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

Cimbers, which partly seed of Brennus' Gauls, overthrow Roman armies; and pass over the woody mounts, into Spain: but, in the end, they are subdued and cut off, by the Roman consul, Marius.

Cæsar, having conquered Main Gaul, invades Cantion, with legions. In the new year, he returns, with a greater power to Britain. He, finally, departs; with loss.

Pomp of Samoth's god, to the great plain of the Sun. Cassiobellan and Commius strive, for the divine image; which is brought, at length, unto Isle Mona.

Christ born into the world. Stephen is slain; and the saints are scattered. Certain disciples, journeying down to Galilee, constrained by the Spirit, preach in Samaria. Descended thence, to Cæsarea, they find Joseph. Tumults among the Jews. In that peril, many of the brethren escape to Mnason's vessel; and sail forth. Certain are set on shore. The rest, in the ship, sail thence by Carmel, Tyre, Sarepta, Sidon, Berytus. From Aphic cliffs, (whereon is a fane of Asherah, the moon-goddess,) they are cast over, in strong storm, to Cyprus. Driven from under lee of that Island; they are carried forth, in much tempest, in the Midland Deep. God the Father sends His angel, to convey them unto Britain. The ship's heathen mariners rise up to slay the Jews. A sign from heaven. Strong Alexander. Isle Iranim; where those shipmen assay to save their lives to land. A calm morrow. A vision of Ithobal.

And now allayed, of heaven, the stormy wrath,
There went by, certain scouts, from the main army;
(Of whom, much part, in wide Corycian cave,
Pan saved, wild god; where kindling hundred fires,
They, sheltered, comforted their hearts with food:)
With warhounds, Brennus those, eachwhere, seek forth!

Howl warhounds; that have, in his blood, found Brennus,
On this bleak bent, mongst frozen warriors!
How stand those Gauls, confused, and mourn their hearts!
Gone back, on Brennus' steps, they find his peers,
Lie under rocks' wild eaves; cold, stiff and dead.
Then haste those scouts, to heap a little dust,
With pious hands, on them, and stones, and frost.

On boughs, of mountain pine, they Brennus' corse,
Bear forth to Gauls' cave-camp; hence not far off.
Then sally Brennus' army, cypress-crowned,
With wailing chant, to meet the royal hearse.

Sith, all day, there was made great moan, for Brennus;
Till eve, when with split olive-beam, the dead
They burn. At new sun-rising, Gauls, of stones
And earth, mound hill on Brennus' burning place.

This was that other Brennus, king renowned,
In antique song, for Hellas' great emprise.
Above all battle-smiths, was his great force:
Yet fell he, without honour, at the last;
And cause, he was not loved of any god!
Wherefore his mortal strength, which did attempt
Thing, which accomplish might the only gods;
Could not prevail, or save, or bring to pass.
King noted, mongst his people, Ambones,
One given, midst the mead-horns, to insolent riot:
And in his grame, how, and oft overmood;
Was swift his high hand, on manslaying sword!
But tiding come to Britomartos' ears,
Who yet in Macedon is, with half the army,
Of Brennus' death; that prince of heaven enquires.
And the oracles renounce, God defends Hellas!
Unto whom, not disobedient, he withdraws,
(Omitting Greece,) now, to the Hellespont:
Where come, what rests, to him, of Brennus' powers.

But Britomart, to that salt-streaming strait,

Arrived, some little from Poseidon's town,
Declining, overfares, in wattle-barks;
Which, fame is, wrought, (of well-steeped osier rods,
Dight with pitcht line,) Britons, which with him marched:
Then being to soil, beyond, all safely passed,
Nikomédes, one of that coast's kings, besought
Gauls' instant aid, of warlike Britomart,
Gainst the king's enemies; promising Gauls, meed,
(That strangers are, and landless, in these parts;)
Half of what villages, cattle and fair fields,
They might win, with him, of their adversaries.

Gauls then, with king Nikomédes, lo, march forth,
To victory: which being given them of the gods;
That conquered soil Bithynians did, with Gauls,
Divide, in just accord. It pleased, thus, God,
In His foreknowledge, plant the ingenuous Gauls,
Mongst old worn fastuous nations of the earth;
And give them, and their seed, there, plenteous seats:
Where dwell they, neighbours to the sacred gates,
Of Canaan, till the coming of the Christ!

Byzantium.

Rule Ambones, heirs of Rome-conquering Brennus:
And what time, now, was king Divitiacus,

(Of Brennus' seed,) in Belges' Gaul and Britain;
Were Celtiberians nigh destroyed of Rome.
By Rome's hired murderers, Viriathus falls,
Great hero of Spain: but he avenged her wrongs.
Cimbers, with warlike Teutons, then, in arms,
(Were Cimbers, partly, seed which Arthemail led,
Thither, of old time, of great Brennus' Gauls,)
Gainst Rome, arise. Then send, (adventurous swarms;)
Their warlike youth, to Cimbers, their allies:
Mongst whom, lo, many main and island Gauls;
And, people of Brennid Arthemail, Ambones.

In Thule, those Cimbers dwell, called End-of-land;
Which with the opposing Thule of Helvions,
Shuts in, vast sea-gulf, mighty Mentonomon:
Which passed, lies Ocean, bridged with stony frost,
Dead Mormarusa, till that congealed wall,
(Whereas are dancing-places of the Dawn,)
Which the world bounds; whereon, steep firmament
Is staied; under whose coast, feign bards, beyond
Cold clear North wind, there sleeps a winter-god,
Crowned with bright rays, in amber pumy cave;
Where strange birds bring him an ambrosial food.

Great-statured men, behold! whose infinite swarms,
Dark forests seem of spears, their threatful face,
Towards Summer Land, descending from the North,

With flocks and four-wheel wains; and is, as noise
Of tempest, their dread march. Where those meet, erst,
Legions of great-grown Rome; there Romans fall,
In fight, as bulrushes, before their glaives.
That day, they, utterly, did beat down, of Rome,
The vaunt; her consuls, bury in the field:
And spoiled, the Cimbers' dukes, their helms and harness.

Yet twice, in the next years, the Roman armies,
They overthrew, (Belos, the Cimbers' king,
With his own hand, Aurelius Scaurus slew,
Consul of Rome;) and a fourth time, by Rhone;
And was with so great slaughter of Rome's sons,
That, purpled, ran down Rhone, swift-streaming wide;
And out, even, on blue sea-deep, stained with blood.
Cimbers' victorious army, sithen, marched,
O'er Pyrene mounts. They tarry, in Spain, two years:
And, (wrongs there rendered, of Gauls Celtibers;)
Still wrought destruction of the Roman name.
Then weary, again, those mountain-wolds they passed.

But now, like winter-brook, that roared amain;
Sith wasting, last, in summer heat, decays;
Nor fortune long, at any stay, may dure,
Of mortal wights, which neath the moon, have being:

Or envying gods, in their immortal breasts,
Gauls' glory; and fearing, lest the antique giants,
Should new uprise, rude Cimbers' minds confused;
So that, in two hosts, they depart their armies.

Then vanquished Teutons war-wont Marius;
With such effusion of their barbare blood,
(Is seen, twixt Aquæ and Arles, the battle-place!)
That purpled seemed Gaul's plain, as summer heath.
On Cimbers, which the travaillous Alps have passed,
And sacrificed, at the grave-hill of Brennus;
In the next year, in fair Verona fields,
A like destruction falls. Rome's Consul Marius,
Them overthrew. Few which escaped, with life,
Under the spear, were sold, for thralls, in Rome!

Now Corbelin, nephew of Divitiacus,
Being king in Britain, consuls of great Rome,
Taught of the gods to war, much part of Gaul,
Subdued; though, to her aid, sailed Cantion youth.
In heavy hoys, borne slowly of the wind,
Could not be rowed; had those, in arms, contended,
Gainst Rome's light navy, longships, winged with oars.
But aye, in equal battle, they more valorous
Were found, as Britons yore, than Rome's helmed soldiers.

In Italy, now subdued; the Gauls of Brennus,
Do pass, again, the mighty Alps, in arms;
But, ah! now, inscribéd in the Roman legions!
Gauls war on Gauls; nor else in all the world,
Had, o'er the nations' gods, prevailed great Rome!

