The Dawn in Britain by Charles M. Doughty |
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 | The Dawn in Britain |  |
Carvilios, fared from royal Verulamion,
With steeds and war-cart, gift of dead Cunobelin;
(Whom follow noble youth and bards, in chariots,)
From dune to dune, in halls of princes chants;
Calling the island nations, rise, in arms!
But, sith, he hastily is went, unto North parts.
With steeds and war-cart, gift of dead Cunobelin;
(Whom follow noble youth and bards, in chariots,)
From dune to dune, in halls of princes chants;
Calling the island nations, rise, in arms!
But, sith, he hastily is went, unto North parts.
Behold Carvilios, under a green hill,
His bridle draws; where, now, tall long-haired lords,
Kings of the North, consult, in parliament.
The bard approached, to length of a stonecast,
On shining war-wheels, touched then Gaulish harp,
That hangs down from his nape, by silver lace;
Whose shrill wires, like to sharp shafts, pierce men's hearts:
Whereafter he, his far-resounding voice,
(Which bellows-back, from cliffs, above!) sent forth.
His bridle draws; where, now, tall long-haired lords,
Kings of the North, consult, in parliament.
The bard approached, to length of a stonecast,
On shining war-wheels, touched then Gaulish harp,
That hangs down from his nape, by silver lace;
Whose shrill wires, like to sharp shafts, pierce men's hearts:
Whereafter he, his far-resounding voice,
(Which bellows-back, from cliffs, above!) sent forth.
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Fight, Britain's sons, which burned great Rome, with Brennus,
Not loosely arrayed! Is not, of one small stone,
Scattered much sand? of many wolves, is rent;
When have those knit together their small force,
The great ureox, which mightiest of all beasts.
When ye march armed, go up, with shielded breasts,
To battle; having, only, fear, towards death,
Not, by proud deeds, to merit a new life!
This said, drave forth that vates, in shrill chariot;
He would not dwell, what though all cry, Carvilios!
For straitened, in this journey, is his breast
To come to Mona's holy oracle.
Not loosely arrayed! Is not, of one small stone,
Scattered much sand? of many wolves, is rent;
When have those knit together their small force,
The great ureox, which mightiest of all beasts.
When ye march armed, go up, with shielded breasts,
To battle; having, only, fear, towards death,
Not, by proud deeds, to merit a new life!
This said, drave forth that vates, in shrill chariot;
He would not dwell, what though all cry, Carvilios!
For straitened, in this journey, is his breast
To come to Mona's holy oracle.
In Mona arrived, the noble bard all gifts
Uphangs, which he received, in the god's porch;
His arms, also, and gold-bright Gaulish harness.
Purged then, with certain herbs, Carvilios sleeps,
Upon the splayed hide of his sacrifice;
One of those steeds, he vowed, which drew his chariot.
That night he sees, in dream, strange images,
Of diverse beasts, which drive, tumultuous,
In the sea-flood, to sweet sound of his harp,
From far West part, whereo'er lies land of Erinn.
Uphangs, which he received, in the god's porch;
His arms, also, and gold-bright Gaulish harness.
Purged then, with certain herbs, Carvilios sleeps,
Upon the splayed hide of his sacrifice;
One of those steeds, he vowed, which drew his chariot.
That night he sees, in dream, strange images,
Of diverse beasts, which drive, tumultuous,
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From far West part, whereo'er lies land of Erinn.
His dream interpret thus, divining druids;
After the several names, of birds and beasts;
Be those Cruithni, pictured tribes of Erinn.
But when Carvilios set his face, to pass,
The gulf, they warn his hardy enterprise;
Painting the salvage customs of the isle,
And sudden tempests of Vergivian seas!
After the several names, of birds and beasts;
Be those Cruithni, pictured tribes of Erinn.
But when Carvilios set his face, to pass,
The gulf, they warn his hardy enterprise;
Painting the salvage customs of the isle,
And sudden tempests of Vergivian seas!
