The Dawn in Britain by Charles M. Doughty |
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 | The Dawn in Britain |  |
And now is morning-red of the third day,
When should prince Kowain ride. The saints be risen;
And cometh soon, to his guests, lord Amathon:
So brings abroad, amongst his people's press;
That, for their sick, seek healing to the gate.
Lifts Joseph, in the way, his hands, to bless!
When should prince Kowain ride. The saints be risen;
And cometh soon, to his guests, lord Amathon:
So brings abroad, amongst his people's press;
That, for their sick, seek healing to the gate.
Lifts Joseph, in the way, his hands, to bless!
They see then, bounden on long chains, without,
Stand Kowain's captives; ready those to march:
Part-naked wights, yet woad-stained from the war;
That stare derne enmity, on this hostile ground!
And there, with wains, stand yokes, joined to the beams,
Of tardy beves; ready for Amathon's guests.
They, of Amathon, there, take leave; and they him bless.
Stand Kowain's captives; ready those to march:
Part-naked wights, yet woad-stained from the war;
That stare derne enmity, on this hostile ground!
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Of tardy beves; ready for Amathon's guests.
They, of Amathon, there, take leave; and they him bless.
Were those not ridden a mile, down, to the plain;
When Dylan, herdman, coming from the folds,
Them hails! and standing by the path, prays Joseph,
Those cheeses, of his ewes' milk, to receive:
And still have memory of Dylan, and his sons;
What time they pray, to that Alfather God.
When Dylan, herdman, coming from the folds,
Them hails! and standing by the path, prays Joseph,
Those cheeses, of his ewes' milk, to receive:
And still have memory of Dylan, and his sons;
What time they pray, to that Alfather God.
The lenten sun, uprising, smiles on Britain;
Whose flowery leas, as tappets shine, of Tyre.
The saints chant temple-songs, with a glad voice:
And merrily sing their waggoners, as they wend.
What for spring's early light, and this new warmth;
The sun now waxing daily in his strength;
And that shrill warbeling lavrocks mount aloft,
Is fallen new summer blitheness, in all hearts.
Silures only, in their captive plight,
Wend sad-faced; of whom many bear war-wounds.
Aye, and deadly would those wreak them, and had might
Their bounden hands; that so are they scourged forth,
And mocked of their impatient adversaries,
Dumnonians armed, that follow them, to-horse.
Knee-deep, tread forth the kine, in golden grass,
The aery butterflies, lo, before their horns,
Disport mongst blissful flowers; which, from the dew,
Lift virgin looks, to heaven's bright warmth aloft.
But being come down, now midday, to steep ford;
They stream, whereon they sailed, in ship, there pass.
Sith, leaving them; with few, rides Kowain forth:
Ere night, should those be come, to king Duneda.
Whose flowery leas, as tappets shine, of Tyre.
The saints chant temple-songs, with a glad voice:
And merrily sing their waggoners, as they wend.
What for spring's early light, and this new warmth;
The sun now waxing daily in his strength;
And that shrill warbeling lavrocks mount aloft,
Is fallen new summer blitheness, in all hearts.
Silures only, in their captive plight,
Wend sad-faced; of whom many bear war-wounds.
Aye, and deadly would those wreak them, and had might
Their bounden hands; that so are they scourged forth,
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Dumnonians armed, that follow them, to-horse.
Knee-deep, tread forth the kine, in golden grass,
The aery butterflies, lo, before their horns,
Disport mongst blissful flowers; which, from the dew,
Lift virgin looks, to heaven's bright warmth aloft.
But being come down, now midday, to steep ford;
They stream, whereon they sailed, in ship, there pass.
Sith, leaving them; with few, rides Kowain forth:
Ere night, should those be come, to king Duneda.
Beyond, they journey, in much twilight wood;
Under whose crooked boughs, uneath is path.
From end to end, men say, of all this forest,
Might squirrel leap, and never light to ground.
From thence, they now, o'er moorland large, ascend,
Till afternoon: when, under crags, they halt;
And waggoners loose, to pasture, out their beasts.
Those, gathered halm and boughs, kindle great fires,
Fence from the midgy swarms, and the night cold;
Which wont be tart in that high solitude.
Partake the Syrians, with those captives sad,
Of such thing as they have. Then wonder was,
Whilst those eat bread, which, in the name of Christ,
Hath Joseph blessed, assuaged were their old wounds!
Under whose crooked boughs, uneath is path.
From end to end, men say, of all this forest,
Might squirrel leap, and never light to ground.
