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

But when the third day's morning-star is risen;
Sea-currents set them over, towards an isle:
Where, twixt two rocks, past noon, midst water's race;
And shoaling now salt tide, their keel sits fast.

They heard soon, from steep cliffs, above, as voice
Of women's chant. Lo, black-stoled women wights!
Yelling, those beat, with crooked hands, their dugs.

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Their long white hairs ben all, to the wild gusts,
Uncomely loost. Anon, lo, with linked hands,
They tread together, round, in their mad fit.
Some, then, would cast her down, of the weird women;
But of her distraught sisters, is withholden.
Those rend their cheeks to blood: the cliff, the woods,
As it the flitting Air's fond daughter were,
Which druids feign, a wind-born Nymph, unseen;
(As spark of flint, she wakes; and then laments,
Like one love-pined; nor tarrieth to die!)
Or rock-indwelling Spirit, as Pistos saith;
Make answer, to their shrieks, and outcries shrill.

Pistos then, standing on ship's poop, in speech
Of Gaul, shouts; Noble virgins of the Isle,
Hearken God's message, which in these men's mouths!
But they fling backward, wailing, and were hid.