Fame is, that mothers wont, their babes, in Erinn,
To feed, of spear-point, which hath slain a man.
Warriors, in battle, lap their enemies' gore.
Nor those know use of bread, nor to sow grain:
Wild worts are their most sustenance and raw flesh.
And such should hap, find strangers, on their coast,
Cast, shipwrecked; unto Cromm, (black idol-stone,)
Their custom is, them bind, for sacrifice,
To die, when the day's god! But, all that sun,
Their children shoot, at them, with shafts and darts.
Yet, for all this, faints not Carvilios' heart,
In his stern breast; but, at the vates' word,
Weaving frail wattles, his disciples made
A bark; and it o'erdight, with hides of steeds;
That to blue Noden, lord of this sea-deep,
And Mona's god, Carvilios offered up.
And were those twain; for all the rest went back.
To feed, of spear-point, which hath slain a man.
Warriors, in battle, lap their enemies' gore.
Nor those know use of bread, nor to sow grain:
Wild worts are their most sustenance and raw flesh.
And such should hap, find strangers, on their coast,
Cast, shipwrecked; unto Cromm, (black idol-stone,)
Their custom is, them bind, for sacrifice,
To die, when the day's god! But, all that sun,
Their children shoot, at them, with shafts and darts.
Yet, for all this, faints not Carvilios' heart,
In his stern breast; but, at the vates' word,
Weaving frail wattles, his disciples made
A bark; and it o'erdight, with hides of steeds;
That to blue Noden, lord of this sea-deep,
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And were those twain; for all the rest went back.
They put from shore; and loosing soon the land,
Did set, for sail, the bard's blue broidered weed,
With silver stars: and row their palms, for oars.
They meat, nor drink, bear, on this perilous voyage.
But magic hymn Carvilios loud intones,
To lay, to sleep, the spirits of all wild winds;
Save that from Britain's land, which softly blows.
Did set, for sail, the bard's blue broidered weed,
With silver stars: and row their palms, for oars.
They meat, nor drink, bear, on this perilous voyage.
But magic hymn Carvilios loud intones,
To lay, to sleep, the spirits of all wild winds;
Save that from Britain's land, which softly blows.
On them, falls golden slumber, from the gods.
And were they three, which sleep, the little mast,
Around; whereon there hangs Carvilios' harp:
On whose shrill wires, low-warbeling, plays the wind.
And flocking sea-mews, with their hoar-blue wings,
Do waft the skiff; and guide their beaks to land.
And were they three, which sleep, the little mast,
Around; whereon there hangs Carvilios' harp:
On whose shrill wires, low-warbeling, plays the wind.
And flocking sea-mews, with their hoar-blue wings,
Do waft the skiff; and guide their beaks to land.
And was the after-morrow of that day,
When they put forth, that, at Belinda's mouth,
Where stands Iberion's temple, giant son,
Of Belin sun-god, slide the ebbing waves,
Back, from their keel, which strands. But they, a-land;
Lifting, as from long dream, their heavy eyes,
Behold go sheep-flocks, trooping, on green bent;
And grassy hill, which people's multitude,
Stand round; as did those hear some dooms of druids.
When they put forth, that, at Belinda's mouth,
Where stands Iberion's temple, giant son,
Of Belin sun-god, slide the ebbing waves,
Back, from their keel, which strands. But they, a-land;
Lifting, as from long dream, their heavy eyes,
Behold go sheep-flocks, trooping, on green bent;
And grassy hill, which people's multitude,
Stand round; as did those hear some dooms of druids.
They foot set forth, then, on those pebble brinks;
And bear their bark, betwixt them, up, on strand:
But, in that, rise up, yelling, shock-haired wights,
Horrid of aspect; and that levelled spears,
Do gainst them shake, which in their violent hands.
