The Dawn in Britain :: :: University of Virginia Library

Gainst dawn, arrive their creaking wheels, in glade,
Where cabans white with snow; as in that wood,
Seems moonlight, all by day. Stand weaponed men,
Come forth at door, for perilous is the time;
To look on strange wain, driven to their poor lodge!

But, whenas Beichiad those, their brother prince,
Know; and hear tiding of his strange disease:
They gaze, on him, amazed; and mourn their hearts!
In their strong arms, with manly derne lament;
They bear him in, as one lies nigh to death.
No ignoble fear them turns, from him, away.

He wakes! They kiss death, on his clay-cold lips;
And his clam front, his hands, his knees, they kiss.
Is this the pestilence; they would, (say their hearts,)

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Decease in the self manner of his death!
On hazel sprays, deckt with ox-hide, for bed;
They him, the best in that poor place, have laid.

The old milk-father kneeling, by his prince,
Kindles much fire; and aye he weeps, and weep
All those poor wights, that live by daily sweat;
With burning drops, as manly hearts can weep.
They still, on Beichiad, gaze; who lies past speech.
And look, upon them all, aye his dull eyes;
As who would say, Farewell! His woodman's hands,
Gently, in murmuring some, his, magic, spell;
That foster, on his nourseling's dying breast,
Lays: dreads, his prince's flickering pulse doth cease!
Ah, now is, ceased! (and fades, with kindly warmth,)
The vital breath, for ever, from his lips.
Rose loud, then, lamentable voice of sobs;
Of fosters of the dead, and his wain-servants:
But cannot wake the corse, when it is cold!

The man's sons, sith, with axes, wend for wood;
To strew the pyre, beside their mother's grave.
When midday past, and this full-ended was;
Ah! all suddenly, who the elder, smote himself,
Riving his gorge; and fell down gurgling blood,
Upon the funeral wood. Nor would he Beichiad;
That both had suckt one mother's breast, survive.

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Then brother, brother's body; in night of grief,
Much weeping, drew apart, and sprent with snow;
Lest their sire, finding, should himself fordo.
So, with a frozen heart, this turned his steps:
(Ah, heavy day, ah, heavy house, of death!)
To get him home. The sire, behold, comes forth,
From threshold of their lodge. That father asks,
With trembling voice, why he returns alone?
What purple stain, this on his woodman's weed?
(His brother's blood, as he the dying kissed!)
Father, is whortleberries' juice, he saith.
Nay, in Winter, ben none whortleberries; where,
Quoth he, where is, thy brother; where, my son?
He waits us, father, at the mother's tomb!

Entered the cattle-byre, they find one dead,
Of East-men drivers, come with Beichiad's wain.
Another sick lies, in their bower, to death,
Of the self ill. The father sickens soon;
Grows cold. He, laid by Beichiad, his dead son,
Him down; departed, at mid-afternoon.

Two drivers rest, beside the foster's son:
And these all have ado, bear the dead forth;
Wain-lay, the beasts yoke, and to pyreward drive;
Feeling now inward ill, on themselves, seize.

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They by their brother prince, that brother laid;
And, in the midst, their sire, built broad the wood:
And Beichiad's servants at his head and feet.
Each lifting faithful hands then, to their gods,
To other, swears, to lay him on the pyre;
Who shall survive, when goeth this sun beneath;
And kindle funeral flame, under the dead.