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His thousand-footed flocks, pass bleating forth;
That lingering, crop Spring-tides new sappy grass.
Follow today the weanlings, with their dams.
That butt, that underpush, the foster dugs:
And wanton, as they wend, with that new life;
Which kindles ín their blood.
That woolly drift
Of sheep, soon spersed is with his sons: and left
Is Cædmon lone, upleaning on his bat.
He, in his spirit, méditates some new chant
For Hilda, his venerable agéd Abbess.
Bond, though he be, unlettered, agéd, halt;
Towers his free spirit, as lavrock soars from clod,
Still héavenward: that on flickering wings aloft;
With his bird-raptures, fills the sunny skies.
So lifting Cædmon, his transported looks
From lowly sod, attunes his Saxon notes;
To that celestial Choir, he him-seemeth to hear
Above, of Angels in the holy height:
Singing to golden harps resounding strings.
As for me, I found a thicket bush of broom,
Nigh hand; whereunder I might drowse a space.
On freshing herb, in that sweet morrows breath.
Though spent with fast, and crazed my bones with aches;
Half slúmbering there the while, I ever sought;
If haply I, óf that Father of mine Art;
Might not attain, through making heard of his;
To some insight, in Éngla-lánds glee-craft;
Which had sufficed to light, late heathen hearts.
Was Sun gone up, in His diurnal course,
To undern height, when I awaked from rest:
And o'er wide laund, bedight with golden knops,
And daisies ás the stars, that herding fellowship,
And fleecy multitude, lo, again approach.
The tardy ewes, troop hither with full cuds.
That bold herd-crew, hinds tawny in wind and wet;
Go girt in long say coats and pilches rough.
And each hind bears, his sinewed bow at back;
And sheaf of well-fledged arrows ín a case;
And bag of ready sling-stones at his belt:
Their flocks to ward, against the prowler wolf.
The woolly trains, come to noons couching-place:
The herdgrooms stand, to number o'er their stock:
That gathered with drooped craigs, sheep behind sheep;
Stánd, each one, shadowing in anothers breach.
They tell them o'er, none lacketh.
A hind gone forth;
Gathered dry sticks and stover, his arms' full; casts
Them down, in the winds eye: and, kindled sparks,
The climbing flame, amidst his crackling heap,
Upblows; which all-embracing, licketh up
The turf. That soon out-blowing, bitter reek;
This herdfolk deem, should drive away the brieze.
Left then their barking curs to mind the stock;
(Those course oft out, whiles these together stoop:)
Tall grooms, with unkempt glibs, all reverent dofft
Their hoods, now 'sembled round the shepherds' sire;
Attend their fathers giving-thanks to hear;
Before noon meat.
Lo, full of holy thought
Thrall Cædmon lifteth up anew his looks,
And horny pálms to Heavenward, whither mounts
His lowly spirit; where dwelleth All-Fatherhood.
Take on new grace, those rude-limned looks of his;
Whiles, after Saxon sort, lay-wright, his lips
Quoth:
Store have they of bárley-cakes, baked ón the hearth,
For their noon-meat, and cheese ín théir hide-scrips;
And fór their bever, wig, in goat skins tough;
Those seen me, a Stranger, not far from them, off;
There, one from thé herd-crew, ran, shouting forth:
Which bade me, in Cædmons name, (their Abbeys use;)
To turn and eat, of súch cheer as they have.