One summer morn, when in their sacred month,
From cantreds, and from dunes, much concourse is,
Of Briton folk; nor few come, bearing arms,
Which from far shires, to the moot-hill of Samoth,
Where should be courses run of famous chariots;
Men, as who dream, behold, full of winged ships,
Yond blowing seas! Lo, sun-blanched, thousand sails!
Much like as where spread fullers forth their wares,
Of line, in flowery meads of Itchin's brook;
Or butterflies disporting o'er the stream,
Which thickly, upon some river-weeds, alight.

Wind warhorns, the four kings of white-cliffed Kent;
And, hastily, kindled is much warning smoke,
Calling to arms. Shout fast-assembling Britons!
To seaward all, then, watch, with glittering spears.
Their knees, as bulls, dance under them, in course:
And pant their hearts, to battle. Rome's longships,
Approach, with weather and with tide. Seen Britons

Stand on yond cliffs, so rife; those, further, passed,
Seek where, before them, lies more open shore.

Fast follow warlike Britons: who to horse,
Who, light-armed, running with the justling chariots.
Haste them then Romans, leap down, from their ships,
In the salt billows. Archers, from the poops,
Erst, with thick shot, depulse the Britons' horse.

Mounts Cæsar's phalanx up, with knitted shields,
Then, from sea strand; and ring those chisel banks,
Erst, under enemies' tread! In sliding ground,
Shoot Briton charioteers, their darts, on Romans;
Sustaining, till their first foot-bands arrive,
Tumultuous running thicket of bright spears.
Britons, with shields, and valorous naked breasts;
Hurl enemies' strife, back, on their foster shore!

Ere might entrench them Romans, on the green,
Was afternoon; and still assail tall Britons,
Casting thick darts and stones, their hasty vallum.
Night fallen, murk tempest, that doth fight for Britons,
Afflicts Rome's heavy sailing ships of charge;
And gulfs their long row-gallies, drawn on land:
So that, when lightens day, on Kentish coast,
Like carrion cages of unburied bones,

Strewed in some slaughter field, lie broken hulls.
Perished in those dasht Roman-Gaulish ships,
With great destruction, Cæsar's mariners.

Beholding legions, cut off from the main,
Stout Cassiobellan, lord of Verulamion,
Choose Britons; them, in this great war, with Rome,
To lead. That king lays ambush, in dim wood.

Now Cæsar when, at day, he no more Britons
Discerns, a cohort sends, to reap down corn.
Done off their helms, and laid aside their harness
And shields; in Britain's harvest fields, Rome's soldiers
Whet their Italic glaives, to reap them bread.
Then suddenly outleapt, on them; tall glast-stained Britons,
In routs, drive soldiers, towards their naval camp:
Whence Cæsar issuing, armed, them hardly saved.
Sith he, that night time, in what rest of his
Longships, embarked, (now, doubly, is each one fraught,)
His silent legions; hoised, from Island Britain,
Broad sails, steers over to Gaul's Continent.

Then Cassiobellan, called all Briton kings,
To Troynovant; proclaimed, mongst the blue tribes,
One year's high truce. For, like as seen, mongst Gauls;

For factions, might not Britons thrive nor rest.
Let all their powers be ready, at the New Year;
When word is, Romans will renew the war.

W. Cantref, a Hundred. Cant, hundred, and tref or tred, homestead.

Now in that month, when churlish winter past,
Blithe cuckoo sings; and springing the new grass,
Lengthen the days, and kine go thrice to pail;
And ships sail forth, is, from Gaul's Continent,
Resort of merchantmen again to Britain:
Of whom is heard, that soon will Cæsar pass
The seas; and that with greater armament.
Then fortifies king Cassiobellan camp,
Felling wide round, in compass, in green wood,
Rampire of thousand oaks; which, heaped with sods,
His people's cattle might safeguard in wars.

Pass other weeks; till when, one rising dawn,
Behold, from Cantion cliffs, new Roman navy,
Borne slowly, infinite ships, forth of light wind!
Which failing under land, they thresh, at once,
Wide-wandering waves, with myriad glistering oars.
Cæsar, arriving at shole strand, descends,
On empty shore: where, as the former year,
He fences naval camp; so rests, till eve.
Come night, his legions march, by the moon's lamp;
But on all hills, see Britons' warning fires.

Send kings of Kent, before them, battle chariots,
Which station, shrouded in a woody hill:
Whereas, towards dawn, when gin Rome's cohorts pass,
Weary and chill, and ready now to lodge;
Break, with dread yell, forth, on them, woad-stained Britons.
Erst hideous creaking din of battle chariots;
Down-rushing, from hill-steep, disorder Romans.
The sharp bronze axe-tree scythes of Kent-men's warcarts,
Maim many wretchedly; and pierce legionaries,
Those woad-stained charioteers, that shoot sharp darts.
Sounds Cæsar halt; so sends his Gaulish horse,
To vex, on every hand, with javelins' cast,
Those island trains. Britons outnumbered, thrice,
Spent their first force, withdraw them to hill-woods;
Whereas they lurk, in arms, till fall of night.

Was then, that Taran, unchained tempest blast;
And clouds whelmed, of thick darkness, on steep seas.
Uneath might stand a man, for rage of wind,
In breaches of the storm, on Cantion cliffs.
The roaring deep lifts up his boisterous foot;
And falls, on the dry land, in cataracts.

All broken lie, of Rome, the long war-ships,

On Kentish coast. Cæsar, again, in haste,
Returns: and to repair so great mishap,
Sends o'er, for shipwrights, to Gaul's Continent.

Whilst Cæsar tarries at the island's coast,
To Cassiobellan, come much woad-stained youth;
That leap to arms and warfare, as to feast.
Have chanted bards, in their lords' halls, this curse:
Who goeth not forth to warfare, for his gods,
Gainst strangers, which the foster-land invade;
Should not his sire acknowledge him his son.
Shall his own wife and children him, and thralls,
Despise: and shall not those, when he comes home,
Run forth, with joy, to meet him. Shall be burned
His homestead, slain his cattle; and he infamed,
Himself and banned; dead, also, with mischance;
Shall not his father's kindred, last, receive
Him, in soul-kingdom of infernal gods!

First to arrive, were young lords, in swift chariots.

They, when great Cæsar turns, again, from shore;
Vex, with oft ambushes, his legions' trains,
And with the Gaulish-Roman horse contend.
Eftsoons, with warlike host, comes Cassiobellan.

Lo, midst his marching legions, Cæsar rides,
Julius, (known to all ages,) on white horse!
And bears a purple cloak, this duke; which hath
All great Gaul, lately, tamed. Then Rome's allies:
Sith voluntary rabble, loose, armed, bands;
Which follow Cæsar's fortune, to his wars:
The sum of all, were fifty thousand spears.

Expedite Cæsar, passed at Conway Stakes,
(Had Cassiobellan fenced that ford, with pales,)
Thames, by his warlike sleight, what though Thames' brinks,
Held Briton chariots; took then, by assault,
(Out of the field,) that hold and cattle-dune,
Of Britons' king: wherein, with infinite beasts,
Few hinds were left. Sith port-sale being made,
Were all, both sheep and beves, to merchants, sold,
For the hides' bare worth; and sold those hirds for thralls.

In this, to Cantion cliffs, his squadroned war-carts,
Leads Cassiobellan, gainst Rome's naval camp.
Long then was fought blind battle, in the night;

Till wounded Cassiobellan Roman dart.
But him, (blue Britons' war-lord,) in his chariot,
A king of Kent, saved, to nigh covert wood:
Where Cassiobellan, now, in languor, lies.
But when ran voice, that was their war-lord slain,
Disperse, (which gathered were, yond Thames,) blue Britons;
Caterfs, in arms, to withstand harnessed Romans.
Nigh-dwelling Trinobants then, first, to Cæsar,
Did sue for peace; with prayer, that Mandubratios,
Prince to him fled, in Gaul, from Cassiobellan,
Were now to them restored, to be their king.
And Cæsar grants: those sureties give; and promise
A, yearly, tribute send, to sovereign Rome.

