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

Wakes Esla, all day, so she impatient is,
To keep his life, which hid under these brinks.
When erst, from heaven, the molten stars look forth;
After the sunny rays, she ready is;
Nor fears, where, like to walls, downhangs the cliff,
Descend; and seemed, by day, none footing was.
She hastes, for marked she mount the tide, beneath.

She goeth down, by sharp scaurs, such force hath love;
And lightly oft she depends, by corded roots:
So that sea-gods, beholding, bate their breaths.
The chilling wind, her golden hairs outbloweth.
She, bound about her, long fringed-mantle bears;
That sea-cast One, to cover from the cold.

Like as who finds some fallen fledgeling bird,
Out of the nest; or weanling of hedge-beast,
Uplifts, and home, in pious hands, it bears,
And cherisheth: and aye, twixt doubt he is
And hope, to nourish up; that such not miss,
Of kindly life, whereto born on the earth:
Much more, thou child, thing goodliest having found,

On sea's waste strand, tremblest and durst, uneath,
To him thou lovest, now call, for uncouth dread.

O joy, when dimly, at last, beholds each one,
The other's semblant, in this doubtful gloom.
Then whispered speech, sweet knitting of true palms,
Already knit their hearts. Her mantle, warm,
Of wadmel, then she splayed about them both.
They creep together, in that fear and cold,
In dim sea-cave. Smiles out, in firmament,
The hoary girdled, infinite, night of stars,
Above them: like as when, in sweet spring-time,
With wind-flowers white, some glade is storied seen;
Whereas, from part to part, like silver stream,
Shine hemlocks, stichworts, sign of former path.

To her innocent bosom, she him gathers, warm;
And girded, each, of other's arms, they sleep.
But Cloten, waking, spread, to heaven, his palms,
Calling high gods, to witness of his truth;
His being, knit to this nymph, for life and death.
O'ermuch she travailled hath, to-day, and run;
Nor, child, wist, risen, she hath known a man:
Yet feels that new in her, as were unmeet,
She as tofore, on Sena's sacred hearth,
Wait; wherefore gan she weep; but fears him wake.

The moon's clear lamp shines, o'er wide silver deep;

When, kneeling, from first sleep, upon her knees,
On the pure sand, she purer Esla prays.
She morrow nigh sees, by these heavenly signs;
So, priestess, went, to bathe her gentle limbs.
Before her, fleeting, lo, in the dark tide,
Lies thing uncouth. She gathers then to her,
Her garments; and calls Cloten to the shore;
Upon whose eyelids sleep, sent from the gods,
Yet heavy lies. That timber float, it is,
Which waves uplift, the prince, at eve, gan knit,
On the shole strand: and now apparelled is,
With well-tressed bulwarks of those golden rods;
A work, the whilst they slept, for love of Esla,
Of the sea-nymphs; ready with helms and oars!

Come, from sea-cave; and standing by loved Esla,
Feels Cloten whole his hurt. In all these things,
The heavens show favour to his enterprise.
Though Esla do these justling waves affray,
Her liever were die, with him, in the sea,
Than live from him apart; she wots not why.

Then, embarked Cloten, in his manly arms,
His love, his spouse. Anon, the prince thrust out;
The whilst they pray, both, to the watery gods.
Quaked Sena's cliffs; for wakes the island-god.
Rose the weird sisters nine, in their 'lone bowers;

And to the everbrenning hearth, they run;
Where taking count, (low burns the sacred flame!)
There faileth none of them, but Esla, alone;
Whose name sounds, from the rumbling oracle.

Then course they all, with fearful yelling cries,
To the cliff-brow; where, turned to barking hounds,
Those, frantic, leap, upon the utmost crags,
Making, as would they cast them down, from thence.
But ever as they fall, from steepling cliffs;
To lapwinged plovers changed, they, wailing, rise;
Which tossed and buffeted are, in madding blasts,
O'er sea and soil. Kindled the island-god,
Himself, a flaming beacon on his rocks,
Gives Cloten light to sea! and Sena's spouse,
Clear goddess of the moon, hath Esla blessed.
Though toucht the prince, to Sena's sacred coast;
He was, mongst fallen crags, the sea-god's guest.

