University of Virginia Library

The Britons who escap'd the fray
Hid on the hills till close of day,
Then dug a grave twelve fathoms deep
And laid their monarch down to sleep,
And rais'd a cairn of boulders high
In homage to his memory:
Then wended in procession drear
To hide his crown in Grisedale mere.
With weapons fiercely clench'd they strode
Three miles along the Grasmere road,
Until they came to Grisedale burn,
And up the Faery glen did turn:
Awhile upon Seat-Sandal pause,
Then slowly wind through Grisedale Hause
Down to the mere and through the crown
Where Dollywaggon Pike sheers down.
Fierce was the wave and fierce the storm,
And mist-besieg'd the mountain's form;
The Spirits of the Lake and hills
Were anger'd at their country's ills,
Anger'd that stranger-hands had ta'en
The Briton's last, best loved domain.
That night o'er forest, lake, and fell
Resounded many a ghostly yell;
Around Helvellyn's giant man
With threat'ning glare the marsh-fire ran.
In becks, that yester summer's night
Scarce trickled down in shallows bright,
By deep and furious floods were borne
Great rifted rocks and trees uptorn:
The wind that scarce was heard at noon
Roared like an Indian typhoon,
And westward over Langdale Pikes
The breakers fell on Furness Dykes,
And with one wild tremendous sweep
Encompass'd in their greedy deep
Tree, corn and cot, and grassy down
From Lancaster to Barrow town.
And by the forked fire from heaven
The oldest Druid oak was riven.
The oak-tree gods might reign no more
Upon their native Britain's shore,
But now must fly, to stay awhile
In mother Mona's magic isle,
And thence be driven in wild unrest
For ever further, further west.
Till, when five hundred years were gone,
The land that tombs the setting sun
Should feel the conquering foot of Spain;
Then, ousted from their home again
With other byegone godheads lie
In Limbo to eternity.