Originally published in The Literary Chronicle and Weekly Review (J. Limbird) vol.1 #28 (27 Nov 1819).
'Where art thou, Pellis, maid of the bosom of snow? Why art thou flown away, fairy of the lake Cwellyn? But yestermorn I pressed thee to my heart; and now, like a fleeting dream, or passing shadow, thou art gone, and mine eyes never shall behold thee more!'
Thus spake Llewellyn, lord of the valley between two hills, as he uprose slowly from his solitary couch, and gazed with paternal fondness on his babes, alas! now abandoned by their mother.
Four years had the earth beheld the sun rise and fall, since Llewellyn, the man of the ardent soul, first saw the Fay Pellis. As the nimble roe skips over the mountain tops, so light of foot was the blue-eyed damsel. As the rolling billows of the ocean, dashing against a rock, thus did the heart of the lord of the valley Ystrad beat against his breast, when he beheld her joining with her companions in the dance. Like the hunter of the fields, watching till he can seize his unsuspecting prey, he stood concealed in the entangled forest, ready to dart on the dancer of the green. Suspicious of no guile, she fearless passed the wood: as the hawk pounces the timid dove, Llewellyn seized the maid. Vain were thy screams, O damsel of subdued power! vain were thy magic arts! As the lonely bird of night flies the approach of day, thus did thy companions vanish as they heard thy piercing cries. Vain were thy struggles, Pellis! the man of many stratagems bore thee to his home.
'Why sighs the maid of my bosom?' said the youth, 'Whence do thy sorrows flow? Am I not lord of the fertile vale of Ystrad? Do not my sheep, as countless as the stars in number, feed on the luxuriant grass? And do not immense herds of goats, light as the gossamer, frisk on the summits of my cloud-capt mountains? Be comforted, fairy of the lake Cwellyn, be comforted! No wish of thine, except to leave Llewellyn, shall pass ungratified. Do the splendid robe or pomp of dress delight thine eyes? speak, and they shall be thine. Art thou fond of sports and shows? we will have tournaments and jousts—thou shalt join in the lively dance, and hear the merry song, and the sound of the melodious harp. Frown then no more, thou beauty of more than mortal charms! Frown no more, damsel of the clouded brow! but taste with me the sweets of connubial love.'
'How should I love thee?' replied the maiden of the tearful countenance; 'how should I love thee, thou man of violence? By stratagem and force thou madest me thy captive; and by stratagem and force should I rejoice to regain my liberty. When the stately stag has unwarily fallen into the hunter's toils, does it not endeavour to free itself from them? so would I try to escape from the power of Llewellyn, the chief of many frauds. But, at present, thou hast conquered; nor dare I refuse to be the partner of thy fate. A potent spell, much mightier than my will, compels me to confess this.—Yes; I must be thy bride. As the creeping ivy clings to the oak of many days, thus shall my duty cling to thee; or, as the fearful slave obeys his master's voice, thus shall I list to thine, lord of my destiny! But, beware, thou youth of easy wrath! beware, how thou liftest up the iron hand of thy indignation to strike the Fay Pellis! Touch her with iron, and were she pent in the inmost caverns of the earth, the rocks would yawn to free her from thy bondage. As to day, when it is past, no more returns, so will she vanish from thy sight for ever. Show, then, thy love, thou lord of the ardent soul! Restrain thy rising anger as it mounts, and thou and I may pass our days together.'
She said; the youth of smiling eyes embraced the blushing maid—he treasured up her words as the shepherd watches over his fleecy care. Five years had their days rolled on serene and calm, like the surface of the lake Cwellyn, unruffled by a breeze. Three buds, as lovely as the parent stem from which they grew, still added to their bliss. As the songster of the grove delights to teach its young its merry notes—thus did Llewellyn, to teach his babes to speak; whilst Pellis, the lady of elfin race, forgot the moon-light revels of the green. Thus did time, the hoary chief of many wings, fly swiftly over their heads. So fleeting, as a day of joy, five years had passed since first they met. But, as on a sudden, the pride of the forest is rooted up, thus were their joys to cease. Why didst thou, Llewellyn, thou man of easy wrath! why didst thou forget the warning of the maid of magic lore? Why, when she failed to stop thy courser in the field, didst thou like a raging storm, give all thy fury vent? Why didst thou hurl thy steeds proud trappings at the head of Pellis, the fairy of renewed power? Vain were thy tears, O chief of the stormy countenance! Vain are thy prayers now! Thou lookedst around in vain! Pellis, the maid of regained liberty, was flown. As the widowed dove bewails her absent mate, thus didst thou weep for thy fair bride. Thou soughtst thy couch in vain, for no repose was there.—And, as soon as the dawn appeared uprising from thy tear-drenched bed, and gazing on thy babes, thou said'st, 'Where art thou, Pellis, maid of the bosom of snow? Why art thou flown away, fairy of the lake Cwellyn?'