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

Behold, new birth of the long-dying night,
How day, with cheerful face, is springing wide!
Sounds, of small fowl, the mingled sweet consent,
From river-brinks, of Britain's underwoods,
Warbeling God's love, among their leafy bowers.
On trembling, lightsome, wings, blithe lavrock mounts.
With iss-iss! shrill, sheen swallows flit aloft;
And chants, from thicket-grove, 'lone nightingale.
Are golden bees borne-by, on dawn's sweet breath,
To dewy hills. Hark cushots, sobbing soft.
Like unto bride, seems this fair land, adorned.

Beat, once, his mighty wings, their angel-guard;
And mounts, to view, who worthy them receive;

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That bear the words of Life. And he discerned
One Amathon, who a bountiful rich lord,
And upright, in dark places of the druids;
That seemed the man an heavenly providence.

But slumber on the eyelids of the saints,
Yet Albion lays: until this blissful sun,
Warming the field, is climbed now high in heaven.
Then, waked, they come up, in the hatch, amazed,
These river shores to see, on either hand;
Britain's sweet soil! Seals lift their hoary heads,
Like hounds, from this salt flood, on them, to gaze.

The Syrian women might not choose but weep,
To see a land, which seemeth them to receive.
Now ebbs the flood: on shelves, their keel sits fast.
When water no more, under them, appears,
They let down ladders. Then to land grope forth,
The saints, like unto Noah, in a new Earth.
Phelles and Ithobal marvel, viewed their bilge,
With gaping seams, that it could storms outride!
Then all they, kneeling, lowly, on salt strand;
In looking up to heaven, do yield God thanks,
Which hath them saved. And sith an hymn they sing.
And when they Joseph's vision understand,
Who it recounts: how God here gives them rest;

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The saints their needful things bear forth to land;
Till afternoon, when they, on Britain's earth,
Break bread of Christ, and dine, with thankful hearts.

They view, then, the fair aspect of this shore.
Above, yond hazel-brinks and hanging woods;
Where some ones, gone up, under bramble bank,
With ivy o'er-grown and the sweet-smelling briar,
Whereunder primrose blows and the blue flower;
Find wonne, delved, underground, as garner were:
And for none better herberge, in that place,
They make it neat; and fence from wind and wet;
With sailcloths, which had Phelles fetched from ship.
Ended this hasty work, the sun dismounts.

Long now is twilight, in the parts of Britain.
The brethren there remove. Sith, kindled fires,
They sit, their hearths around, in stranger land.
The Levite Barnaby, lifting up glad voice,
Among the saints, then, prophesied; and he spake:

Our eyes, this day, have seen far heathen coast;
Beyond the seven floods. God sent His angel,
Who saved us, hither, out of raging gulf,
(Paths of great waters, in the broken ship,)

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Lord, of Thine untamed greatest creature, Deep:
That infinite Mother, of live's things; which move,
In her salt bosom; untamed as fierce winds,
That o'er her strive! To whom Thou gavest, of old,
The clouds, for garment. Lifted Deep her hands,
Her wrestling stormy hands, gainst Mnason's vessel!

But God, to Whom be praise; for ever and ever,
Who Father is of all, wills this sea-isle,
Wherein He maketh the glory of His Sun,
Also, to shine; through preaching of the Word,
Which in our hearts, were Land of Christ, henceforth:
Sing, Amen, halelu-yah, land of Christ!
O, praise Him, in the Height! our weary hearts.
The brethren-saints, with Barnaby, loud, give thanks.

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God of all Comfort! they, hosanna! chant.
Those pray together, then, in Christ, and sleep.

Labours the moon and wades, in scudding rack;
And soon is swallowed-up, in gloom, the night.
Bellow blind vaulted heavens, with lightnings, rent;
And rock the pillars of the firmament!
Thick rain, abroad, falls, seething, in the grass.
Roar the swart rooted pines, before huge blast;
And nod the stedfast oaks, on the hill's brinks.

Plunges, beneath, on moorlines, Mnason's ship,
In the vext tide. Sudden, a thrilling lightning,
Smote the wind-shaken carrack; that, riven, drives forth:
Her mast is split, her poop; her tackling burst,
Upon the wind-scourged torment of the water.
Toward day, now was, when this strong tempest ceased;
And shine the starry signs, anew, in heaven.

Erst, when fair Dawn, out of her silver gates,
With dewy pitchers, in her hands and crowned,
With vermeil roses, treads forth, in wide East,
And shines, before the sun, gold-glittering path;
The saints awaken. Ithobal then went forth:
And first, that mariner looked, to skies, aloft;
Sith down to river-brink, to see his carrack.

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How amazed stands Ithobal! How? Is there no ship!
Eftsoons he makes, then, count of sore night-tempest!
Whose signs, the bough-strewn hill-side: green rent locks;
Of yond, lo, broken ash! this laid, drowned, grass.
This mould, too, fretted of new watercourses!

Praise-ye Jah.

Save, we pray.