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

Went up then Britons' lord, in his right mind;
For he neath ash had slumbered, whose deep root,
In healing well, is wet. Plumbs now the snow,
Before the sun, from cedars' lofty crest;
Where gins to pipe the great cock-of-the-woods.

Rusht, sudden, an o'ergreat grey, gaunt, wolf, forth!
From craig, on Embla's faithful hound; that towsed
King Caradoc's weed, to draw now his lord home.
They wallow and wind with hideous noise, anon;
And grinning teeth, and long upstaring hairs;
And, with fell claws, each other rend to blood,
Staining the forest snow. Caradoc's high hand
A wild stone caught from ground; he smote that brute's
Hard hairy chine, and all his pith was loost.

To warm his lukewarm blood, the sire forth goeth,

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A sturdy pace, down from thick latticed wood.
He treads known path now, to his forest lodge;
Neath brow, sequestered from the common foot.
It Moelmabon gave, to Embla and Caradoc;
For loves Silures' sire, as his own sons,
Cunobelin's son. He went by folded flocks;
But bark the very curs on Caradoc!
So seemed he stranger wight. His foot he hath
Stayed, yet unseen of men, within a grove:
For, lo, from other part, comes servants' train;
Are men of his own household, which, (o'er all,
Having, in vain, him sought to-night!) turn home.

To Verulam warriors, message then, the queen
Would send, whose camps lie in the further forest;
Calling them forth, to seek the royal footprint,
O'er hill-snow, of their king Caratacus.
Like unto new-born day, lo, weeping, Embla,
(Who die would, in his stead!) is now come forth,
At open gate, towards her returning servants;
Tidings enquire, to read their doubtful looks!

Caradoc, yet nigh the sheep-pen, his lord, Gorran
Erst knew, lo, from yond thicket, coming on;
And cast a joyful cry! Then all, to meet him,
Outrun: before them all, runs Embla queen.

Them rime-god Caradoc seems, of Eryr's mount;

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(So dight he is, with leaves and hoary frost;)
That, winter-long, in cave of steepling rocks,
Sleeps! and (like chamfered fallow field,) is warped,
To ghastful looks, his wonted comeliness;
For yet unconquered sorrow holds oppressed
His heart. She kisseth him, with silent lips;
And leads in, by the hand, (that icicle seems,
Closed, in her woman's feeble and warm flesh,)
To house: and hastes to bring, from sacred hearth,
Him posset drink, she had prepared to this.

Embla new fever fears of his old wound;
For yet, nor sense he seemed to have, of aught;
(If he might smile, should seem to wake the dead!)
Nor mind of any. Ran a little maid,
Dear fruit of both their loves; that joys and plays.

She climbed, unto her father's knees, anon;
To Caradoc stretches her two gleeful hands,
The babe. He her uptook, as one who dreams!
Looks in her eyes, plays with her sunbright locks;
Eyes, like blue cockle, in the Summer corn:
And Tad! the dear child cries. She laughs, he loves.
Then, hundred sithes, he kissed her infant lips!
And were to shield this loved one little head,
Life, in world's mortal tumult, yet, (which is

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Vast wailing place of vilain wights, wherein
Our efforts still frustrate the gods,) desires.

That warhound couched, crept to his lady's feet,
Now bleeds; (nor she was ware, for busy thought,)
From vein, fang opened of that felon wolf.
He his húrt licks; gazing still on his lord, Caradoc,
Gapes; and in that yields the true ferine breath.

Father.