they hurry him to and fro. He buffets them with lusty arms; he rides
upon the billows. But vain is human strength; the unseen messenger of
the Gods laughs at the impotent efforts of Modred. At length the waters
gape with a frightful void; the bottom, strewed with shells, and
overgrown with sea-weed, is disclosed to the sight. Modred, unhappy
Modred, sinks to rise no more. His beauty is tarnished like the flower
of the field; his blooming cheek, his crimson lip, is pale and
colourless. Learn hence, ye swains, to fear the Gods, and to reverence
the divinity of virtue. Modred never melted for another's woe; the tear
of sympathy had not moistened his cheek. The heart of Modred was
haughty, insolent and untractable; he turned a deaf ear to the
supplication of the helpless, he listened not to the thunder of the
Gods. Let the fate of Modred be remembered for a caution to the
precipitate; let the children of the valley learn wisdom. Heaven never
deserts the cause of virtue; chastity wherever she wanders (_be it not
done in pride or in presumption_) is sacred and invulnerable.

Such was the song of the youthful bard. Every eye was fixed upon his
visage while he struck the lyre; the multitude of the shepherds appeared
to have no faculty but the ear. And now the murmur of applause began;
and the wondering swains seemed to ask each other, whether the God of
song were not descended among them. "Oh glorious youth," cried they,
"how early is thy excellence! Ere manhood has given nerve and vigour to
thy limbs, ere yet the flowing beard adorns thy gallant breast, nature
has unlocked to thee her hidden treasures, the Gods have enriched thee
with all the charms of poetry. Great art thou among the bards;
illustrious in wisdom, where they all are wise. Should gracious heaven
spare thy life, we will cease to weep the death of Hoel; we will lament
no longer the growing infirmities of Llewelyn."