Pen would fail to write, or man to tell, all the gallant achievements
which the noble Knight, Saint David of Wales, and his faithful Squire,
Owen ap Rice, performed during their foreign travels.
At length even they began to weary of the constant hazardous adventures
in which they were engaged. Age had begun to dim the lustre of Saint
David's eye, and to unnerve his arm, but not to lower the courage of his
heart.
News was now brought him that an army of Pagan barbarians was about to
attack his native land. No time was to be lost if he would render
service to his country. On his homeward way he collected all the
gallant knights, and their squires, and men-at-arms, with whom he and
the faithful Owen had, in their travels, become acquainted. Thus, by
the time he reached the borders of Wales, he had assembled an army
which, though small, was well able to perform deeds such as ten times
the number of ordinary men would not have dared to attempt.
Sad was the state of Wales when they entered it in battle-array, seeking
the enemy,--towns were unpeopled, houses overthrown, monasteries
pillaged, corn-fields burnt, farms destroyed, while from the caves and
woods came forth the unhappy people, to welcome him as their deliverer,
and to pray for his success.
These sights so fired the spirit of the aged Champion, that he vowed
never to rest till he had driven the enemy from his native soil. Still
the task was no easy one. They were very numerous, fierce, and brave,
and trained to arms.
The aged bards of Wales struck their harps to encourage the warriors to
strive bravely in the fight.
It was, however, discovered that many recreant knights had joined the
forces of the Pagans; they and their followers being habited in armour
little differing from that of the Champion of Wales and those knights
who had accompanied him from abroad.
Summoning his warriors around him, he addressed them in a speech which
encouraged and animated their valour to the highest pitch. Thus he
concluded:--
"Then follow me, my gallant warriors! I will give the signal for the
onset, which will lay thousands of our foemen low; and see, for my
ensign, I do wear upon my burgonet this leek, which will, if we gain the
victory, be ever after held in honour throughout Wales, and on this
first day of March be worn by all Welshmen in commemoration of our
victory."
Thrice struck the bards their harps, while cheers, loud and long,
replied to the speech, each warrior of Wales forthwith plucking up a
great leek, and placing it on his casque, or head-piece, so that in the
thickest light friends might be known from foes.
Now there stepped forth a bard, and struck a mournful strain.
"Sad, sad are the notes I sing,
And sad the news I bring,
For many a gallant knight, and many a warrior bold,
Will fall to-day,
And turn to clay,
Before swift time grows old.
The noblest and the best before the eve must die,
Ere the fell Pagan host are taught to turn and fly."
These words struck the gallant old Champion's ears. He had never at any
time thought little of his own prowess, while he, like a true patriot,
had always been ready to sacrifice himself for the good of his country.
He resolved, accordingly, should the tide of battle set strong against
his followers, to charge onward amid the hosts of the enemy, and to fall
nobly among them, knowing that his friends, for the love they bore him,
would, for the sake of recovering his body, charge into the midst of the
foe, and assuredly retrieve the fortunes of the day.
With a cheerful voice, as if he had been giving orders for the
commencement of a tournament, the noble old Champion gave the promised
signal for the onset. Furiously charged the army of Welshmen. Bravely
were they met by their Pagan foes, who, with valour worthy of a better
cause, charged in return, and many on both sides sunk on the ensanguined
plain never to rise again.
Knight after knight sank down under the terrific blows of the Pagan
clubs and battle-axes, till there seemed but little prospect that the
patriot army would gain the victory. In vain the Christian army shouted
and charged. The sturdy Pagans refused to give way.
At length, Saint David, recollecting the words uttered by the prophetic
bard in the morning, assembled round him his bravest knights, and,
throwing up his visor, exhibited his countenance, whereon sat a beaming
smile, expressive of patriotism and valour.
"One of the noblest in the land, it is said, must this day fall before
the battle is won!" he exclaimed. "If such I am, then happy shall I be
to be thus honoured in my death. Charge! brave knights, charge!"
With these words, the last he ever uttered, the noble Champion rushed
into the thickest of the fight, where a hundred battle-axes rattled on
his helmet, a hundred swords were pointed at his side, a hundred spears
thrust against his fearless breast, and a hundred arrows shot at his
head. Pierced by a hundred wounds he fell, but his followers bravely
avenged his death. The Pagan hordes were put to flight; and Saint David
has ever since, even to the present day, been held in affectionate
remembrance, as he fully deserved, by all Welshmen.