But Gaulish Commius, royal Atrebate,
Both Britons' friend and Romans'; for not yet
His wrongs were ripe, went unto Cæsar's tent;
Shows great uprising must be, from the North;
And that next moon, of all this Island's tribes:
Aye, and Cassiobellan lives. Wherefore deemed Cæsar,
Expedient, to Kent coast, withdraw his legions.

There, after few days, stived his wasted cohorts,
In the weak remnant of longships; he, loost,
His three-square sails, hoised, from our Britain's coast;

And, once more, stood o'er to Gaul's Continent:
Leaving ten thousand, Latin carcases,
(Soldiers, and who armed followers of the legions,)
To dung that island soil, (yet unsubdued!)
He came to reave; and hoped it to possess.

Rive, angry winds, their sails! But thou strong Albion,
Which hovest, aye, on thy sheen, (it to safeguard,)
Wide, angel-wings, o'er this, free, sea-walled nation;
So break their pirate keels, and cast aback,
With shame and hurt, them; that, with strong armed wrong,
Our erewhile happy Britain would invade!

And thou, whoso thou art, that goest about
To kindle hell, on all our island hearths;
Shalt be a lord, erelong, (strong Albion saith,)
Of souls beneath the waves, and sunken ships.
Take heed thou, (that would'st slay us,) to thyself,
God abhors Cæsars! Against such, be, first,
In fight, each hero's hand, and levelled shaft;
To cut him off, from all Christ's peaceful earth;
Long battle-trodden! Rome's late peril past,
Blue Britons, for a season, then, have rest.

Lat. caterva, a Gaulish word.

Lords ride, in the new year, with warlike chariots,

To Kent's moot-hill: and Britons' parliament,
Assembled, at that tide, lo, to sea cliffs:
Where plays of running horses, and career
Of battle-carts, and many warlike shows;
With pomp and sacred choirs of white-stoled druids.
Britons' chief druid dreamed, he dreamed it, thrice,
And told the kings; that image of his god,
Which Samoth, old, set up on Kentish cliff,
He saw, in vision, turn his divine face,
From Gaul oppressed; and cried immortal voice,
He would remove. The kings, by sacrifice,
Enquire; and it, by signs, confirm their gods.

Devout, then kings and who chief priests, impose,
On new oak wain; (whereto have joined their hands,
Two white colts of a year, whilst loud chant druids,)
The sacred image. Might be manifest thus,
Made the high pleasure of the Britons' god.

Cropping the tender herb, those colts draw forth,
With tardy wavering pace. Wend barefoot choirs,
Of white-stoled druids, all chanting where they trace:
With whom much people, which have crowned their heads,
With guirlands, and that carol on green grass.
Descends this sacred pomp, from shire to shire:

By forest Andred, sith by dark Coitmawr:
And come forth all, to worship, where they trace;
And follow them, with hymns and joyous feast.
Unyoked, at eve, in sheltered leas, are loost,
The sacred steeds, to pasture, till new sun,
Shall mount in the blue oracle of heaven;
Fair as the eyebright flower, full of clear beams.

See, how the goddess, Mother of the Year,
Her virgin youth reneweth! late, having doffed
Her russet homely weed of winter teen,
She takes new raiment, on her, of high tide,
With silver knops and buds of living gold.
The earth her garden is, wherein she goeth,
As Dawn's sweet breath; and all, with green, bedecks,
And gentle flowers, like a bride-chamber floor.

Teems earth's wide bosom, of much sunny rain,
As in what tide the firstlings she brought forth,
Of love, in the fair field of a new world.
A shrilling subtil ferment is abroad,
Like harping small, of iris-wingéd flies.
Ean ewes, in shepherds' pinfolds, without throes;
And fallow-beasts couch, in the fern; where goeth
By, Samoth's god: in thickets, they bring forth.
Comes every kind, that harbours in green wood;

To silver accords of the druids' crowth,
According the swift tripping of their feet,
Forgate their salvage mood. Run the dun does;
That stand then, mongst the hazel-thicks, at gaze.

Through moor, through moss, and many an oozyford,
And bourn, they tread; that, in his hollow brinks,
His pebble-streams, in reverence of the god,
Withholds; that might they, dryfoot, overpass.
Through launds, and by sweet-smelling underwoods,
Which guirlanded with honeysuckle locks;
Where windflower blows, and dew-dropt daffodillies,
With robin, medléd in the thicket grass;
And loved maylilies, most of heavenly grace,
And pure ambrosial breath: where vermeil-white,
Are blossomed boughs, of cherry and the thorn;
And strew wood-apple blosms, their forest path.
Be these wild garden-grounds of Britain's woods.
Bow down their sprays, the latticed boughs of oaks;
And seem to crown the Britons' antique god,
With budded bronze. Bordering these breathing pines,
Beyond the forest, lies fair champaign, wide;
Sweet with wild thyme, and gift of the sun-god;
Which flower of broom gilds widewhere, and the arms
Of thorny honied whin, that heathbell shrouds;
In whose frail trembling crocks, the wild bee sleeps.

And, lo, in the element, follow, from green woods;
(Which druids' pomp o'erhang,) melodious fowl,
Like chapelet, singing praises to the god:
Which past; see, Britons' fields! where now West wind
O'erthrows the barley blade, that tender springs,
To the colts' knees. There, putting flower to flower,
This people gather poesies; and before
The sacred cart, them strew of Samoth's god.

Though, daily, some turn home, each morn more grows
The sacred throngs. And when that blissful sun,
Loosed the god's steeds, is from the earth, gone down;
The Britons, which have washed in some nigh stream,
Their garments and their flesh, to keep them pure,
Sup of what little in their scrips they bare.
Then, nightlong, making leafy boughs their beds,
The harps they hear and holy chant of druids;
Whereto, of waterbrooks, soft bubbling noise,
Makes answering voice; and dew lies on the grass.

Surges blithe lavrock, in the rising sun;
And chants, at heaven's high gate, that new-born god,
Which looks, with flaming locks, above the world.
Then waken all sweet fowl that sing in the morn.
Hark, their full-throated song, in breasts so small!
Hark, siskin, ruddock, linnet and the wren,

Odzee-zit-spirrink! each his leman call.
With train of little birds, flits spotted gawk,
From hill to croft. Rides antique Samoth's god,
(Midst Britons, which bear rowan sprays and sheen
Green oaken boughs and holm, from sacred groves,
Devout, forth, in their hands, by these wild paths;)
Aye tottering image, in new harnessed cart;
With guirlands, deckt. Now they, at length, approach,
(Foot-weary throngs,) the sun-god's sacred plain;
Where nations dead, in grave hills, lie around;
Sun's famed wheel-temple, of the hanging-stones:
Where manifest, once a year, is, with sweet sound,
Of harping, in the skies, the Summer-god,
Who Belin named. Here loost the sacred steeds;
At eve, rest Britons: under the horned moon,
All silent lies, save bruit of crickets shrill.

Springs dawn; joined to the wain, those sacred steeds,
They, whinnying oft; then, daylong, waver round
That holy fane. When this a se'nnight dures,
A bower build, night-time, druids, of oaken green;
Which taking root, over that sacred wain,
At morrow, already, ah, wonder of the gods,
Be growing trees! Moreo'er, was thatch, thereon,
Of clambering ivy-twine, or even, seen!

Chief priests then, which the mind of Samoth's god,
Explore, interpreting that new heavenly sign,
Bade kings proclaim, that turn this people home.
There guest they Samoth's god, leave, of the Sun.

The Greatwood, in Somersetshire.

Now Stonehenge.

The moons have waxed and waned, of seven years,
In Britain's skies; when spake dark oracle,
Nigh city of Troynovant, which, in those days, was,
In chalky cave; would Samoth's god remove,
Beyond sea-waves. For this, contention is,
In their truce-month, mongst sceptred kings; whereas,
To Samoth's hill, of Cantion's windy cliffs,
They come to council. Loud there Gaulish Commius,
(Now king, in Britain's isle, o'er Belges' nation,
Are those earth-tillers and, in arms, proud warriors;)
And whose high heart is turned, as wine, to sour,
To abhor Romans; cries, The god of Samoth,
O'er Cantion seas, to Brennus' Gauls, would pass,
Mongst Britons armed; to burn again proud Rome.