From thence, they now, o'er moorland large, ascend,
Till afternoon: when, under crags, they halt;
And waggoners loose, to pasture, out their beasts.
Those, gathered halm and boughs, kindle great fires,
Fence from the midgy swarms, and the night cold;
Which wont be tart in that high solitude.
Partake the Syrians, with those captives sad,
Of such thing as they have. Then wonder was,
Whilst those eat bread, which, in the name of Christ,
Hath Joseph blessed, assuaged were their old wounds!
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Communing Pistos, with the captives' guard,
Hears eremites dwell in Dartmoor; some in holes,
Other in hollow trunks; some even, like birds,
In lofts of wattled boughs. Men, lean with fast,
That not long live; for in that forlorn heath,
Those only, of wilding thing, they find, wont eat;
But run continually on, towards the Sun:
Nor seld is seen, when druid falls dying spent,
Upon earth's mould, and no more may remove;
That fill, seed-gathering ants, with grains, his mouth,
Of the wild grass; and bees still on his lips,
Their sweet. And those (for evil they repute
Our life,) as men already dead, do live!
Hears eremites dwell in Dartmoor; some in holes,
Other in hollow trunks; some even, like birds,
In lofts of wattled boughs. Men, lean with fast,
That not long live; for in that forlorn heath,
Those only, of wilding thing, they find, wont eat;
But run continually on, towards the Sun:
Nor seld is seen, when druid falls dying spent,
Upon earth's mould, and no more may remove;
That fill, seed-gathering ants, with grains, his mouth,
Of the wild grass; and bees still on his lips,
Their sweet. And those (for evil they repute
Our life,) as men already dead, do live!
Opinion, of a certain Eryr, hold
They all: which Eryr, had, strange eagle bird,
With long bright wings, from mountain of the gods,
An infant, brought; and him, on thatch, deposed,
Of the king's house. But Eryr, eagle named,
Deceased of late. Yet say those eremites;
He is not dead. At his behest, they laid
His sacred corse, under a river's bed.
They all: which Eryr, had, strange eagle bird,
With long bright wings, from mountain of the gods,
An infant, brought; and him, on thatch, deposed,
Of the king's house. But Eryr, eagle named,
Deceased of late. Yet say those eremites;
He is not dead. At his behest, they laid
His sacred corse, under a river's bed.
Day breaks, in the Dartmoor, with driving mist.
Nor had they journeyed, slowly, a full league;
When feeble shout, before their creaking wains,
Heard: and a fleshless arm, lo, midst thick reek,
Forbids to pass! They view some old pined druid,
In woollen garment white, trembling and pale,
With long hoar hairs; and he, with hollow voice,
Cries, Halt! for, here, is brow of precipice!
Had this run, rumour heard of wains and whips,
To stay and save, men waggoners, from that death.
Nor had they journeyed, slowly, a full league;
When feeble shout, before their creaking wains,
Heard: and a fleshless arm, lo, midst thick reek,
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In woollen garment white, trembling and pale,
With long hoar hairs; and he, with hollow voice,
Cries, Halt! for, here, is brow of precipice!
Had this run, rumour heard of wains and whips,
To stay and save, men waggoners, from that death.
Bellow, for fear, the oxen looking forth,
From windy cliff. That druid then, somewhile, gazing,
Upon the strangers; spread, as if he prayed,
His two lean hands: and so, not looking back,
Forthpassed. Gainst noon, descended from that path;
They travail, in much sand, which Teign down-rolls,
That river's cragged ford, to overwade.
From windy cliff. That druid then, somewhile, gazing,
Upon the strangers; spread, as if he prayed,
His two lean hands: and so, not looking back,
Forthpassed. Gainst noon, descended from that path;
They travail, in much sand, which Teign down-rolls,
That river's cragged ford, to overwade.
Soon then, from far, the royal dune, Caer Isca,
The saints behold, with wall and turrets crowned.
Come to Esk river; they are ferried o'er.
Then gladly, afoot, those Syrians gin ascend,
Towards Isca, in sun-shining meadow's path.
Lo, in yond bent, hold Britons warlike games!
Career of shining battle chariots!
And horsemen toss the javelin: mongst whom, Kowain,
Discern the brethren. He unto them rides:
And asked, erst, of their welfare; that prince leads
Them forth, to gate of king Duneda's town:
Where citizens gather fast, on them to gaze.
The saints behold, with wall and turrets crowned.
Come to Esk river; they are ferried o'er.
Then gladly, afoot, those Syrians gin ascend,
Towards Isca, in sun-shining meadow's path.
