The Dawn in Britain by Charles M. Doughty |
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 | The Dawn in Britain |  |
Came Amathon, in those days, to fenny Alban.
His cattle were driven before him, and much corn
Borne in his wains; for was he not to Erinn
Fared, with Duneda: but the sire in land,
(Died Bara in the late pestilence;) would end,
Which nourished hád him, his fathers, and their flocks.
His cattle were driven before him, and much corn
Borne in his wains; for was he not to Erinn
Fared, with Duneda: but the sire in land,
(Died Bara in the late pestilence;) would end,
Which nourished hád him, his fathers, and their flocks.
Hyn gathered then young men: which withy rods,
Lopped in mere-side, have pilled; and now those pight
Long studs, in compass, (nigh to Brigida's house,
The place;) do wreathe there hall, of hurdle-work,
For this good lord, with wicker bowers; and thatch.
Lopped in mere-side, have pilled; and now those pight
Long studs, in compass, (nigh to Brigida's house,
The place;) do wreathe there hall, of hurdle-work,
For this good lord, with wicker bowers; and thatch.
Behold, that venerable sire, in holm,
Host of the saints, now dwells, of sacred Avalon!
And communes oftwhiles Amathon, with Christ's brethren.
Sith when long nights be come, of Winter-season;
And all without lies cold and comfortless,
To Cuan hear, him pleaseth passing well.
Host of the saints, now dwells, of sacred Avalon!
And communes oftwhiles Amathon, with Christ's brethren.
Sith when long nights be come, of Winter-season;
And all without lies cold and comfortless,
To Cuan hear, him pleaseth passing well.
Are Cuan's dreaming strings, in this lord's ears;
Like to that golden murmuring, which of bees,
Sounds mongst sweet linden boughs, in the Haymonth.
And Dylan, hind, which erst, with his two sons,
Received Christ's messengers, saved to Britons' land;
In osier cabans, wonne their lord around.
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Sounds mongst sweet linden boughs, in the Haymonth.
And Dylan, hind, which erst, with his two sons,
Received Christ's messengers, saved to Britons' land;
In osier cabans, wonne their lord around.
King Caradoc dwells, in Caerwent, with Moelmabon,
Two months; (where bands, come, of his Verulam warriors,
Now, in nigh forest, build them Winter-bowers.)
Like space, he dwells then, with the sire Manannan,
In Mona, in his new hóuse; which overrides
The path; that needs must enter all which pass,
Under his roof; where tables, ready-dight,
Stand; set with meat and drink, for all who list.
And bards, remembrancers, in the sire's hall,
Sing, each eve, lays, which made Carvilios;
Like to war's blowing trumps and rushing chariots.
Two months; (where bands, come, of his Verulam warriors,
Now, in nigh forest, build them Winter-bowers.)
Like space, he dwells then, with the sire Manannan,
In Mona, in his new hóuse; which overrides
The path; that needs must enter all which pass,
Under his roof; where tables, ready-dight,
Stand; set with meat and drink, for all who list.
And bards, remembrancers, in the sire's hall,
Sing, each eve, lays, which made Carvilios;
Like to war's blowing trumps and rushing chariots.
And come in weaponed youth, to the lord's hearths;
To hear war-speach of king Caratacus.
For tales of mirth and solace, cure their hearts,
No more, nor heed, of jesters, the light parts;
Whose words were shafts of laughter, in men's ears;
Nor they love-longing's dulcet idle note,
List, or bard's chant, that breathes not bloody war;
Nor any, in treacherous metheglin, drencheth more
His sense: but sounds, with din of smitten arms,
All day, their craftsmen's street; where Caradoc walks,
With Ergund prince, wounded at Camulodunum.
To hear war-speach of king Caratacus.
For tales of mirth and solace, cure their hearts,
No more, nor heed, of jesters, the light parts;
Whose words were shafts of laughter, in men's ears;
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List, or bard's chant, that breathes not bloody war;
Nor any, in treacherous metheglin, drencheth more
His sense: but sounds, with din of smitten arms,
All day, their craftsmen's street; where Caradoc walks,
With Ergund prince, wounded at Camulodunum.
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