And those are naked, save that iron hoops,
Their middles gird. They cry, with hideous throat,
Out on them; and whilst those, for dread, not speak,
With writhen withies, knit, behind their backs,
Their wrists; and gin towards that doom-hill, them hale!
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But, in that, rise up, yelling, shock-haired wights,
Horrid of aspect; and that levelled spears,
Do gainst them shake, which in their violent hands.
And those are naked, save that iron hoops,
Their middles gird. They cry, with hideous throat,
Out on them; and whilst those, for dread, not speak,
With writhen withies, knit, behind their backs,
Their wrists; and gin towards that doom-hill, them hale!
Howbe, repressed, through reverence of his looks,
Like to one of the gods, they loosed Carvilios.
But he, despised their cries and salvage mood;
Took in his hand, that stilled their brutish minds,
His ivory harp of Gaul, of heavenly sound;
And to doom-seat, he leads them, himself, forth.
Where, lo, long yellow-haired, like flower of broom,
That people's king sits, upright, on wild stone;
Unto whose middle raught, (which girded is,
With sheen large hoop of gold,) his royal beard:
His cheek as any fox-glove red. Stand brehons
And lords, their kings around; and the land's druids.
Mongst whom, seen, women-brehons, in long stoles,
Of shining line; and with much yellow lawn,
Wounden their long hair-locks. A brehon-wife
Quoth, Suppliants of the god, I see, approach!
And do thou them, I read, O king, none hurt.
Like to one of the gods, they loosed Carvilios.
But he, despised their cries and salvage mood;
Took in his hand, that stilled their brutish minds,
His ivory harp of Gaul, of heavenly sound;
And to doom-seat, he leads them, himself, forth.
Where, lo, long yellow-haired, like flower of broom,
That people's king sits, upright, on wild stone;
Unto whose middle raught, (which girded is,
With sheen large hoop of gold,) his royal beard:
His cheek as any fox-glove red. Stand brehons
And lords, their kings around; and the land's druids.
Mongst whom, seen, women-brehons, in long stoles,
Of shining line; and with much yellow lawn,
Wounden their long hair-locks. A brehon-wife
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And do thou them, I read, O king, none hurt.
Who bring the bards, rude keepers of that strand,
Spake, Lord, these strangers, in their little bark,
We found, now, yonder, tide-cast on your coast.
That king asks counsel of his priests; and, erst,
Of one Maelunni, (Servant-of-the-Bronze,
A glaive this nation worship, as a god:)
Wight strangely adorned. Like divinister, is
His chamfered forehead, with quaint humlocks, bound;
His collar, rings and bracelets be pierced stones;
And, from his iron belt, hang, lo, flint knife-stones.
And only is of the wildness of earth's ground,
This druid's meat, (suppled with flame, and seethed,
Somewhiles, with milk,) lean worts, of field and wood,
Morel, wake-robin, earth-nuts, digged by night;
Heath-berries, black and blue; in winter, mast
And acorns parched; and such like wretchedness,
Wherein scant nourishment. But burns, in his breast,
An high discerning spirit of Erinn's gods.
Spake, Lord, these strangers, in their little bark,
We found, now, yonder, tide-cast on your coast.
That king asks counsel of his priests; and, erst,
Of one Maelunni, (Servant-of-the-Bronze,
A glaive this nation worship, as a god:)
Wight strangely adorned. Like divinister, is
His chamfered forehead, with quaint humlocks, bound;
His collar, rings and bracelets be pierced stones;
And, from his iron belt, hang, lo, flint knife-stones.
And only is of the wildness of earth's ground,
This druid's meat, (suppled with flame, and seethed,
Somewhiles, with milk,) lean worts, of field and wood,
Morel, wake-robin, earth-nuts, digged by night;
Heath-berries, black and blue; in winter, mast
And acorns parched; and such like wretchedness,
Wherein scant nourishment. But burns, in his breast,
An high discerning spirit of Erinn's gods.
