Llyn Owain: A Legend of the Vale of Towy
Amid the folded hills
The lake lies darkly clear;
A death-like calmness stills
The deep-set mere.
And on its tranquil face,
Like stars upon the night,
Asleep in nymphlike grace,
Float lilies white.
Once, where the lake is now –
Thus old-time legends tell –
Lay, fathom-deep below,
A magic well,
A bubbling fountain deep
Of fairy hands the boon
Where shepherds drove their sheep,
Parching with noon.
Free gift of elfin grace
For all, whose need being done,
Should on the spring replace
The covering stone.
There on his dusty way,
Athirst and weary, came
One whom the blaze of day
Burned like a flame.
Sir Owain, a brave knight
Of Arthur's court, had come
Victor in many a fight,
To his old home.
Weary and spent was he,
Weary his faithful steed;
They stumble helplessly
In mortal need.
When on the sweet old spring
Belovéd by the boy,
The man's eyes, wandering,
Lighted with joy.
Straight from the bubbling source
They drank long draughts and deep;
Then, with recruited force,
Sank long in sleep.
But the knight, wholly spent,
Nor aught remembering,
Sealed not before he went
That gracious spring.
Then through a waking dream
He seemed to hear the sound,
Of a loud, threatening stream,
Which hemmed him round.
And seeking in surprise
Those vanished pastures green,
Straightway his sorrowing eyes
Knew what had been.
For where the emerald mead
Smiled, white with flocks, before,
Dark waters rolled instead
From shore to shore.
Then the stout knight, dismayed
By what his hand had done;
In some blind cave, afraid,
Hid from the sun.
And there in slumbers deep
He waits his fated hour,
To rise from secular sleep
By Arthur's power.
For he shall wake again
When Arthur's voice doth call;
And from that long-drowned plain
The flood shall fall.
Fair legend which can bring
A god-like voice and arm,
To curb the unfettered spring
Of age-long harm.
Come soon, blest Presence strong;
Bring wisdom in thy train;
The earth lies sunk in Wrong –
Come thou again!
The lake lies darkly clear;
A death-like calmness stills
The deep-set mere.
And on its tranquil face,
Like stars upon the night,
Asleep in nymphlike grace,
Float lilies white.
Once, where the lake is now –
Thus old-time legends tell –
Lay, fathom-deep below,
A magic well,
A bubbling fountain deep
Of fairy hands the boon
Where shepherds drove their sheep,
Parching with noon.
Free gift of elfin grace
For all, whose need being done,
Should on the spring replace
The covering stone.
There on his dusty way,
Athirst and weary, came
One whom the blaze of day
Burned like a flame.
Sir Owain, a brave knight
Of Arthur's court, had come
Victor in many a fight,
To his old home.
Weary and spent was he,
Weary his faithful steed;
They stumble helplessly
In mortal need.
When on the sweet old spring
Belovéd by the boy,
The man's eyes, wandering,
Lighted with joy.
Straight from the bubbling source
They drank long draughts and deep;
Then, with recruited force,
Sank long in sleep.
But the knight, wholly spent,
Nor aught remembering,
Sealed not before he went
That gracious spring.
Then through a waking dream
He seemed to hear the sound,
Of a loud, threatening stream,
Which hemmed him round.
And seeking in surprise
Those vanished pastures green,
Straightway his sorrowing eyes
Knew what had been.
For where the emerald mead
Smiled, white with flocks, before,
Dark waters rolled instead
From shore to shore.
Then the stout knight, dismayed
By what his hand had done;
In some blind cave, afraid,
Hid from the sun.
And there in slumbers deep
He waits his fated hour,
To rise from secular sleep
By Arthur's power.
For he shall wake again
When Arthur's voice doth call;
And from that long-drowned plain
The flood shall fall.
Fair legend which can bring
A god-like voice and arm,
To curb the unfettered spring
Of age-long harm.
Come soon, blest Presence strong;
Bring wisdom in thy train;
The earth lies sunk in Wrong –
Come thou again!
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