# Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 9/Llewellyn's vengeance

LLEWELLYN’S VENGEANCE.
Llewellyn ap Jorwerth, Prince of Wales, and representative of its ancient line of kings, married Joan, natural daughter of King John. When they had been some years married Llewellyn unfortunately captured William De Brâose, a Norman noble, who, being related to Llewellyn, was treated by him with all kindness and courtesy. This treatment De Brâose is said to have repaid by an intrigue with the Princess Joan, the wife of Llewellyn; this was discovered, and summary justice inflicted upon the offender; Llewellyn is said to have made a display of the effects of that justice in the manner shown in this Ballad.
It is but right, however, to add that, though the subject of popular rhymes and traditions, the story of the intrigue is denied by authorities worthy of respectful consideration.
By the castle of Llewellyn One age-hollowed oak doth stand, Bearing fruit—no other like it Grows upon Llewellyn’s land.
One huge fruit—’tis centuries vanished Since upon’t an acorn grew; Giant trees have long while perished Which from it their life-sap drew;
Thunder-stricken, jagged and splintered, Cracks and fissures in its side, One arch-rent through which a monarch With unbending plume might ride;
He who climbed its vigorous branches Is the patriarch of a tribe; Him who saw it as a sapling We to ancient days ascribe;
Navies from it have been timbered So long is it since ’twas young;— What strange fruit is that which pendent From one stark bough still is hung?
One huge fruit that sways and gyrates In the night wind to and fro; Sometimes striking on the great trunk With a hollow ringing blow,
Just as if its rind were iron? Strong as cord its stem must be, So great weight and strain upholding,— Fearful fruit for wondrous tree—
Just before the chamber window Where Llewellyn sits alone; He the heir of kings unnumbered, On the shadow of a throne.
Hapless is a race once royal, Ages cannot all efface Ghostly memories whose weird splendours Make subjection seem disgrace.
Mourn a throne, there’s much to mourn for, Though he owns His will who broke From his hand the ancient sceptre By disastrous stroke on stroke.
Still through all his trials looked he Bravely forward,—nought could tame That high spirit fit to wrestle With all ills except with shame.
Ever fronting foes o’erwhelming, Ever ready with his life For his country’s weal and honour, First in council, first in strife.
But who marked him closely noted How a paleness, day by day, Settled on his shrinking visage, And his brown locks turned to gray
Suddenly!—since some one whispered How his friend was false and fair, And—but see, the thought has stung him, And, upspringing from his chair,
Down in heavy folds a curtain Draws he, thick and treacherous screen, O’er that window whence the stark oak With its dangling fruit was seen.
To the chamber of the Princess Takes he then his threatening way; Lords and pages, guards and menials Absent are this fatal day.
Through the woods and glens they’re chasing Savage wolf and antlered deer; Hunt and revel was his order, Though himself seeks other cheer.
No wood music more shall rouse him, Hound and horn have lost their tone,— Through the castle towers and courtyards, Lord and Lady move alone.
And his footsteps clang and echo Through the rooms and corridor,— As he leads her forth to look on Some one she has known before.
Loads her with his hand in gauntlet, (Not the glove of courtesy) While keen Words of scorn and anger Dagger-like between them fly.
Down the line of life-like trophies Where his dead sire’s arms are hung, Pointing each with rusted weapon Upwards where his banner swung.
And the Princess treads beside him, Startled, wondering, proud withal, Through his railing, through his charges, Scornfully retorting all;
Till they enter that dim chamber, Where Llewellyn sat alone:— Hark! was that the creak of armour Outside, through the wind’s low moan?
Towards the curtained window pointing, Spoke Llewellyn mockingly,— “Gentle lady, gentle lady. What would’st give thy love to see?”
Proud, defiant, past all patience, Answered she as mockingly,— “Wales and England and Llewellyn For my love I’d give the three.”
Hark! again the creak of armour Outside, through the wind’s low moan; Scarce the Princess’ troubled spirit Kept her from an answering groan.
From the window rolled the curtain Like a dragon to the floor, And the stark oak stood before her Dandling the great fruit it bore.
Bred in guilt, and nursed in pleasure, Hot with ease, but ripe with woe, There the great fruit on the stark oak Sways and gyrates to and fro,—
To and fro it sways and gyrates, Scorning blasts that make one reel; Sure that stem is tough as cordage, And that rind is strong as steel.
Starting eyes, arms upthrown wildly, A shriek, a fall, showed well she knew What was there, and whence was grafted, That fruit which to vengeance grew.
Cut it down, and at the tree-foot Hide it in a nameless hole;— If the core was once De Brâose, Heaven have mercy on his soul.
C. H. W.