 | The Dawn in Britain |  |
In sacred silence of night-stars, pale druids;
From Moelmabon's hall, have made, gone forth,
Response: Lives, kinsman of Isle Britain's kings,
Thorolf, henceforth, in the divine abodes!
From Moelmabon's hall, have made, gone forth,
Response: Lives, kinsman of Isle Britain's kings,
Thorolf, henceforth, in the divine abodes!
Moelmabon, long-aged, purblind sire, then rose;
And bowed him reverent, towards South part; (from whence,
Men deemed, descend, into the world, the gods:)
And the remembrance-bowl, his trembling hand,
From Nessa, the hoar-headed queen, receiving,
(Ah, war-bereaved, with him, of generous sons!)
Wherein, and secretly, now some drowsy herbs
She steepéd hath; (whereof, is faith, who tastes,
Should presently even forget a mother's death!)
First, on the floor, he pours, before the gods,
Out golden mead, to their dread powers, beneath;
So tastes: then tastes the warsire Caradoc;
Kynan sith, the sire's sons, and warlike peers.
Thorolf! all standing, call with moaning voice!
And bowed him reverent, towards South part; (from whence,
Men deemed, descend, into the world, the gods:)
And the remembrance-bowl, his trembling hand,
From Nessa, the hoar-headed queen, receiving,
(Ah, war-bereaved, with him, of generous sons!)
Wherein, and secretly, now some drowsy herbs
She steepéd hath; (whereof, is faith, who tastes,
Should presently even forget a mother's death!)
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Out golden mead, to their dread powers, beneath;
So tastes: then tastes the warsire Caradoc;
Kynan sith, the sire's sons, and warlike peers.
Thorolf! all standing, call with moaning voice!
| The Dawn in Britain | |