Lo, in yond bent, hold Britons warlike games!
Career of shining battle chariots!
And horsemen toss the javelin: mongst whom, Kowain,
Discern the brethren. He unto them rides:
And asked, erst, of their welfare; that prince leads
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Where citizens gather fast, on them to gaze.
They enter Isca street; and, busy, sounds
Iron noise, whereas they mount, of smitten arms.
Come the king's harbingers, soon, unto them there,
In fresh array; men wearing, in their hands,
Long wands, which them saluting; by steep path,
Strangers, uplead, to king Duneda's court;
Which walls, on yonder hilly height, enclose.
Iron noise, whereas they mount, of smitten arms.
Come the king's harbingers, soon, unto them there,
In fresh array; men wearing, in their hands,
Long wands, which them saluting; by steep path,
Strangers, uplead, to king Duneda's court;
Which walls, on yonder hilly height, enclose.
In bowers, are they there, lodged, of the king's guests;
Which valley wide surviews, to the sea-side;
And nigh to tower, whereon men stand, which watch,
Far out; for their, returning, river's ships.
Goes low, to golden evening, this day's sun:
Come milky kine home lowing, to their byres,
Driving them maidens, from yond river leas.
Which valley wide surviews, to the sea-side;
And nigh to tower, whereon men stand, which watch,
Far out; for their, returning, river's ships.
Goes low, to golden evening, this day's sun:
Come milky kine home lowing, to their byres,
Driving them maidens, from yond river leas.
Then set, before the saints, are Briton messes,
Corn sod in broth, with flesh of sheep, and milk,
And mead. And they, that hungry are, giving thanks,
Doubt not in Jesus' name, both drink and eat.
Thereafter Kamlan, steward of the house,
Of king Duneda, to an inner hall,
Them leads; where that king sits; and lo, with Kowain,
(Who them commended hath, in Amathon's name,
Already to Duneda,) at tables, plays.
Corn sod in broth, with flesh of sheep, and milk,
And mead. And they, that hungry are, giving thanks,
Doubt not in Jesus' name, both drink and eat.
Thereafter Kamlan, steward of the house,
Of king Duneda, to an inner hall,
Them leads; where that king sits; and lo, with Kowain,
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Already to Duneda,) at tables, plays.
A prince of ruddy cheerful countenance,
Past his mid age, is this Dumnonian sire;
In council wise, and, from his youth, renowned,
Both for high worth, and valiant deed in arms.
Well is he taught, in sapience of the druids,
And antique chant; a lover of the muse;
Who gives all entertainment at his court,
In whom aught knowledge found, or good desert.
To Isca's royal dune, from Gaul's mainland,
Wont, yearly, many noble youth resort;
To learn there chanted discipline of pale druids.
Past his mid age, is this Dumnonian sire;
In council wise, and, from his youth, renowned,
Both for high worth, and valiant deed in arms.
Well is he taught, in sapience of the druids,
And antique chant; a lover of the muse;
Who gives all entertainment at his court,
In whom aught knowledge found, or good desert.
To Isca's royal dune, from Gaul's mainland,
Wont, yearly, many noble youth resort;
To learn there chanted discipline of pale druids.
Duneda rules the Britons' Summer-land,
Which Duffreynt named. The king, who, with mild voice,
Those shipwrecked greets, enquires of their long voyage,
Through Pistos. They continue, here, he saith,
His guests; till time, when he by some tin-ship,
Might send them, homeward, to Gauls' Continent.
With that, the noble king dismissed, to rest,
Sea-weary saints. Those marked, as they went forth,
Led in, those captives, polled now whose long locks;
To be condemnéd of their enemies!
Which Duffreynt named. The king, who, with mild voice,
Those shipwrecked greets, enquires of their long voyage,
Through Pistos. They continue, here, he saith,
His guests; till time, when he by some tin-ship,
Might send them, homeward, to Gauls' Continent.
With that, the noble king dismissed, to rest,
Sea-weary saints. Those marked, as they went forth,
Led in, those captives, polled now whose long locks;
To be condemnéd of their enemies!
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That night, was Joseph troubled, in his dreams;
Him seems, the captives showed him their gyved hands!
He roused from slumber, Pistos, asks; what deems he,
Of such war-captives, were the punishment?
