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

Of those few shipwrecked strangers; and bade Kamlan,
Them call anew. That steward soon the brethren,
Brings in; and leads, to sit, in honoured place,
Before the sire: and should interpret Pistos.

Then Kamlan mingled mead, it bears to all,
Who, chief ones, sit on polished stools, the walls
Around. And, longs the midst of this moot-hall,
Burn hearthpits: hall, whose roof-tree stained and crowned,
Hath hospitable smoke of many days;
And shields thereon ben hanged, and helms and arms.

Bears king Duneda mantle royal, white,
Of wolf-whelps' skins; which fastened, with broad brooch,
Like to a golden keel, on his large breast,
With silver sail; for he is lord of ships.
The king's high stool, with ivory of whale's white tooth,
Is fair inlaid; whose arms be carven heads,
With eyes of pearl, of gaping strange sea-beasts.
The boards are graved, with many a quaint device,
Of panting hounds and flying harts and snakes.

At the king's hand, stand young men, seemly dight,
Champions of stature; whose long tawny glibs,
Ben, helm-like, knotted on their comely heads:

Are runners, which, with ready looks, await,
Leaning on long war-spears, their lord's behests.
Two great white alans couch, at the king's feet.

Duneda, with mild voice, asks of the strangers,
Lacked they aught, in their lodging, mead or meat?
What is their nation's name, their trade of life;
And what that far-off strand, whence they outsailed?

Stands Pistos, to interpret; and he spake,
Praise to the Father of all worlds and gods!
Whose servants ben these men. Their land, is Jewry,
Duneda, in East half of wide-lying Earth.
And with the Son of Righteousness, these conversed,
Therein, have, many days, as friends with Friend:
And breath is in them, of the holy gods.

Their shipfare he records; how hurled from land,
And covered of great waves: in winter season,
Through Midland-deep, their starless ship was driven;
And buffeted, sith, in windy Gulf of Gaul:
And how, in whelming waves, the storm-chaced vessel,
Had seemed go down the waterfloods, beneath;
And lie in deep sea-ground, midst fearful beasts,

Amongst the dead. Yet them their mighty God,
Thence, took; and saved forth, to Armoric haven:
But were they, soon, compelled, to sea, again.
Sith, came we, wafted to the island Sena;
Where weary were our hearts. To other isles,
Arrived, sea-currents cast us o'er to Britain.

Thus he; and whilst he spake, the king Duneda
Looks, kindly, on the strangers. Seems him, sit
They, in radiance, such as bards sing of the gods!
He bade then Pistos tell them, in their speech,
How might they alway, at their liking, dwell,
With him, in Isca: (and seeing, now, so far-off,
Their home lies.) Else, with hospitable gifts,
He would them send soon, to Gaul's Continent;
Whence Romans might translate them, to their Province.
Upspake that Master of Armoric ship;
And also we put in to Corbelo;
And heard, from point to point, these things rehearsed.

Then one stood forth, in the king's lower hall,
Among the people; man, by his smirched face,
Some smith seems, and come in that vessel was.
He wrought at Corbelo, and there mended pots,

What time, quoth he, the strangers' ship drave in,
Covered with salt; and lay aboard our staithe.
He saw those shipwrecked: and heard crying out,
Upon them druids: that, from the Bourne-of-Night,
Dread spirits, were those arrived unto their coast;
That banes should bring in on them, blights and death.
Loud spake that smith, then, for himself; he taught
Is, to smite arms, and every work of brass;
Would aught the king Duneda of metal work.

Questioned; that Master of the traffic ship,
Responds; In all ports of Armoric coast,
Is this opinion found; that certain spirits,
Wont beat on doors of fisher-folk, by night;
That needs must rise; and down, to strand, wend forth;
Where see they, deep-fraught, ready, their own barks;
And mote those, as compelled, them enter in;
And, else, they seeing right naught, with oars, row forth.
And this is Ferry-of-souls, to the Dead-isles;
And sitting, at their helms, ben gods of death.

Heavy are the waves, wherethrough, those swiftly pass,
Unto a Land-of-mist; where, toucht to shore,

Both names and voices of dead wights, they hear;
Which there, out of their loaden keels, disbark.
Did not they bear, thus, Death out from mainland,
Should Death, those deem, with them, alway, abide.
Yea, and certain have seen gods, stand on that strand!
Supposed the men of Corbelo; for their hew,
And uncouth keel of strange Phœnician vessel,
And reverend countenance; that those strangers were
(And seemed whose faces shine as the twilight,)
Some gods of death! Duneda bade, then, pour
Out mead, and call chief singer of the bards;
That, with some new thing, he might glad their hearts.