The same hour, spake the oracle, in isle Sena,
Weird nun interpreting; his priestess-choir
Be, henceforth, nine, should ten be told no more!
A king of Gaul offended hath, that gave
A changeling, to the god, for his own child.
Now lies, at point of death, that royal maid,
Guilt of her sire; but Esla did no wrong.

Like little cowering bird, in fowler's snare,

In every dainty limb, yet trembles Esla,
Mongst tumbling billows. Come forth, from the rocks;
Cloten rows strongly, on the silver flood.
This jeopardy past, smooth lies large watery path,
Under sheen moon; which comforts their cold voyage.

Their nimble withers undersetting, draw
Manloving dolphins, forth, their bark, in teams.
Whilst then, on the salt tide, twixt sleep, they swim,
And wake; a bridal lay, sing aery spirits,
Till morrow's break: then night-born dawning ray,
(Like to a bride, white-clad, glad eyed and mild,)
Mounts on sea-throne; and cometh forth soon the sun,
With rainbow, crowned; wherein, as would they grace,
From heaven, this marriage, set have holy gods,
The hew of every flower of the spring mead:
And rose the morning's wind, with a sweet breath,
On them that wake, of daisy-hills from land.

O, joy! before the opening eyes, appears,
Of Cloten, his own navy; (it late, dispersed;
Had gathered, under Gaul, a strong sea-god,)
Making their merry flight, with wingéd breasts!
Seven rushing prows, divide much sprinkling flood.
Is their approach like Cantion chariots.
Bowed down, they stride before a clear East wind.
In their foretops, flies dragon of his sire.

How vails her sails, the foremost keel, and luffs,
Now, among the billows wild, up, in the wind.
And surely, of those, is marked their little coque.
Her shipmen let down barge; which to them rows!
And is it Cloten, those behold alive?
Sailing with one, that goddess seems; and drawn,
Upon great water's face, of finny teams;
Whose ship, men weened, was lost, not come to land!

Then immense joy; then shouting very great!
Almost was, in strong tumult, over-set
Their bark, wherein they now ben taken up!
Prince Cloten is indeed, none other is;
Live Cantion's prince! And, to the royal ship,
Those hastily row. Now mount they, on her board!

When was this seen, in their next consort ships,
Come sailing with square yards and wind apoop;
Which loosed, last flood, from Gaul, with blackened sails,
For the lost prince; that Cloten founden is!
The air, with trumps, they rend, and mighty shout.
Lie-to Kent's fleet: and who had, in cold billows,
Leapt down, in this first joy, to swim to Cloten,
Were taken then up, in their ships' skiffs, uneath.

Loost now broad sails, again, to merry wind;
Kent's keels, like coursers, spurn the clodded waves.

So run they all day on, towards Cantion cliffs.
Cloten, Kent's royal prince, which lately thrall,
Was bounden, naked, lost; now, in tall poop,
Sits, noblest, mongst them all, with godlike looks;
Girt in white-shining lawn, garded with gold.

By Cloten, sits; wots no man what she is,
Some maid. Who look, fain, on her heavenly feature;
Deem they behold one of those blesséd ones!
For long gilt wounden locks, like sunny rays;
And purple-fringéd shining priestess-weed,
(White lawn, with ceint of gold,) Esla the bright,
Thing seemeth more fair than daughter of the earth,
Like goddess, clothed with grace. Who gaze, on her,
Think, that consent of music they do hear;
When sounds an harp, from heaven, of the sun-god!

Though she herself, be daughter to a king;
Her love, yet, took none thought of his estate.
Amazed she is, so many living wights,
To see; well pleased, see Cloten, who hers is,
Be in this chief regard! For many lords,
In boats, with long row-banks, arrived aboard;
Sit bowed before him, reverent, with bared heads.