Quoth Maelunni, Come these men, gods' guests;
We may them do none hurt. Then Palador spake,
For thus the king, king of Ivernis old,
Is named. Them loose! For theirs, if any smite
Them, be his life. But thou, which seemest some bard,
And bearest so constant noble countenance,
Thy kindred read; and wherefore thy frail voyage:
But look, and thou not lie before the gods.
Thus spake the king, and called to him up one,
Can Britons' speech declare, and the Gauls' tongue.
We may them do none hurt. Then Palador spake,
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Is named. Them loose! For theirs, if any smite
Them, be his life. But thou, which seemest some bard,
And bearest so constant noble countenance,
Thy kindred read; and wherefore thy frail voyage:
But look, and thou not lie before the gods.
Thus spake the king, and called to him up one,
Can Britons' speech declare, and the Gauls' tongue.
Answered, with melody of the bards, Carvilios;
And sware, by Palador the king's high right hand,
And by the Dagda, that they, suppliants, sailed,
To this, Sun's, isle, from Mona's sacred shore.
So took his harp, with ivory of the whale's tooth,
Inlaid: and quoth Carvilios, how, from Gaul,
Beyond the Ictian sea, he fared to Britain;
Calling all kings, to venge him of strange nation;
Men name them Romans, which the world oppress.
Those entered Gaul, with armies, there, have slain
The people; and seized the land their heritage.
And those prepare them, soon, to invade Britain;
Which won, their bridge should be to enter Erinn;
That Romans name the Less or Second Britain.
So ceased his chant; and troubled was their mood.
And sware, by Palador the king's high right hand,
And by the Dagda, that they, suppliants, sailed,
To this, Sun's, isle, from Mona's sacred shore.
So took his harp, with ivory of the whale's tooth,
Inlaid: and quoth Carvilios, how, from Gaul,
Beyond the Ictian sea, he fared to Britain;
Calling all kings, to venge him of strange nation;
Men name them Romans, which the world oppress.
Those entered Gaul, with armies, there, have slain
The people; and seized the land their heritage.
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Which won, their bridge should be to enter Erinn;
That Romans name the Less or Second Britain.
So ceased his chant; and troubled was their mood.
Sith, in dark speech, Carvilios hymn unfolds,
Of the day-god, known only to few druids:
How, sprung of womb of the Eternal Night;
Whence, daily, he, highest new-born god, upmounts,
Shaking his amber locks, and breathes sweet breath,
O'er plains of the low world. The virgin hours,
Before him, tracing, on their silver feet,
Open wide gates of heaven, where he doth pass.
In their cloud-chariots, wont, against him, ride,
Then envious spirits of the misty murk.
But when, from his hot looks, those flee dispersed,
Rejoice again, all dwellers in the earth.
On heaven's steep hill, ascends the glorious path,
Of Belin's steeds. High-riding, the sun-god,
The sounds, melodious, falling from his harp,
Recomfort the two worlds, of men and gods.
Of the day-god, known only to few druids:
How, sprung of womb of the Eternal Night;
Whence, daily, he, highest new-born god, upmounts,
Shaking his amber locks, and breathes sweet breath,
O'er plains of the low world. The virgin hours,
Before him, tracing, on their silver feet,
Open wide gates of heaven, where he doth pass.
In their cloud-chariots, wont, against him, ride,
Then envious spirits of the misty murk.
But when, from his hot looks, those flee dispersed,
Rejoice again, all dwellers in the earth.
On heaven's steep hill, ascends the glorious path,
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The sounds, melodious, falling from his harp,
Recomfort the two worlds, of men and gods.
O'er heaven's wide-shining bent, thou, all day, speedest,
On fiery wheels, drawn of immortal steeds.
And we, Lord, on thee, call, before all gods,
A lord of flocks; and not to sere our grass.
To midday, come, we pray thee ripe our corn.