But Cassiobellan, come to Verulam home,
Thence marched, to the sun's fane; fearing lest Commius
Should reave that holy image from Isle Britain.

But angry the sun-god, when voice he hears,
Of strife, and sound of armies in his plain;
Murrain and pestilence casts on beasts and men:
And dures, in both the hostile camps, that death,
Until, to peace, incline men's weary hearts.

Make covenant then, betwixt those kings, chief druids;
That were imposed, in sacred cart, again,
That Samoth's god. Kings' yoke, now old, his steeds;
Which, towards the setting sun, gin new draw forth.
Is season glad: lo, where they journey hold,
Sweet-smelling summer heath and leafy woods!
And sith, by coast, where for wheeled wain, no trode,
Appears; yet as in champaign place, they pass,
Power of the godhead. Chanting, as they wend,
Devout, much people sue the sacred steeds.

Behold them, after many days, arrive,
Whereas murk forest-isle, Silurian Mona,
A streaming sea-strait severs from mainland.
That Sound, o'erswimming, pass the sacred steeds;
To Mona's shore. Britons some in frail curachs
Follow; some swimming, other wade, uneath.

Where now salt-dripping steeds, from the grey flood,
Ascend, behold, full of strange light, a cave;
Cleft erewhile sacred to sea nymphs; whose voices

Priests ween they hear, amongst the tumbling billows.
Druids the antique image there depose;
Which, midst of empire, in long age to come.

Returned from Mona, send back Briton kings,
Who, cunning most, found with them, wrights and smiths;
To edify Samoth's god, some stately house.
Those timber temple-porch, under sea cliff,
That wonder was; with graven balconies,
And high-reared roofs, and stairs; where sacred pomp,
At each year's end, of the tribes' kings, upmounts.
Come that high tide, they dedicate, in dim Mona,
This work; which liken singers of their bards,
To gold-bright mansions of the blesséd gods.

After this age, in Britain, long endured
Peace; Commius dead, dead also is Cassiobellan.
An handful now, of common cinders, made,
Is mighty Julius; he, whom the whole earth,
Seemed but small compass, for his only tomb.
No more, sails Roman navy, into Britain;
But Britons' summer ships, to Roman Gaul,
With corn: and full of people is the Isle;

Whither trade gainful merchants, from the main;
For hounds and wool; for tinny ores and line.

Pass other years: and seemeth that her first peace,
Returned to earth; and truce in weary hearts!
Then, in a night, which lightsome seems as day,
Sounded in Mona's temple-cave, divine
Voice, saying; Him worship, all ye Briton gods!

Dear Muse, which from this world's beginning, was
Seated, above, in heavenly harmonies;
Reveal that Radiance to mine hungry ears,
Thine eyes behold; what sacred Light, far off,
Like New wide Dawn, (for which, men's eyes have watched,
From age to age,) now kindled on the earth!
Whilst Night lies, as a cloak, whelmed on our Britain;
Tell me of Land, under East bent of heaven;
Wherein, is born, the Everlasting Prince
Of Peace, Sun of night-darkness of our hearts!

On her cold hills, lo, snow's white raiment lies:
And journeying, on a lowly ass, there rides
A maiden pure, enwombed of heavenly child;
That not of sinful fleshes seed, conceived;
But as of sunbeams' influence, which looked down,

Divine, from heaven. And though, to a just man,
Espoused, she lately was, she VIRGIN is.

They went by Zion's city and hill; whereon,
Melchizedek worshipped: and her temple walls,
(Wherein wont dwell that Presence of the Highest,)
Reverence! Now, towards the winter's even, draws:
They a little twilight hour, yet journey forth;
Then, weary, Miriam lights down at an inn.

They sup: but, sith, (the chambers being full
All, of wayfaring guests,) rose Miriam, pale,
Feeling much burden of her guiltless womb;
And she sequestered her, in an ox-stall:
Where, kneeling, virgin-spouse, on the clean halm,
With folding hands, she sought the Lord and prayed,
It might Him please, her innocency to make known.

God sent then two poor wives, which, of her kin,
Seemed; (but were angels,) in that darksome bower;
To be her helpers. Miriam leaned and slept.
Then opened God the temple of her womb;
And passed the Love of God, that virgin's BABE,
The gates of childbirth. Shone then all that place,
Wherein no lamp, as full of heaven's light.
Led of an angel, cometh in pious Joseph,
Her husband; who, his eyes being opened, sees
That Holy Babe; beholds those heavenly ones!

It is the Lord-of-Life, that smiles in sleep,
On Miriam's bosom laid: she, virgin, sleeps!

Were certain shepherds, keeping in that field;
Tent-dwellers of low Jordan's wilderness,
Whose wont is, in high Judah's villages,
Seek, in lean winter season, hire of bread.
Those couched, in penury and cold, and nakedness;
Now chill night fallen, abroad, at their poor fires,
Spread their lean hands, and gazed towards holy stars;
Whence cometh all help, to wretched wights' sore need!
Then, suddenly, are the night-heavens full of strange light,
As day now were! Descending to dark Earth,
Shines choir of infinite heavenly angels, bright;
Singing, Good will to men, and on earth Peace!
And triumph in the skies, with holy mirth.

All stoop those angels, to that chalky cave!
Whereas the King of Glory, Light of light,
Lies suckling of poor Hebrew royal maid.
O'er all the World, then, those high starry choirs,
Chanting that new song, in the night, pass forth!
Which hear, in every land, the elect of God,
All virgin-souls, as God first Adam formed:
They see, they hear, dim vision of Christ's Light.

Forsaken lie, in these new days of Christ,

The oracles; and do fail men's fearful hearts.
But in that aweful stound, when the Man-God
His spirit, on heathen Rome's reproachful rood,
Breathed forth, for infinite, infinite, love of souls;
Smote earthquake Britain's Isle. With rumbling sound,
Stumble her hills; as would they kneel, before Him!

But thou me uplift, dear Muse, in heavenly vision,
On thy glad wings, from dull Earth's froward face;
That I might view those admirable things,
Even Christ's New Dawn, on far East hills; and as
The lavrock, Him adore, with holy hymns.
Turn then the tenour of thy golden lays;
And them, to sing Christ's Kingdom come, accord!

Eternal Sacrifice, now, for wretched wights,
The Lamb was slain; and from the dead, arisen,
The Lord received, again, up, into heaven;
And sate down where, before all worlds, He was.
Sith, to the City of Peace, His Promise, hath,
(The Comforter,) Christ, sent down. There, with the twelve,
Lo, a multitude, are believers in the Word:
Mongst whom, young Stephen, erst, hath crown of life
Attained. He, martyr, being before Jews' nation,
Arraigned; and lifting up his eyes, to heaven,

With stedfast angel's face, beheld the Glory
Of the Most-Highest: and, by the Throne, the Son,
Of man; at God's right hand, clothed with the sun,
Standing. But Stephen slain, of Jews, to ground,
Amidst his passion, from his dying bed,
(Whereas he fell asleep, on Jesus' breast!)
Of bloody stones, prayed for his murderers.

Then great affliction was; and scattered forth,
The saints, lo, from Jerusalem, far abroad;
Like as seed-corn is strewed on an earth's field.
But, in that bloody city, a little fold,
Yet break, from house to house, the bread of Life;
Few poor, whose souls are of the magistrates,
Sought, in her impious streets, to be cut off.

Behold, at glooming hour, when the Jews sup,
Those lowly saints, to pass her gates, creep forth;
(So bade them Jesus, flee their enemies.)
Nightlong, then, go those down, by the moon's lamp,
With fearful steps, in many stony paths.

Some to sea-side, gainst morrow, already approach;
Other, to wells, which in South wilderness,
Of Judah; some draw nigh, now, Jordan's flood.
There twain wend down unto that blissful lake,
Which Jesus loved; where, also, with the twelve,

He chose to dwell. The men are Galileans,
Which now, past noon, arrive, to Sychar; where,
Beside their way, is father Jacob's well.
They, in that fresh plot, lodge then, of green field,
Where Jesus, with the twelve, was wont to rest;
When journeying up, from Nazareth, to the feasts.

