The Dawn in Britain :: :: University of Virginia Library

The tardy oxen them, in deep land-way,
Draw forth; and cattle-trodden is their path.
To every thorny thicket, hangs much fleece;
And smells this Britain soil, of herds and flocks!
They wend, amidst their voyage, by altar-stone:
Gore-smeared it is, and heavy were their hearts,
Musing of the dark places of Gauls' druids;
And cleave to Christ, within their straitened breasts.

Sith they mount up, by covert of high hill,
To Amathon's hold, which cattle-camp and dune.
Come, then, to brow, they Britons' rampire pass,
Of gaunt felled trunks, and hoarded on them, earth,
And stones: so enter gate, on whose twin-posts,
See, graven, gore-daubed, grinning, images!
By street of halm-thatcht cabans, high-tressed, round,
Of osier wands, they wend; each set in close

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Of willow studs. Here children run and shout,
With rush-rings on their heads, and daisy chains,
About their necks, blowing loud shawms of grass:
Day is of people's feast, for battle past.

Heard shrieking axe-trees, waggon's rumbling noise,
Come Britons forth: they follow, gathering rife,
The strangers' wain; which halts, soon, in void place;
Where, foursquare, in the midst, stands, framed of boards,
The lord's mead-hall, and common council house.
The beasts, uphold their drivers, at this porch,
Horrid with many horns of salvage beasts,
And jowls of bears and wolves: amongst them, seen,
Hang blackened polls, of this land's enemies!
At door, without, stand many spears upleaned,
Of them that sit therein; and confused sounds,
In the saints' ears, thence, murmur of men's voices.

Lighted the brethren, and veiled holy women;
The door-ward leads them in-forth, by the hand.
Now, when they light discern, in that dim place,
Which hath, to window, louver of the thatch;
They, in the upper hall, see Amathon sit,
On an high stool; lord of this Briton folk:
And chief ones, sit, on benches, round the walls.
Is strewn their floor, with sweet-green juniper;

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Whereon the Britons tread, with shoveling feet;
That turn now all, to make the strangers room.

To this land-ruler, bend the saints their necks;
And, reverent, lay their hands upon their breasts!
On polished stools, then, they before him sit.
Lord Amathon goodly greets them, with mild voice;
And thus his Briton words, interprets Pistos:
Were never unkind, unto shipwrecked wights,
Dumnonian folk, which worship a sea-god.
Benign of aspect, ruddy, is this land's sire.
Whose beard and locks are as the surges hoary:
Is none of all, which here before him sit,
That have seen Amathon's youth. Rich lord, in sheep,
He is; and father, to his Briton folk.

So cometh in lady Bara; who is wife,
Of this long-agéd lord. She comely, yet,
Is, yellow-haired. And Bara, Salema calls,
And Sabra, abroad: so beckons to the rest,
(The brethren); that gin Bara follow forth;
Where, in another hall, which the bed-house,
Ben bowers and hearth, and meat prepared for guests.