Blows aye the wind, in their full sails, forthright;
Under their feet, rush on the winged sea-steeds.
They nigh to haven and wide sea-strand, at length,

Of Dubris; neath white-shining Cantion cliffs.
Much people hie down, soon, to salt wave-brinks;
On Kent's returning fleet to gaze! Ere days,
Word come was to their ears; how Cloten's vessel,
From hence outsailed, in that swart tempest, perished!

Run-in, with half-furled sails, they anchors shoot.
But when, who stand longs shore, see Cloten's barge,
(Wherein rowed forth, known by his shining weed,
The prince!) those cliffs wide-ring, with joyful shout.
Toucht to the chisel-banks, Cloten outleaps:
And bears his bride, to land, in his strong arms,
Esla, the bright; and gives his gods high thanks!

Now Britons all, in their best garments, trim,
With guirlands on their heads, of the green oaks;
With songs, bring Cloten forth to Dover gates:
Where, eftsoon, ready-made the royal chariots;
Unto their journey, lo, the princes mount.

Cloten, lest any messenger him outride,
Doth put on, till set of that happy sun;
And without pause, save often change of steeds.
The speedy wheels thus erst were to arrive,
In dim light of the moon, of happy Cloten,
Before Kent's royal dune, fair Durovernion.

Loudly of the porter, Cloten gan enquire;
What-ho! What means this wailing, that I hear,
From river meads? Answers the drowsy ward,
(Who drunken seems of ale, that he discerns
Nor horse nor chariot, at his city walls;
Nor more knows Cloten's, his own king's son's, voice!)
This town is all went forth to funerals,
Which makes the king, for the drowned prince, to-night.

With Cloten, Esla alights; she weary is,
To chariot-riding all unwont. He bids
Who followed fast with him, here, silent, wait;
Whilst they twain, only, to the meadow, pass.
Eftsoon, they, from green hill, to Cloten known,
Look down; (and issues, clear, the labouring moon,)
Over much people's confused multitude.
Hark, how the king loud calls, on his son Cloten!
Thrice calls the sorrowing sire, with choking voice.

Cloten, an empty pyre, sees, in that place!
Druids blow embers, on an altar's hearth.
Sees Cloten young men, his familiars, stand,
Of even years; and each one armed, his hands,
With a sharp bronze, to smite himself to death.
(For such, mongst weeping kin, their custom is.)

Behold, some father kiss his loved son's knees;
Nor can his stubborn will he bend, from death!

One cries; he heard now noise of trampling steeds!
Shout other; they heard more than mortal voice,
Saying, Cloten lives! Then moved is all the press.
Leaps Cloten's heart, with bitter sweetness pierced.
Left Esla, a moment, sitting on dim grass;
Prince Cloten, cleaved thick back-turned multitude;
Comes, straightway, where the mourning old king is!
Murmurs the sire, who now, with dust, defiled
His royal hairs; how wot the only gods,
Where his son's life became, in vast salt deep!
Tables were cast to strand, of his ship's wreck,
The royal father sobs. Sudden, young Cloten,
Kisseth, closed in his arms, his wintered cheeks!
So turns, that light might shine on him, his face,
Light of bleak moon, that goeth down soon, to rest.

Quakes the hoar sire; and feels his knees to sink:
And feels his heart, was shut up in distress,
With fearful joy, oppressed. As saw he a spirit,
His voice sticks in his throat; and he lost breath.
Last his old tears, with hollow groans, break forth.

How stand astonished all! But him, prince Cloten

Had withdrawn privily. And, soon, ah, the glad prince
Returns, now leading, happy, by the hand,
On, weary, gentle Esla, in clear moonlight!
Then kneeled down both, at king Cocidius' feet;
They kiss his hands, and feeble knees embrace:
And quoth the prince; This lady saved his life!
Who wept, for sorrow, erst, weep now, for gladness:
And went up a great joyous people's shout!

All follow then, the princes from the field;
With mirth, returning, thence, in mourning weed.
Men enter carolling, in the city's gates;
And throng, together, to their market place:
Where sacrifice shall be made, they hear, and feast.
Are soon great bonfires kindled, in their streets.
Heralds cry up and down; In the king's hall,
Is meat and mead, to-night, for all who will!

Canterbury.