One of those twain, is Shalum, Gileadite;
Who numbered of the seventy, lately, was,
Of Israel, whom, by twos, the Lord sent forth,
To the hill-villages, which before His face;
And to every city, whither He would pass:
To heal their sick, to bind up broken hearts;
Speak Peace, and preach His Kingdom, on the earth;
And publish this Glad-tiding, in each place.

Parmenas, the faithful deacon, with him, fares:
Is he one of the seven, whom had the brethren,
These late days, chosen, in Jerusalem,
Men, holy, harmless, undefiled, with Stephen;
To serve Christ's household. Weary they begone,
In the noon-heat, from long wayfare, arriving,
Drink of the women's pitchers, at that well,
Which there draw water. Sitting down, those then,
Apart, eat, in remembering Christ, their meat.
Slumber those brethren, sith, on the green grass.

Shalum, in dream of Light! beheld the Christ;

Saying, To bear witness of Me, lo, I send,
You, to nigh city of the Samaritans.
Howbeit those brethren made, being raised from sleep,
At afternoon, as they would, further, pass.

Now, went by Sechem; they, to that hill-gate,
Approach, which, by Engaddim, leads, to Nazareth,
Through Jezreel's plain; and whence there way downforth,
Lies to Capernaum, and that city-shore:
But, was, (them there constraining, the Lord's Spirit;)
They, it left, on their right hand; the upper path,
Hold, league's-way forth. By olive woods, thence passed;
(There where is heap of cursing, which Jews cast,
Of old, o'er Baal-Tartak's idol house:)
They draw, now, nigh to city very great,
Samaria; whose ruins Herod had set up;
And with long porticoes, theatre, it, and arcs,
Adorned. And named Sebaste, in gentile sort.

There entering-in, they boldly, from the gate;
As opened God their mouths, then preach the Christ!
Being come those twain, unto their market place,
Some mock; but other, gladly, hear their speech,
Philip's disciples: which, home to their hearths,
At eve, those weary brethren lead, to sup.

Late days, had Philip, mighty labourer,

In the Lord's vineyard, eared this hill of Shemer,
And men and women Philip's word believed.
Mongst whom the Gittonite, Simon Sorcerer,
Which baptized, with them, was. Sith went down Philip,
Bound in the Spirit, in all fair Sharon's plain;
Preaching Christ risen. And, sith, by the seaside,
(Where hath the saint an house,) he founden was;
At Cæsarea. Which tiding to their ears,
Come, that in Ephraim, these days, had believed;
They, amongst their elders, choose out faithful men,
Which should confer with the Evangelist;
The Shechemite, Assir, namely, and brother Rufus.

Moreo'er those brethren, Jews and Galileans,
Come lately forth from Cephas and the twelve,
Shalum and Parmenas, also, will go down,
In fellowship, unto Philip. Of God's Spirit,
In fasting to enquire, and prayer, together,
With him, concerning questions of their Law,
Which the Angel of the Covenant, from the cloud,
Gave unto Mosa; and of the Promises made
Unto the fathers; namely in Abraham's seed,
How should be blessed all kindreds of the world.
And what should signify, the Lord's Mercy-seat;
Which was in Solomon's temple: yea, and what

That holy thing, the Lord's Shekhinah, is.
And what, now, the Lord's will, for Israel, is.
And if, in Christ's New Covenant, have the Greeks,
Their part. Yet erst, as touching Shemer's Church,
(That little gleaning is, of Ephraim's grapes!)
Whereof hath the foundation, truly, laid
Philip: and what, now, taught us Jesus' voice,
Concerning the ordinances; and that we might walk,
In all things, blameless, in God's holy paths;
Would those consult, with the Evangelist.
Yea, and furthermore, of God's love unto us,
Which, lately, hath revealed the Holy Ghost;
(We being One with Christ, and Christ in us.)

Behold, their little company, that descend,
(The third day, early, are they parted forth,)
From the hill-set city. Assir them, by vines,
Leads; and through olive yards and laurel woods;
And sith, those brethren pass, o'er oozy fords,
Where crooked stream slides tardy, in thicket reeds,
To blue salt deep. They, two days, wayfare thus:
The third, come down to sea-plain; those which hold
The strand, their way, forth, by sea's glittering waves,
To city of impious Herod, now arrive:
Whose gates, anon, they pass. Brings brother Rufus

Them down to Philip's house: but him they find not.
This morn, with certain, from Pentapolis,
Strangers; the Evangelist ascended up,
To the Holy City, unto Jews' high feast.
They lodged then, in his house, will Philip wait.
His mother, Ammah, washeth her son's guests' feet.

Those brethren find, not few, in Cæsarea,
Come hither, from Jerusalem, fugitive:
Mongst whom, that Joseph, named of Arimathea,
Just man and honourable councillor:
Who master being, in Israel, and rich lord,
Believéd on the Holy One of God;
But secretlý, and that for world's regard:
Yet boldly, of unjust Samnite Pilate, asked
He Jesus' body dead; deposed from rood,
It washed from blood, and shrouded; and he laid
Him, in his own, (from whence the Love-of-God,
And hope of all our deaths, the Christ, arose!)
Nigh sinners' dying place, new garden grave.
And, as one dead, unto the flesh, henceforth,
Liveth Joseph, risen in Christ, in lowly wise.
Now rich in heaven, he no more fears the Jews;
Whose elders put him from their Sanhedrim.
In Joseph's holy hands, is healing gift,

So that are sick folk laid forth in their street;
Which wait the saint, what hour his feet should pass.

Brethren, which come from Ephraim, salute Joseph;
With whom, now evening hour, they pray and watch:
And so continue, all the long night-season.
But when now morn, (which sabbath day,) is risen,
They entered in the Jews' chief synagogue.

There, after Moses read, stood Shalum forth,
Servant of Christ: he cries, with kindling heart,
Unto you, is preached Salvation! should not these
Last days, the Lord, among our brethren, choose,
(Whereto bear witness all the holy prophets;)
One like to Moses, which, of every tongue,
Should gather, to Himself, new faithful nation?
And lo, the Lord hath called our brother Ephraim!

Then rose up all the Jews, they stop their ears;
And loud, blaspheming Christ, fling forth, at doors.
And, were not sabbath day, had then been slain,
And stoned, with stones, had been those faithful men.

But when dismounts this tardy sabbath-sun,
To eve, and now is set; in the Jews' ward,

Run hubbub angry throngs, to Philip's house:
Men which have armed, with bats and stones, their hands.
On Ammah's door, they beat, with hideous threat,
And outcries fell! Bring forth those Shomerons,
Which say, in Ephraim, that God's temple is.
Yea and certain entered, with them, Galileans.
In this, went some by, elders, from their town;
Jews, honourable men, that fear the Romans.
These, stayed their steps, such violence gin reprove!
But seld is seen, lewd multitude hath ears.
Greedy of bloody mischief, those thrust on.

Some ribald hand a fire-brand, through the lattice,
Soon cast! Ah! kindles, then, the widow's house.
Ammah her hastes, send, erst, forth, her son's guests,
By her clay thatch; whence, they from thatch, may pass,
To thatch. Sith agéd Ammah, herself 'scapes,
With Philip's two young weeping daughters, forth;
By an inner court, and certain orchard path.

Those brethren light down, then, in little lane;
Which leads, by garden walls, to the sea side.
So issue, with swift foot, and weary hearts,
To the void night, saved from their enemies!
And silent way hold sith, by the sea sand.

Then kneeled they, all, down, on that rumbling shore,
Do pray. Whilst yet they of these haps, commune,
A slumber, sent from heaven, upon them falls.

Half is that watch, outworn, of heaven's clear stars,
When those awaken. Rising up, they wend,
They wiss not whither: shields them the Lord's hand.
An angel meets them, then, in form of Joseph,
By Straton's Tower; who going on, them before;
By lanes, conveys, to certain hidden place:
(Where secretly is wont assemble the Lord's church,)
Ware-room of Mnason, Cyprian merchantman;
And friend to Joses, surnamed Barnabas.

