Welsh Journals

towards Angharad and the cunning of Claudia prevailed. "By Zeus," he exclaimed to the frightened Helen, "Have we not suffered enough discomfort in your barbarous land that we must also bear with treachery. Your countrywoman hinders our search for the ore. We can bear with her presence no longer." Once more a captive, Angharad learnt her fate. "Begone," thundered the Roman Ruler, "Show not your fair, false face within these walls, until the day when you come with your country's gold." Such was the decree of Constantius. Banished and wild with fear, Angharad came to the court of the Tylwyth Teg and became as one of them, invisible to human eye. But Morfydd had no power over the immortal soul. The heart of Angharad was unchanged, and memory, like a sharp knife cut into her gladness. On its lonely heights Mur y Castell lay desolate. Constantious chafed at his enforced stay and longed for Rome and its splendours. But he would not leave the search unfinished. The im- perial coffers were empty and his soldiers cried out for payment. "A curse on your barren, mournful land," he said, in fury to the frightened Helen, "It was unworthy of our conquest. My spirit sickens with the howling of the tribesmen and the weep- ing of your sullen skies." Urged on by the jealous Claudia, for whose blandishments Julius had no heart, Constantius issued a proclamation that unless the gold was found the head of Julius would suffer. Did'st thou alight with one Unseen companion then Wast thou enticed by me Lov'st thou to lurk behind Now while my body lives Whither I go through life TO MY SHADOW. On this mortal sphere, On the journey here? Through the heavenly door ? Or to run before? We must needs agree, Thou must follow me. Thou must abide with me When thou art not seen, Bowing thy head with mine Over sorrow keen, Struck by the self-same chill In the frost and snow, Lingering by my side When my steps are slow. Then, as the sun grows dark, Thou must constant be, Right to the door of death Shalt thou follow me. Late that evening the news reached the court of the Tylwyth Teg. "Give me back my form," begged Angharad of Morfydd, "Let me see him once and then die." And while the Tylwyth Teg, who know only happiness, looked on and wondered at her grief, Morfydd took Angharad and led her towards the camp. "Listen, Angharad," she said, pressing a piece of gold ore into Angharad's palm, "Did not the Roman usurper bid you return with your hand full of the gold of your country? For the life of Julius I will yield up the secret. Hearken well, Angharad. The treasure lies beneath his camp. And now, friend of the Tylwyth Teg, farewell." "1 here was silence in the hall of Mur y Castell. No music broke the stillness of the evening air as Angharad passed through the solemn court. Gorse gold was her hair and in each eye a frosted moonbeam dwelt. "I crave the life of Julius," she cried, "See, I buy it with the secret of the gold." Into the hand of Constantius she pressed the ore. "Seek it, Constantius beneath this camp." Then while Constantius stretched out to take the gold, the silence of death struck upon Angharad's ear. "I am too late," she said. For at the feet of Constantius, her lover lay dead. And seeing him thus, the heart of Angharad ceased to beat. And when they looked upon the gold in the palm of Constantius, it was no longer yellow, but flamed red as a burning fire. So, unto this day, the gold of Meirion is red gold, like the hair of Angharad, daughter of Hywel, Prince of Ardudwy. Oft shalt thou rise in joy On a summer morn, Sometimes to dance with me On a scented lawn, Sometimes to lie in peace In the leafy shade, Wishing that love might last And that sunshine stayed. Casting thy wings outspread O'er a sparkling sea, Thou shalt know mirth and song If thou follow me. A. M. WHEELER.