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The Dawn in Britain

by Charles M. Doughty

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But come, with immense joy, the princes home,
To the king's house: the sire Cocidius,
(Who chief of the four kings of noble Kent,)
His son and Esla, leading, by the hands;
To that derne bower, forlorn of hope, of late,
Declines, where Kerriduen, mother queen.
She, when went forth the king, with funeral train,

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Was fallen, in a stupor, on the floor.
Then seemed those like some revellers of the night,
Which, full of mead and impious, towards the gods,
With their untimely cries, and glare of lights,
Trouble this house of mourning; and whose noise
Wakens, for now she slept, the sorrowing queen.
How silent is this inner house, and dim!
Where dying embers glimmer, on the hearth,
The women's bower; that all this day resounded,
With woeful shrieks and baleful funeral wailing:
Where, with long loost locks, sate the sorrowing queen,
By empty bier, in mourning stole, among
Her women; which, displayed their fruitful paps,
Them cruelly did wrong! She bereaved queen,
Continually, did outrage her blubbered face;
And rent, with nails, her royal cheeks alas.
Her risen, behold, all trembling cold and wan,
At the king's voice. But, kindled, round the walls,
Soon, many torches; she Cocidius sees,
Turned, jocund: and smiles Cloten, like a dream!
Aye, and, with them, one that nymph or goddess seems.
And yet her long shut-up and straitened heart,
Unfolds, uneath; and still is like to break;

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Impatient, whilst tells of this happy case,
In few rapt words, the sire Cocidius.
She, to her mother's breast, her son embraced;
And, fixt, beholds! to her, returned, alive!
Whom weened she, journeying now, in sunless paths,
In swart hell-wagon of the dread death-goddess.
Almost, stood still her heart, and swoons her sense.
But come queen Kerriduen to herself,
As one long lost, in sun-beat wilderness,
Slakes, at some well, his burning infinite thirst,
Long kisses drinks her mouth of her child's flesh.
And, dearly, hath Esla, sith, this queen embraced.
But, when they see her heaviness gin to pace;
From women's bower, as meet to their estate,
The kings wend forth, to sit in audience.
Hastes Kerriduen, washt her tear-worn face,
To put-on queen's apparel: and her women,
She bids make ready, that they sup, anon.
Sith, when they sit, at board; she, come her spirits,
Mother, o'er this new daughter, smiles and weeps.
Yet, hollow-eyed, she sighs, as wanting breath;
Like one whom hellish fiends effrayed, of late;
And scaped, (which certain seemed,) from some dread death!
Yet, whilst men tarry, in the king's hall, and sup;

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Dights Kerriduen, now, thrice-happy queen,
Unto her bridal bower, Esla, the bright.
Combing her locks of gold; she, on her story,
Museth; which, shortly, had rehearsed Cocidius:
And Cloten said, This lady saved his life!
She marvels, and oft Esla all-new embraced;
And looketh, oft, in the maiden's heavenly face.
Great wonder is, in Esla's gentle breast,
Who priestess, from an isle, in Gaulish seas,
Is scaped, with Cloten, now, all evil hap!
The queen, (unclothed her bosom, ivory white,)
Some birth-mark sees, neath this dear child's left pap
Much like to berry of holy misselden!
With trembling fingers, Kerriduen, queen,
Uprents her tunic, of fine lawn. Ah, gods!
She another token finds, which, there, she sought;
Twixt Esla's gracious shoulders and white neck,
Much like to bee! For Gaulish Gwenneth, then,
She shrilly shright; was whilom her own nurse.
That old wife cometh, soon, hipping, on her staff;
And Gwenneth wox dismayed, at this sweet sight!
So quoth, when she, again, had caught her breath;
Queen, and dear daughter, nursling of this breast,
Doubt not, thy sister's very child is this.

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How is her image glassed, in this sweet face!
How yearns, beholding her, mine aged womb!
The tokens, thou seest, ben those, which I marked well,
What night, from twixt my lady's knees, in Gaul;
(My foster-child,) these hands, thy sister's babe,
Received. With amorous groans, then Esla embraced,
That ancient nurse, dear, to her withered paps,
With greedy great affect; and still she kissed.
Dear queen, she cries, our very child is this!
Strain Esla, an hundred sithes, both, to their breasts,
Those weeping women. Gins then Esla weep,
For ruth: and as Spring-sun shines, after rain;
She smiles, for love, between. Like snowdrop, pale,
Heavy, with dew, at dawn, be her bright locks.
And, haply, these had wept forth, the long night,
Forgetful of the spouse; but that hoarse trump
Souneth the watch! from Durovern's ancient walls.
Behold! in royal ray, the mother queen,
Changed that late winter sadness of her face,
To summer's smiling pride, and springing gladness,
Forth issues, from her bower, leading bride Esla;

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Where train of noble maidens of the town,
With joyous chant, receiving her, around
Her, cluster, bearing firebrands their white hands:
So pass before, to the bride-chamber door.
There stand, with mystic boughs, of misselden,
The white-stoled druids; that sprinkle all the floor,
With holy water dew; the whiles they bless,
With many a murmured spell, this marriage.
Cocidius, king, there, his bride-daughter kissed.
The sire, that tiding, glad, tells forth, of her;
That, this is the queen's sister's daughter dear,
Which Cloten saved, beyond the seas, from death!
Lo, come is happy Cloten, mongst his peers;
Which (his soldurii, ) would have died, to-night,
To be, in death, companions of his spirit.
With mirth and minstrelsy, those him, now, forsake,
At the bride-chamber door; where, enranged, wait,
The maidens, which, around bright Esla, sing!
For gladness, shedding piteous tears between.
 

Oath-brethren; thus in Cæs. a Gaulish word, (which is still of difficult interpretation.)