Now dawing nigh, the first day of the week;
Are men and women, in those vaulted walls,
Gathered of the new Israel of Christ;
Whence, hark! their hymns resound and praises sweet.
Therein, descended, by the stairs, the angel
The brethren leads. Behold all those, on whom
The name is named of Jesus, in this town,
How they break bread; that manna, which came down,
From heaven, to us men, sinners. Whilst they eat
One holy Meat, unto Eternal Life;
And sith, that Cup of blessing, they all drink,
With devout hearts, remembering the Lord's death:

Those pure elect souls, which were, erewhile, washt,
In Well of Life, such joy have, that they count,
It were, not hard, themselves, to die: so covet
They, as great gain, be ever with the Christ.
Last, lifting Joseph up his hands, to bless,
Bade them be strong, be fervent, in this hope:
So them dismisseth; for now day is come.
Good Mnason bids all strangers, to his house.

The visible Presence dwelling over the Mercy-seat. In the Heb. word is the sense of dwelling.

Cyrenaica; now part of Moorish Tripoli.

Hebraized form of Greek sunedrion: syn, with, and hedra, seat.

Samaritans.

Acts xxi. 16.

At hour, past noon, when erst wanes midday heat,
The Procurator of Judea, for Cæsar;
Marcellus, rides; with retinue of his servants,
And certain cohorts, up to Jews' high feast:
And after him, were shut the city gates.
Then fear, within those walls, Christ's little flock!

What hour the sun, purpling the sea's wide face,
To evening, stoops; when Jews, day-labourers,
From weary toil, without the city walls,
Gin, lo, return, unto their gate and ward;
Thence sounds, eftsoons, new tumult: yelling, run
Jews' concourse, to the city's market place.
Hark! how, in their harsh Syrian tongue, with husk,
Men shout, and angry throats; To Shomerons death!
Cast all, on Him, their care, Christ's little flock,
Who able is to save them; and where less,

They, in suburbs of their streets, hear fearful voice,
They flit. Lead spouses, children, by the hand;
Some bear, at breast, their little ones, that weep!
Are bloody stirs, no new thing, in this town;
Though every nation, Syrian, Jew and Greek,
Disparted dwell; and shut-to, with strong doors,
By night, the gates be, of their several wards:
And Cæsarea all surviews the Roman arx.
Who Christ's, most-part, flee to the Water-port;
Which aye stands open, towards the haven and mole.
There midst long rocking rows of cordéd ships,
Of Mnason's partners, a stout carrack lies;
Ready, with charge of corn, to loose, for Cyprus.

At quay-side, Mnason waits; whose carrack's barge
Lies, at these water-stairs. His freedman, Malchus,
Brings brethren, running down the haven's long street;
On, by the hand, aboard. Last ascends Malchus,
Cry heard, of raging multitude now approach!
He thrusts then, strongly, out from those marble stones.
So sits, to steer, as Mnason him commands.

Loud Mnason charges, Speed to ship! hoise Ithobal,
(Shipmaster,) sail; and part, anon, for Paphos!

Mnason himself, a Roman citizen,
Fears not, mongst raging Jews, still, to remain,
In Cæsarea. Friends Mnason, also, hath,
Of the household of the governor Marullus.

Bend their stiff chines, his shipfolk, on the banks,
That seem, like bows, then, shoot forth long pine oars.
Already are angry Jews come to the port;
Where mariners lodge, in arches of the mole;
That, heard this stir, run forth, tumultuous.
Glimmer their firebrands, rife, now longs sea shore!
Gin hail Jews' slingstones, then, upon the water.

That deep-fraught bark, in this, to Mnason's ship,
Arrives. And when all, safely, are climbed, aboard;
The shipfolk cut her moorlines. They fall off,
And draw their sail up to light evening-wind;
That here, mostwhat, wont, after the day's heat,
To blow out, o'er salt-deep, from South-west part.
The haven's long marble horns, they slowly pass;
Where, kindled on the pharos, Drusium,
Are watchfires of the night: whereunder, seen,
Bleak row is, lo, of shining statuas;
The abomination, ha! of them that perish!
Semblants of gentile gods, in this moonlight.
Them Idumean impious Herod had raised;

Fawning on Cæsar, who him king ere crowned.
Run-to, that curse them, many yelling Jews;
Fall rife, on Mnason's shipboard, their hurled stones!

A freshing sea-wind boweth down the vessel;
That, like dive-dopper, flushing from salt waves,
Runs sprinkling, o'er the deep; whilst, landward, sound
Sea's infinite surges, as of thousand oars;
Falling, in measure, on a shelving sand:
Steers their ship's pilot fast in with the land.

When they, in dim night, Dora's rocks have passed;
His Cypriot seafolk, which Phœnicians are,
At Ithobal's word, strike mainsail. They, their barge,
Then let down, from the board. Their meaning is,
Those passenger Jews, whom hardly now they saved,
From Cæsarea, to set, here, on the shore.
Into that bark, climbed down, men, little ones,
And wives, they crowd. Rowed-forth, soon shouted was;
That were they well arrived! But thence, that shipfolk,
Returned, will no more, nor for prayer, nor hire,
Put forth, saying; how they saw One on yond shore,
Stand, clothed in a bright light; and that he was
Like their kabîrs, those great and strong ship-gods!

Whilst thus they reason, sudden blast nigh lifted
Their keel, on shelves; wherefore they part, in haste.
Blows the night wind; that Cypriot carrack breasts
Dark justling waves: eftsoon, they loose the land!
That little band, which rest, aboard, of saints,
(And they, in this sea-way, are ill at ease,
Wet, with much flying foam, and cannot sleep;)
Refresh, with murmured hymns, their travailled spirits.

Lo, Carmel's Sacred Head, whose vines, wide crowns,
New rising dawn; which passed, in a large bay,
(Ere Akko named, now Ptolemais,) they fleet,
By Hepha's strand. Ithobal, shipmaster, here;
Those passengers, which remain, would send to shore.
But come is, yestre'en, in, great Smyrna vessel,
Parted from Cæsarea; on whose high poop,
Stand men of Asia, Jews, returning home,
From the Holy City, where the Passover keep
Did many; and some that feast of fruits, or weeks;
But all great day of Jews' atonement fast:
Of whom, last Sabbath morn, in Herod's port;
Had certain heard, in the chief Synagogue,
Shalum disputing; whom, on yond ship-board,
Now brings up, in this road, they do perceive;
And with him Joseph. When those, in their bark,
Then gin descend; they cry out, in Greeks' tongue,

100

To Jews on shore: these, running, take up stones!
Then Ithobal hastes, his barge, again, draw in,
And loose, anew, their great mainsail; ere fail,
This morning-wind. To seaward, Ithobal steers;
And, leaving, on his right hand, Akko shore,
They drive, eftsoon, by Ecdippa's deep sand:
Which passed; they draw forth, by the Tyrian Stair,
Where surges hoary, to white cliff upride.

They sail, from thence, by sea-beat cragged strand,
Which yet named Alexander's Tent, for, there,
Was stretched that king's pavilion, at his spear;
Where he it pight, amongst his phalanxed Greeks:
King whom the Everlasting sent to war;
Wherefore none able were, from West to East,
To stand, before the fury of his face;
Whence He-goat him God's prophet named, of old,
Which pusheth, with his horns. Way for his chariots,
This made him, in the sea, to island Tyre.
He having present need, to pay his army,
Of certain antique temple of Jews' god,
Upland, (in mountain of the Amorite,)
Bethought him, wherein laid-up wealth, he hears.

Of these things, mused the young king, on his bed,
Till time he weary was: so drew his lamp,
And sate him up, of Homer's lays, to read.

101

But lifting Alexander, soon, his eyes,
Beheld, beside him, standing, some old man,
Venerable of aspect! mitred whose hoar hairs;
And shined his linen stole, with precious gems;
Saying, of the Father of all men and gods,
Was he chief priest, in Hierosolyma-hill.

This stretcht his hovering hands, o'er Javan's king,
Forbade him, to molest God's City of Peace!
But drawing, from his bosom, forth, bright scroll,
He read therein, of the king's wars to come.
Whilst yet gazed Alexander, on this vision,
And could not speak, it went up from his seeing.
Then called the king, and questioned with his guard:
But made one answer all, They saw no man!
Wherefore, at day, he sent his messengers,
With gifts, to Jews' hill-god; which His priests bade,
To sacrifice, for Greeks' king, an hundred steers.