And when clothed, angry, in thy purple weed,
Thou battle join'st with the dark welken powers,
Give rain: but us defend, with thy vast targe,
From hail. Come, to the dim world's vaulted brinks,
Where water thy tired steeds, sink thy bright wheels,
Below earth's round, and compass of sea billows:
And seemest thou, then, to die into the night;
Who, daily-born, art eldest of the gods!
But we, on whom, lies spread night's misty murk,
As thou wert dead, then wait, lord, with cold hearts,
And magic chant, beside thine altar-hearths,
Neath stars, thy new uprising, from the East.
On fiery wheels, drawn of immortal steeds.
And we, Lord, on thee, call, before all gods,
A lord of flocks; and not to sere our grass.
To midday, come, we pray thee ripe our corn.
And when clothed, angry, in thy purple weed,
Thou battle join'st with the dark welken powers,
Give rain: but us defend, with thy vast targe,
From hail. Come, to the dim world's vaulted brinks,
Where water thy tired steeds, sink thy bright wheels,
Below earth's round, and compass of sea billows:
And seemest thou, then, to die into the night;
Who, daily-born, art eldest of the gods!
But we, on whom, lies spread night's misty murk,
As thou wert dead, then wait, lord, with cold hearts,
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Neath stars, thy new uprising, from the East.
Priests of the Sun, from the doom-hill, descended,
With Maelunni; and they, embrace the man,
And lead to Palador: and caused Palador, king,
That bard of Gaul to sit, at his right hand!
And Palador sent out young men, to his folds,
Among the hills, and to his royal bawns;
With charge, (for ransom of these strangers' blood,)
Drive hither, a white bull; and two young rams,
Which should his fellows, also, loose from death.
And turned those victims' heads, on the left hand,
Towards setting sun; when the day's sacred light
Decays, they shall, to Eserg, sacrifice.
With Maelunni; and they, embrace the man,
And lead to Palador: and caused Palador, king,
That bard of Gaul to sit, at his right hand!
And Palador sent out young men, to his folds,
Among the hills, and to his royal bawns;
With charge, (for ransom of these strangers' blood,)
Drive hither, a white bull; and two young rams,
Which should his fellows, also, loose from death.
And turned those victims' heads, on the left hand,
Towards setting sun; when the day's sacred light
Decays, they shall, to Eserg, sacrifice.
Then uprose Palador; and from that green hill,
Descended, calls those bards: who now towards
Ivernis old, nigh-builded in green plain,
Their way gan hold. Is that the royal rath,
Fenced with paled banks and dyke; and there-amidst,
Wide mound, whereon stands builded the lord's house.
Follow loud throngs, with them, king Palador forth.
Descended, calls those bards: who now towards
Ivernis old, nigh-builded in green plain,
Their way gan hold. Is that the royal rath,
Fenced with paled banks and dyke; and there-amidst,
Wide mound, whereon stands builded the lord's house.
Follow loud throngs, with them, king Palador forth.
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The weary strangers eat, at eve, roast flesh,
In the king's hall: but eat the men of Erinn,
The raw, after their guise, and without bread.
Druids, which in the bowels of sacrifices,
Have looked, Carvilios, then, with oak-leaves, crowned.
Took Palador the wreathed gold, from off his neck,
Made, like to serpent, with her little ones;
And decks that vates, who the battle rage,
Chants, after the meat-space. He, sith, appoints,
Noble young men, convey this stranger bard,
Unto all princes' courts, in wide Isle Erinn.
In the king's hall: but eat the men of Erinn,
The raw, after their guise, and without bread.
Druids, which in the bowels of sacrifices,
Have looked, Carvilios, then, with oak-leaves, crowned.
Took Palador the wreathed gold, from off his neck,
Made, like to serpent, with her little ones;
And decks that vates, who the battle rage,
Chants, after the meat-space. He, sith, appoints,
Noble young men, convey this stranger bard,
Unto all princes' courts, in wide Isle Erinn.
| The Dawn in Britain | |