Who answers, Mongst free Gauls, would some be given,
To kindred of the slain, to thrall or kill;
The rest reserved, for druids' sacrifices,
Which, yearly, offered to their bloody gods:
And, namely, in summer feast of the Sunwend,
When Gauls build tree-high osier-stagéd frame,
Stayed with bronze chains, twixt two sere trunks of oaks;
Which filled with stubble, and smeared with tallow and pitch,
Full-stived of malefactors and fell beasts,
Kindle mad druids; and dance the people round.
Who burn cast dreadful yells, to that war-goddess,
Which named is Andates. Good Joseph waked
The saints. Then all they wrestle, in Christ's name,
In fervent prayer, for those poor heathen souls.
Him seems, the captives showed him their gyved hands!
He roused from slumber, Pistos, asks; what deems he,
Of such war-captives, were the punishment?
Who answers, Mongst free Gauls, would some be given,
To kindred of the slain, to thrall or kill;
The rest reserved, for druids' sacrifices,
Which, yearly, offered to their bloody gods:
And, namely, in summer feast of the Sunwend,
When Gauls build tree-high osier-stagéd frame,
Stayed with bronze chains, twixt two sere trunks of oaks;
Which filled with stubble, and smeared with tallow and pitch,
Full-stived of malefactors and fell beasts,
Kindle mad druids; and dance the people round.
Who burn cast dreadful yells, to that war-goddess,
Which named is Andates. Good Joseph waked
The saints. Then all they wrestle, in Christ's name,
In fervent prayer, for those poor heathen souls.
The captives, which lie bounden, in foul ward,
All full of creeping things, low underground,
The same hour, saw, shine, in their prison-pit,
A marvellous light; and one beheld, like Joseph,
The stranger; calls them, from uneasy rest,
Bidding them rise, go forth. And, in that, loost,
Both bands and chains, fell down, from off their flesh.
All full of creeping things, low underground,
The same hour, saw, shine, in their prison-pit,
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The stranger; calls them, from uneasy rest,
Bidding them rise, go forth. And, in that, loost,
Both bands and chains, fell down, from off their flesh.
Nor they yet fully wake, see their strong doors,
Stand open wide! and see how nod without,
Their warders, on their arms. With stealing foot;
They come up, passed the stairs, into the street,
Of halm-thatcht cotes. Then, drooping, on their bench,
They see the porters sit, by Isca gates:
Those drowse, in heavy sleep, and rout! There lifted
The balk; the fugitives all wend freely forth!
Stand open wide! and see how nod without,
Their warders, on their arms. With stealing foot;
They come up, passed the stairs, into the street,
Of halm-thatcht cotes. Then, drooping, on their bench,
They see the porters sit, by Isca gates:
Those drowse, in heavy sleep, and rout! There lifted
The balk; the fugitives all wend freely forth!
Being come these to themselves; those, erst, take thought,
To scape to some nigh wood. Sith Isca's stream,
They overswimming; on some rotten bark,
Have lighted, which lay mongst thick river-reeds.
Groped all to this, part-swimming on the ebb;
Those, longwhile, fleet down: take then land, where hard
Rock shows none footprint. Sith, on, by sea-brink,
By night, they went: yet shroud them, like wild beasts,
At rising moon, among the crooked cliffs.
To scape to some nigh wood. Sith Isca's stream,
They overswimming; on some rotten bark,
Have lighted, which lay mongst thick river-reeds.
Groped all to this, part-swimming on the ebb;
Those, longwhile, fleet down: take then land, where hard
Rock shows none footprint. Sith, on, by sea-brink,
By night, they went: yet shroud them, like wild beasts,
At rising moon, among the crooked cliffs.
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At day, was heard loud outcry of the watch;
Silures scaped from the king's prison-house!
Run hastily archers, then, of the king's guard,
With bandogs, to Esk river, in pursuit.
Those hounds bay, questing, there, mongst thicket reeds!
Silures scaped from the king's prison-house!
Run hastily archers, then, of the king's guard,
With bandogs, to Esk river, in pursuit.
Those hounds bay, questing, there, mongst thicket reeds!
Sun gleams, uprisen now, on far river's mouth:
Wherein, with stranger sail, seen, enter ship;
Which seems, approaching, of Armoric fashion,
And puts-in, likely, to this hythe, for victual,
Or shelter; whereas shipwrights of good fame.
Wherein, with stranger sail, seen, enter ship;
Which seems, approaching, of Armoric fashion,
And puts-in, likely, to this hythe, for victual,
Or shelter; whereas shipwrights of good fame.
Bound to the quays, nigh noon, that vessel lies;
Whose master, to the king's mead-hall, ascends.
Whose master, to the king's mead-hall, ascends.
| The Dawn in Britain | |