 And stronger than the strongest. He has sent 
 
 His ministering spirits, oftentimes unseen 
 
 But often seen, and clothed in flesh and blood, 
 
 To succour me when ready to despair. 
 
 The chief of these has been the noble Bran, 
 
 Whom on the fatal day of massacre 
 
 I saw with thee. Again, and yet again, 
 
 His keen-eyed watchfulness has found the net 
 
 Spread for my feet, and by a timely word, 
 
 Or secret sign, has saved me. God be thanked ! 
 
 At length Pomponia, mother of my love, 
 
 Hearing a rumour that the prince and king 
 
 Were set at large on oath of fealty, 
 
 And would return to Britain, urged on me 
 
 (Speaking in secret by my faithful nurse) 
 
 To leave the wicked city, and with them 
 
 Sail to the land I loved, the land whose name 
 
 Was graven on my heart. So after strife
 
 218 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Of sore conflicting thoughts, yearnings of heart 
 ■ Which only He that made me comprehends, 
 I saw the path where He would have me go ; 
 And here, in mine own land, with His good help, 
 Will I be His more fully ; spend myself, — 
 Yea and he spent, when my reluctant soul 
 Hangs back from sacrifice, — for those He loves." 
 While thus she spake they reached the ford, o'er 
 which 
 The faithful servants following the king 
 Had laid a rugged bridge of boughs fresh hewn, 
 That the faint queen and Miriant and her babes 
 Alight pass dry shod. And Claudia ceased to speak, 
 And looked around bewildered : to the fall 
 That poured from the high cliff, and to the pool, 
 And to the woods above. Till Julius said, 
 " What has amazed thee, daughter ? " To the which 
 She answered : — 
 
 " 'Tis most strange. As even now 
 Through the arched woodland path I saw beyond 
 The silver-flashing fall, it seemed to me 
 A most familiar thing ; and now again 
 That strange, mysterious sense of new, yet old, 
 At once disturbs and calms me. Either in,
 
 CLAUDIA. 219 
 
 Or severed from the body, I have seen 
 This place before ; but whether in a dream, 
 Or in the waking world, I cannot tell." 
 
 Then Julius, marvelling, held his peace. And while 
 It seemed to her he thought of other things, 
 His fancy, — like the hoar-frost shooting through 
 The scattered moisture and congealing it 
 Into symmetrical, articulate forms, — 
 Arranged her fragmentary memories 
 With other fragments caught from other lives, 
 Till in a perfect whole they crystallized 
 On the transparent surface of his mind. 
 
 Thus speaking, silent thus, they crossed the stream, 
 And climbed the heights, and gained the rained lodge. 
 There as they entered, stood the prince and king, 
 Gazing with speechless pity in their eyes 
 Upon the dead, the while the Maccabee 
 Rehearsed his dolorous tale. To tender hearts 
 All bitter things, though past, are bitter still ; 
 And sorrow sorrowful, ev'n when assuaged 
 For evermore. 
 
 Upon the morrow morn 
 The pilgrims hollowed his sequestered grave 
 Above the sounding fall. And round the grave
 
 220 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Arose the chaunt of many voices blent 
 In psalms of praise for his deliverance. 
 
 Now on that clay on which the pilgrims left 
 The herdsman's hut, the heart of Guendolen 
 Could find no rest. Some power within her seemed 
 To urge her to go forth and follow them. 
 Therefore when on the morrow Llarian came, 
 Full bent to find them, straightway she arose 
 And claimed his guidance. With a reverent hand 
 He led her forth, and through the woodland wilds 
 Retraced his steps. Four days they journeyed thus 
 By gentle stages, and on the fifth morn 
 Entered the glen where the white torrent poured 
 Through tumbled rocks. And when the sun rode high, 
 Crossing the ford, they heard the funeral psalm 
 Ring through the woods above, blent with the roar 
 Of falling waters. Nearer drawn, one voice 
 Soared in sweet shrillness high above the rest. 
 Then in the shadowed border of the wood 
 They checked their steps, until the latest note 
 Died on the air. 
 
 Then Guendolen went forth, 
 Calmly as one who takes expected bliss, 
 And gathered Claudia closely to her heart,
 
 CLAUDIA. 221 
 
 Aud claimed her as her child and Owain's child, 
 Saying, — " I need no proof: thy eyes are his, 
 And all thy hright face and thy golden hair 
 Are his, my Owain's. Here we dwelt in peace 
 Before the rising of the Cymric trihes, 
 And here, 'twas shown me, we should meet again. 
 Upon the level turf heside the ford 
 Thy tender feet first tottered off alone, 
 Lured hy some sunlit flower, and here thy hand 
 Shall stay my feet when tottering to the grave. 
 And when long centuries have rolled away, 
 This waterfall, my Gladys, shall he called 
 Still by thy name." 
 
 And in those days she fell 
 Into a trance, and saw with opened eyes 
 The visions of the future. And she said, — 
 
 " When three-score generations shall have slipped 
 Iuto the life unseen, whose waters wide 
 Sweep round the life we see ; — when this new faith, 
 Old as the sun, yet new as is the dawn, 
 Has mastered all the masters of the world ; — 
 When lighteued by its light the eye of man 
 Begins to spell the universe and solve 
 Its secret mysteries ; — when having drawn
 
 222 CLAUDIA. 
 
 The wisdom of high Heaven into his heart 
 Even with his mother's milk ; yea, long before, 
 Through countless veins of custom and descent,- 
 He turns and plumes himself thereon, as if 
 All were his own, himself the source of all, 
 And whispers to his own proud heart, — ' Behold 
 Thou art my God, and there is none beside.' 
 Yea, even then, the memory of my child 
 Shall still be blessed in Britain." 
 
 Thus the lodge 
 Become the peaceful homestead of the prince, 
 The king, the queen, the widowed Guendolen, 
 And Claudia, darling of their^fallen house. 
 Beside the knoll where first the pilgrims found 
 The lady Guendolen, the prince upreared 
 A temple to the living God, the first 
 That ever rose in Britain. Thither too 
 Came many bards and bardic novices, 
 Drawn from the sacred isle by Llarian's fame, 
 To sit at Julius' feet and learn from him 
 The worship of the living God, and pass 
 Through mystic waters to the side of Christ ; 
 To lead new lives of holy thoughts and deeds, 
 And solemn prayers and praises : so the place
 
 CLAUDIA. 223 
 
 Is called the Church of Hid to this clay. 
 And hard beside the church, the Maccabee 
 Dwelt with his dark-eyed Miriam ; and their house 
 Grew bright with children's beauty, musical 
 With children's voices ; while he went and came 
 Leading a pastoral life among the flock 
 Brought homewards from the heathen wilderness. 
 
 But as for Claudia : — how she kept her vow 
 Of service to her Lord : — whether apart 
 From tenderer earthly ties she followed close 
 Behind His bleeding feet, alone like Him ; — 
 Or whether bent beneath a homelier cross 
 She moved in lower paths, and daily died 
 In daily discipline of household cares, 
 Sweetened by love whose sweetness symbols His ; — 
 We know not : only knowing that her name, 
 Embalmed by purest saintship, lingers still 
 In old traditions as a blessed name. 
 Her tale is told : the legendary spring 
 That trickled from the summits of the past 
 Has poured its little urn, and all is still. 
 
 THE END.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY SM1TI1, ELDEB AND CO., 
 
 OLD BAILET, E.C.
 
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