Kansas University Weekly.
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doubtedly the Arch-Druid, addressed me in my native tongue: "Youth, we have summoned thee hither for a grave and solemn purpose. An oracle hath declared that if a lineal and unblemished descendant of our last great king Llewelyn be sacrificed with our ancient rites and ceremonials the people may rise and drive the accursed Saxon from the land. Great glory is thine, for thou art destined to be the offering. Thy desire hath been granted, and thy name shall ever be sung of bards and held in blessed remembrance in Cambria. What sayest thou?" As he ceased, those about him gave a murmur of approval and assent and looked at me expectantly.
For a moment I was too much stunned to reply. Here was my opportunity of becoming famous, of having my name held in renown by generations of my countrymen. I could become such another as Iphigenia. Why did I hesitate? But I was young and life seemed very sweet. I thought of home and friends and all I held most dear, and renouncing all hope of posthumous fame I cast myself down before the Arch-Druid and begged for mercy. A heavy frown overspread his features, he gave me a look of contempt in which I read that my fate was sealed, and then turning to the harper by his side he said,—'Bard, awake the harp!"
As the venerable musician struck the first chords, the sound of the storm could be heard on the outside. The rain was now coming down in torrents, the wind was shrieking about the building in powerful gusts, and the thunder sounded in great pealing crashes that jarred the walls. With such a terrible accompaniment did the bard begin his song. He first sang in lofty strains of the ancient freedom and independence of the country, of noble warriors, of valiant deeds, and of mighty victories; the tones swelled out clear and triumphant. Then in soft minor chords he told of defeat and disgrace, of treachery and faithlessness, of overthrow and ruin. The harp seemed to moan forth its heart- rending story with sobs and tears. Once more the theme changed. This time he sang in stirring tones of a coming time of retribution, of victory and triumph over the Saxon foe, and of revenge—revenge stern and terrible. The harp was now changing into martial strains; and the harper finished by calling upon all as worthy Druids to carry out the sacrifice and insure the righteous cause.
During the song the old men had listened with intense and strained attention and now at its close they rose and advanced slowly and solemnly toward me. I gave a last despairing glance around, and noticed an opening in the rocky wall opposite the massive door through which I had entered. Toward this I ran, but had not taken a half dozen steps before I was seized by the determined old men and dragged, screaming and frantically resisting, to the altar. On this I was stretched almost senseless from fear, one man holding my head and another my feet. They crowned me with mistletoe and scattered sprigs of the same plant over my body. Then they laid bare my chest, and the Arch-Druid drew near with a golden knife in his hand.
Terrible and majestic, with his flowing white robe and gleaming snow-white hair, he stretched out his hands over me and prayed, while the rattling thunder outside seemed to make response. Mightily did he pray to the god of the thunder to accept the sacrifice and rescue Cambria from subjection. As he ceased a murmur ran over the assembly, and then came a great awesome hush. The fatal moment had come. The Arch-Druid laid his left hand on my bare chest and poised the knife in his right. I made one last mighty struggle for escape, but in vain. Then, numbed and almost paralyzed, with all hope gone, I closed my eyes and awaited the stroke. Just then there was a crash of thunder that seemed to shake the earth, and the room was filled with a red, gleaming, blinding glare. All the Druids in the hall were hurled violently to the ground. Half-stunned but spurred on by hope I sprang to my feet, and leaping over the body of the patriarch,ran to the opening through which I had formerly tried to escape. Into it I rushed, and frantic from fear dashed wildly along a subterranean passage, falling over sharp rocks, bruising myself against projecting angles, stumbling into crevices, but ever up again and on, until I saw the blessed daylight once more, and I emerged into the open air, scratched and bleeding, my clothing in rags, but free.
I had come out under an overhanging bank by the river side, at some distance from the Tower. How I ever got home I don't know, but it was months before I recovered from my flight; and I shall never forget my experience of that fearful night."