Now hath Prince Madoc left the holy Isle,

And homeward to Aberfraw, through the wilds.

Of Arvon, bent his course.

A little way

He turn'd aside, by natural impulses
Moved, to behold Cadwallon's lonely hut.
That lonely dwelling stood among the hills
By a grey mountain-stream; just elevate
Above the winter torrents did it stand,
Upon a craggy bank; an orchard slope
Arose behind, and joyous was the scene
In early summer, when those antic trees
Shone with their blushing blossoms, and the flax
Twinkled beneath the breeze its liveliest green.
But save the flax-field and that orchard slope,
All else was desolate, and now it wore

One sober hue; the narrow vale, which wound
Among the hills, was grey with rocks, that peer'd
Above its shallow soil; the mountain side
Was loose with stones bestrewn, which oftentimes
Clatter'd adown the steep, beneath the foot
Of straggling goat dislodged; or lower'd with crags,
One day, when winter's work hath loosen'd them,
To thunder down. All things assorted well
With that grey mountain hue; the low stone lines,
Which scarcely seem'd to be the work of man,
The dwelling rudely rear'd with stones unhewn,
The stubble flax, the crooked apple-trees,
Grey with their fleecy moss and mistletoc,
The white-bark'd birch, now leafless, and the ash
Whose knotted roots were like the drifted rock

Through which they forced their way. Adown the vale,
Broken by stones, and o'er a stony bed,

Roll'd the loud mountain-stream

When Madoc came,

A little child was sporting by the brook,

Floating the fallen leaves, that he might see them

Whirl in the eddy now, and now be driven

Down the descent. now on the smoother stream

Sail onward far away. But when he heard

The horse's tramp, he raised his head and watch'd
The Prince, who now dismounted and drew nigh.

The little boy still fix'd his eyes on him,

His bright blue eyes; the wind just moved the curls
That cluster'd round his brow; and so he stood,
His rosy cheeks still lifted up to gaze

In innocent wonder. Madoc took his hand,
And now had ask'd his name, and if he dwelt
There in the hut; when from that cottage-door
A woman came, who, seeing Madoc, stopt
With such a fear-for she had cause to fear-
As when a bird, returning to her nest,
Turns to a tree beside, if she behold

Some prying boy too near the dear retreat.
Howbeit, advancing, soon she now approach'd
The approaching Prince, and timidly inquired
If on his wayfare he had lost the track,
That thither he had stray'd. "Not so," replied
The gentle Prince; "but having known this place,
And its old inhabitants, I came once more

To see the lonely hut among the hills."

THE WORLD OF WOE.

WHOE'ER hath loved with venturous step to tread
The chambers dread

Of some deep cave, and seen his taper's beam
Lost in the arch of darkness overhead,

And mark'd its gleam.

Playing afar upon the sunless stream,
Where from their secret bed,

And course unknown, and inaccessible,
The silent waters well;

Whoe'er hath trod such caves of endless night,
He knows, when measuring back the gloomy way,
With what delight refresh'd his eye
Perceives the shadow of the light of day,

Through the far portal slanting, where it falls
Dimly reflected on the watery walls:
How heavenly seems the sky;

And how, with quicken'd feet, he hastens up,
Eager again to greet

The living world and blessed sunshine there,
And drink, as from a cup

Of joy, with thirsty lips, the open air.

Far other light than that of day there shone
Upon the travellers, entering Padalon.
They too in darkness enter'd on their way;
But far before the car,

A glow, as of a fiery furnace light,

Fill'd all before them. Twas a light which made Darkness itself appear

A thing of comfort, and the sight, dismay'd, Shrunk inward from the molten atmosphere. Their way was through the adamantine rock Which girt the World of Woe; on either side Its massive walls arose, and overhead Arch'd the long passage; onward as they ride, With stronger glare the light around them spread; And lo the regions dread,

The World of Woe before them, opening wide.

There rolls the fiery flood,

Girding the realms of Padalon around.
A sea of flame it seem'd to be,

Sea without bound;

For neither mortal nor immortal sight

Could pierce across through that intensest light.

It was the wisdom and the will of Heaven,

That in a lonely tent had cast

The lot of Thalaba;

There might his soul develop best

Its strengthening energies;

There might he from the world