"Monk, thou hast said; and now hear the reply of the son of Llewellyn,
the true heir of Roderic the Great, who from the heights of Eryri saw
all the lands of the Cymrian sleeping under the dragon of Uther. King
was I born, and king will I die. I will not ride by the side of the
Saxon to the feet of Edward, the son of the spoiler. I will not, to
purchase base life, surrender the claim, vain before men and the hour,
but solemn before God and posterity--the claim of my line and my
people. All Britain is ours--all the island of Pines. And the
children of Hengist are traitors and rebels--not the heirs of
Ambrosius and Uther. Say to Harold the Saxon, Ye have left us but the
tomb of the Druid and the hills of the eagle; but freedom and royalty
are ours, in life and in death--not for you to demand them, not for us
to betray. Nor fear ye, O my chiefs, few, but unmatched in glory and
truth; fear not ye to perish by the hunger thus denounced as our doom,
on these heights that command the fruits of our own fields! No, die
we may, but not mute and revengeless. Go back, whispering warrior; go
back, false son of Cymry--and tell Harold to look well to his walls
and his trenches. We will vouchsafe him grace for his grace--we will
not take him by surprise, nor under cloud of the night. With the
gleam of our spears and the clash of our shields, we will come from
the hill: and, famine-worn as he deems us, hold a feast in his walls
which the eagles of Snowdon spread their pinions to share!"

"Rash man and unhappy!" cried the monk; "what curse drawest thou down
on thy head! Wilt thou be the murtherer of thy men, in strife
unavailing and vain? Heaven holds thee guilty of all the blood thou
shalt cause to be shed."

"Be dumb!--hush thy screech, lying raven!" exclaimed Gryffyth, his
eyes darting fire and, his slight form dilating. "Once, priest and