The Cabiri: kabîr, signifies great.

Then mighty pillar of the crystal house
Of heaven: they sacred Shenir see, from board;
Great rib of earth, which wont were Tyrians call,
The Shining-face-of-Baal, their mighty god:
(Was Israel's far-off border,) Hermon, white;
Whence dwell the tented children of the East;

102

Whereon looked Jesus' youth, from Nazareth;
And, daily, his manhood, from that blissful lake,
Which, like to golden cup, with roses, crowned.

On the hot-shining sea, to noon-tide draws;
And flags, on the tall mast, now their great sail.
They, tardily, draw by Tyrus' wealthful Isle;
Where Melkarth's idol-temple, brazen roofed,
High-built, shines midst Phœnician merchant town.
But troubled were, the while, those brethren's hearts,
When cry comes of her markets to their ears:
Whilst they record, how letters the chief priests
Had, from Jerusalem, sent, through all these coasts!
By poor then and grey town, they, slowly, fleet;
Which in blue sea-waves, glasseth her thick roofs;
Zarepta city, from low rock, where yore
Time, certain desolate woman dwelt devout;
Fearing, mongst the Zidonians, Israel's god:
Which nourished, two years, in her widow's house,
God's prophet, (him, who Chariot named was sith,
Of Israel.) There the Lord, also, the sick,
Had healed; and cast out many unclean spirits.

At length, with lowering skies, this day decays.
Shoots the low sun yet few thwart golden rays,
On that great Zidon, of the fishers' rock.
Beyond them, glooming night, falls; with few stars:

103

Then look down covert heavens on their ship-voyage.
Breathes, rising, a night-wind: they laid then course,
Bear up now, for Phœnician Berytus:
Where, those few Jews would send, to shore, good Malchus.

Perhaps Snowy peak.

Now Beyrout.

All sleep now, weary, in their reeling vessel,
Save Adherbal, the ship's pilot; who the helms
Governs, and few his mariners, that yet watch,
Under the snoring shrouds, their sail. But passed
That headland, which before the city lies;
A land-wind, sudden, out of Lycus' jaws,
The carrack smites. Staggers their hull, and run
The sea-folk forth; that fast then hale and brace.

Stands Ithobal; and on stars and misty rack,
Firming his eyeballs, tempest toward sees!
But sith, here, no safe haven is, he commands,
Bear-up, again, head seaward! Steer to fetch
Jebail, for shelter, (Byblos of the Greeks;
Phœnician city, of old name, for tall
Ships' timber, hewn in nigh, high, Lebanon.)

Full of main gusts, now starless is their course.
Then lift up, mariners, of this Cyprian vessel,
Their palms, devout, amongst the surges great,

104

And roar of storm, to Ashtareth, star-sheen, goddess,
Of strange Phœnice; whose trëen image, crowned
With an horned moon, is, heavenly mother, seen,
In temple-oracle of yond Aphic cliffs;
Amidst blue woody bosom of the mount,
Of lovely Adonis, sacred cedar's grove:
Whereby is that white, welling, cave; wherein
Her handmaids, changed, for grief, to marble stone,
(Were hundred nymphs, which bathed their breasts,) are seen.
And thence, to deep sea-dale, down-rolls that stream,
Which through Adonis' garden flows; and is
It yearly purpled, as with that god's blood.
What days are wont Phœnician frantic women,
Him to bewail, (their sun-god, Tammuz,) slain;
By tushes slain, of fell wood-boar, alas!
Slain his young beauty, an-hunting in dim forest.
Two days, they, weeping, beat their wanton breasts;
The third, cry; He is made, again, alive!
Lord of the year! and they, with pæans, rejoice;
With dance, loud cymbals and lascivious rites.

Yet more, this tempest's rage, out of the North,
Bearing the night-rain; on his darksome wings,
Scourgeth the hoary waves, about their carrack.
In so sore wind-strokes, Ithobal looseth hope;

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To fetch Jebail, his haven, or Tripolis; they
Must run for Cyprus; or, in this sea-trough,
Lie-to all night. What though were perilous,
That open sound, yet is this now their course.
They carry rent and lowly sail; pipe loud,
The rattling shrouds: seize on their trembling poop,
New whirling blasts. Seem surge, above the mast,
Swart seething waves. They see, of Arvad pharos,
Last, a dim light; in looking towards the land.

How dread is this sea-night, tempestuous!
Seems, bound unto so frail and mortal flesh,
Man's life, like wafted gossamer, on some cliff;
Uncertain should it fall on field or deep.
Now, covered of swart waves, wind-shaken, groans
Their vessel. Bounden, sits old Adherbal,
To rule the rudder-bands: this dures long forth;
Till hour when look they now the day should break.
Then, to their ears, betwixt the flaws of wind,
Raught noise of breaking waves. The Cypriots sound;
Anon, in dread to fall on some sharp rocks;
But find no bottom. They, for dawn, then wait;
Which yet appeareth not: under the lee,
Then, somewhile, lie; where puts an headland forth.

But when now afternoon, they make account;

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New storm-wind, suddenly, smites that Cyprus ship,
Out on hoar deep. And as we see, from furrow,
To furrow, scud, sere bough, in lent-month's blast;
So o'er the wild wave-rows, that Chittim vessel,
Now hurried is, from shelter of the cliff.
Falls night, nor see they the Phœnician star;
Nor lamp shines, in high heaven, of blesséd gods.

The morrow and thereafter, many days,
They drave: then loom was seen, of Crete's white land;
And, through much mist, as gleam of herdman's fire.
And bark was heard, of hound, on some steep shore.
Now Malchus, Ithobal and the Cyprian pilot,
Consult, for their ship's course: and sith now must,
Their hull to save, part lading needs go lost;
They cast out burden of Egyptian corn.
Their sea-beat carrack, then, more upright rides.

The river mouth, now called Nahhr el-Kelb.

Now Mnason's starless ship night-shadow shrouds,
From mortals' ken; but not from heavenly sight.
The Spirit-of-supplication, poising, bears
The evening sacrifice of those few saints,
Beyond the high-starred, crystal firmament.
Heard; and looked down the Father-of-the-World:
He Gadera and Chittim sea, He Tarshish Isles,

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Saw; and He, Ocean-main surviewed; beholds,
In dark storm, labouring, that Phœnician vessel;
Whence feeble cry comes to His infinite ears!
Commanded the Almighty Father cease
Then tempest's rage! And looked God towards an Isle,
Crowned with white cliffs, and walled of running waves;
Which full of greenness, He, the Lord, beyond
This Midland deep, (midst Ocean-streams,) had made.
God smiled; and nodded His immortal brows!
And, in that moment, when, of Godhead, smiled
The aweful looks, in her long travail, was
The earth refreshed; and brought forth kindly flowers.

God's voice, out of the Throne, called angel Albion;
(Is he a mighty prince of heavenly host,)
Saying, Lo, I have compassion on My saints!
Go faithful Spirit; and to that Utmost Isle,
Where in I will, whilst sun and stars endure,
Were called Mine holy name, My chosen servants
Convey, which sail in yonder Chittim vessel.

Like unto sunny ray, that holy angel,

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Stoopt, through the veil and temple of the stars,
To Middle-earth. Lo, on the misty rack,
He stands as Sirius! Shine out, with dread light,
Murk hollow skies. This holy vision hangs,
Before the slumbering eyes, of sea-beat Joseph,
Who hears, from heaven, a voice saying, Peace of God,
And of his Christ, be with you, in the ship.
Wakes Joseph: sounds this word yet in his ears!

Though cold their bodies, and their raiment wet,
Sleep on the saints: and when the morrow breaks,
Behold, it is the first day of the week.
They risen, come all together, to break bread:
Good Joseph tells them, also, his night vision.
Then consolation creeps, in their dull veins,
Forgetful of dark tempest and sea-waves.

