 | The Dawn in Britain |  |
Is this that Avalon, (Alban of the gods),
Holms of the dead; being those accounted dead,
Which therein dwell, men outlaws, fugitives.
But, in the hallowed precinct of the place,
Pale of the gods, may there none dead be laid.
Holms of the dead; being those accounted dead,
Which therein dwell, men outlaws, fugitives.
But, in the hallowed precinct of the place,
Pale of the gods, may there none dead be laid.
Sith healed was Keth, their sick ones, Avalon Britons
Bring, daily, to the hands of stranger Joseph.
Tremble the most, with agues, and a spirit,
They say, besets them of the rotten fen;
Like hag, with yellow teeth and baleful eyes:
And flickers forth, on deadly wings, the fiend,
By night. That water-hamlet, in the lake,
Men call Cranog. Sigon, who father is,
Of all the water-dwellers; from his youth,
Day hath not seen, but all his world is dark.
Behold his son him brings, in wicker bark,
To Joseph: who him, taking by the hand,
Spake; Be thou of good comfort! The saint toucht
His eyeballs old; and they see heaven's light.
And, without succour, sith, went Sigon forth;
Confusedly murmuring, to his gods and Joseph,
Thanks, gladness, (seeing!) unto his bascad boat.
Bring, daily, to the hands of stranger Joseph.
Tremble the most, with agues, and a spirit,
They say, besets them of the rotten fen;
Like hag, with yellow teeth and baleful eyes:
And flickers forth, on deadly wings, the fiend,
By night. That water-hamlet, in the lake,
Men call Cranog. Sigon, who father is,
Of all the water-dwellers; from his youth,
Day hath not seen, but all his world is dark.
Behold his son him brings, in wicker bark,
To Joseph: who him, taking by the hand,
Spake; Be thou of good comfort! The saint toucht
His eyeballs old; and they see heaven's light.
And, without succour, sith, went Sigon forth;
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Thanks, gladness, (seeing!) unto his bascad boat.
But who his son continues with the saints,
Gazing, with reverence, on their heavenly looks.
He hears them marvellous things, of Christ, relate!
And this is Cuan, singer to the harp.
Sends aged Sigon, back, from the cranog,
A present, from his hand, wild honey-combs,
And linen cloth, unto the men of God.
Gazing, with reverence, on their heavenly looks.
He hears them marvellous things, of Christ, relate!
And this is Cuan, singer to the harp.
Sends aged Sigon, back, from the cranog,
A present, from his hand, wild honey-combs,
And linen cloth, unto the men of God.
| The Dawn in Britain | |