But fear is fallen, on the heathen mariners,
Which sail in Mnason's ship; seen how hath naught
Prevailed their prayers and vows, which they have made,
At sea, to Baalim, these many days.
Then kindle, with old malice, their rude hearts,
Gainst those sad passengers, which be Jews of nation;
Abhorred, in all the world, of men and gods:
That hurl vast tempest, in this winter deep,

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Upon them. They gin, covertly, then, conspire;
Come night, to oppress Jews sleeping, and their corses
Cast to sea-waves; and purge the vessel's board.
So them might, haply, Baal save to some land.
But were not all, therein, of one accord:
For, mongst them, certain Hamdan, Idumean,
(Whose mother of Jews' kin,) gainst eve, warns Joseph:
Unto Ithobal, Joseph speaks; and he with Malchus.

Their days are storm, the nights tempestuous;
And o'er grey billows, they are, aye, wind-driven:
Nor sun they see, nor moon, nor stars, in heaven.
Now is night's watch; soon spent that little light
Which made their day. Then to the travailled saints,
In the ship's bilge; whose hearts, with hymns, were rockt,
On quiet rest, shows Albion sudden ray!

The brethren start, from slumber, to ship's hatch;
And Malchus, Ithobal, Hamdan, find, that watch;
With swords drawn in their hands, for Mnason's guests.
Is lull, the while, of storm. With murderous yell!
Sudden, in that, break drunken mariners forth,
And wielding glittering knives, from their foreship.
They parted, then, among them, in two bands;

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Rush in bleak moonshine, by the vessel's sides.
Naught heed those Ithobal's voice; that scourges, chains,
Threatens: he smites who foremost, then, in press:
By whom, borne forth; this, from the reeling board,
Ah! plumbs in darksome wild waves' wilderness!

Who thrust on, drunken, bear then back, aghast:
Some reel for lanterns; some call on strong gods;
Other warp cable-rolls. All tend thick ears,
And dreary eyeballs, over seething billows,
Strain; where them thought, above these surges' din,
They heard his drenching yell. Lifting the saints,
Their hearts; they ask that life, for Jesus' sake.
And, lo, swart yawing sea, in hoary lap,
Him bears again, of dim returning billow.
The brethren saints, Christ's saving hands outstretch:
And from the counter, taking, on him, hold;
The drunken drenched wretch, now nigh dead, for fear,
Draw, to their shipboard in, those men of prayer.

Yet turn, of new, the heathen mariners,
Blinded of hell, to slay those innocent Jews.
Then thundered heaven, a lightning split the mast,
And ruins the immense yard, o'erthwart their vessel.
Arrests the shuddering ship, an hand divine.

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Those heathen, on their faces, as dead men,
Fall; for they, standing, saw Some Heavenly One,
Exalted, like a cypress, on sea-deep!
From whose eyes, issue two consuming sheaves,
Of fiery leams. Of Ithobal and of Malchus,
The angel did moreo'er re'nforce the voices,
As seemed were battle-shout of three-score men!
And seemed, as the murk wind, about them round,
Gleamed full of threatful glaives and heavenly spears!

One of the brethren, that thwart-fallen beam,
Whereunder lie bruised wretches overthrown,
With his great faithful force, uplifts, alone;
Young Alexander, which was Simon's son,
That on his shoulder, bare the Gate-of-heaven.

Nightlong, (for so He loved our souls,) the Lord,
Despiteful contradiction had endured,
Of sinners, spit on, buffeted, ah! and bruised.
Weary forwatched then, in the morning tide,
Stooped, lowly, His meek neck, the Love of God;
Whereon, have wicked men laid His own rood,
Heavy and rudely knit, wild-olive beam;
And it the Lord-of-Life, bears forth, behold!
Follow blind Jews, with train of Roman soldiers;
That glory give to God, for Jesus' death;
Shooting out tongues, full of despiteful mocks,

112

As troubler of their State. Mourn, in the press,
Few men of Galilee, hanging down their necks;
And covered is their face. And where they pass;
Daughters of Salem wail on their house tops,
Beating, as for one newly dead, their breasts;
Of whom had healéd many Jesus' word;
Yea, and divers had the Lord raised from the dead,
The Lord-of-Life, which goeth forth unto death!

Christ's fasting knees, the gallow-tree, beneath,
Faint. Last, He fell down, in that paved long street,
Which, by the temple, leads, from Pilate's house,
Through the North gate, to paths of Galilee.
Fell the pure body of the virgin-born:
And lay, on street's stained stones, the Christ oppressed!
In that, there cometh one, Simon, by the gate,
From Mizpeh field; but this averts his face,
From impious Romans, and from sinners' death:
Whom seeing one mighty of limb, gan Pilate's soldiers,
Calling him Mule! compel, threatening their spears,
Take up the cross of this condemned to death;
And bear where hanged are thieves and murderers!

But quail, in Mnason's ship, the mariners' hearts;
Seen so dread tokens, as of angry gods.

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Before the glaives of Ithobal, Hamdan, Malchus,
They now recoil, confusedly, to their bay;
Where shuts them Albion in. With sceptre, he
Thrusts on the carrack ship; that speeds all night,
O'er infinite blowing forest of salt billows.
The saints, with Malchus and good Ithobal, watch:
In whose hands, swear those shipmen, when new day
Is made; by their great gods, Peace to the Jews!

The seamews, hoary, crying round their vessel,
Is sign, those shipfolk ween, of some nigh coast.
Ere noon, men, on their backboard, loom, discern,
Of land! Isle Iranim they, eftsoon, it deem;
Which shows, like mountain, midst high-running billows,
Station of the Phœnician merchandise.

Great surges break, in spouts, on yond swart cliffs.
Here can they make, for rage of storm, none haven.
But, unto all which ask him, Ithobal license
Grants, which their weary lives would, in the skiff,
Out of his ship, (that unseaworthy is,)
Hazard, through perilous waves, here, save, to land.
Adherbal, more inward, steers then with the coast:
Where seen some skerries break the billows' force;
Whose rolling caves seem watery sepulchres!

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The mariners haste them, let down their ship's barge,
Which fleets, in jeopardy to be staved. On Baal!
Men cry and call, which leap down to frail bark!
Now on surging billow climbs: they thrust then forth.
Only the pilot, that lies sick and old,
With Malchus and good Ithobal, in the carrack,
Abide; and Phelles, he whom saved the brethren;
Nor this would them forsake, for any death!
Those travailling, in their barge, with broken oars,
Now mantle spread for sail. On watery hills,
Lo, borne, towards heaven; they seem then shrink beneath!
Soon covers them, from sight, a falling mist.
The brethren, gazing on that boisterous gulf,
Pray, (so Christ bade them,) for their enemies.

Perhaps Pantellaria.

This wind goes down, upon wild waves, all night.
They sleep, till morrow's break, with cheerful face;
Like to some gracious dawn, in Canaan,
With azured sea and firmament of gold.
How bows that pilot old, upon the plank,
(Murmuring his heathen hymn,) his brow, to kiss
The holy sunbeams, garment of his god!

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Finds Ithobal, there is corn yet in the ship,
And loaves unspoiled; and water might suffice,
For many days. Cast angles in salt deep,
Now calm, the brethren; and take store of fish.
Sith gather all hearts comfort, whilst they dine.
Then Joseph and the saints sing temple songs,
With holy mirth and rest, in their sad hearts.

Consult good Ithobal, Malchus, Mnason's servant,
And Adherbal, pilot: they, and this wind shift,
Would bear up for great Roman Carthage-port.
To winter, there, they purpose and refit:
And turn, from Egypt, with the merchant fleet.

Men of the sea, they hew away their mast,
Was split; step boom, sling yard, whereon they bend,
A driving sail. But scourges winter blast,
New, o'er sea-deep; which hurries, from her course,
Their tottering carrack. Bound, sits Ithobal,
Unto his helms, all night, in the dark hatch.
He heard, then, in his ears, sound heavenly voice,
Saying, Ithobal, take no thought, for thy ship's course.
He sees, how, midst sea-streams, lies glittering path!
Wherein his ship descending in the West.
From whence, by rudder's sway, or set of sail;

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Can he his keel not wrest. But like as stork,
Which, in her season, flits to soil far off:
(Closing her eyes, she beateth her wide wings,
Through the night-murk; and yet she faileth not;)
So Mnason's ship holds to her destined port.