 | The Dawn in Britain |  |
Now drew to afternoon, when living shout,
Of Briton herdsmen, sounds, from holt to croft!
With bleating voice of sheepy multitude;
That troop down, o'er hill's brow, upon green bent;
And deep-mouthed bark of hounds. Standing on craigs,
Those hirds cast stones, and send, with confused shouts,
Out their loud curs. The brethren, after meat,
Were sitting in their bower; and lay did sing,
Of Galilæan fishers, on the lake:
They cease; but might not, more, the saints be hid.
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With bleating voice of sheepy multitude;
That troop down, o'er hill's brow, upon green bent;
And deep-mouthed bark of hounds. Standing on craigs,
Those hirds cast stones, and send, with confused shouts,
Out their loud curs. The brethren, after meat,
Were sitting in their bower; and lay did sing,
Of Galilæan fishers, on the lake:
They cease; but might not, more, the saints be hid.
Eftsoons the shepherds' hounds smell to their lodge;
And crouching howl, now fearful whine and bay;
So that those hirds run-to, with bats and stones;
Looking for some fell beast. How, amazed, they stand,
Mongst thorny craggéd arms of bramble bush;
To see new face of men, in raiment strange!
They chide their curs; and gazing on these strangers,
The herdwights stand, upleaning on their cromes.
And crouching howl, now fearful whine and bay;
So that those hirds run-to, with bats and stones;
Looking for some fell beast. How, amazed, they stand,
Mongst thorny craggéd arms of bramble bush;
To see new face of men, in raiment strange!
They chide their curs; and gazing on these strangers,
The herdwights stand, upleaning on their cromes.
The men, are breeched with fells of their sheep's fleece:
On their large shoulders, hang long gabans warm.
How seem those angel-fair, with yellow locks!
The elder shepherd, called-off his loud curs,
Them chaceth far with stones. He and his sons,
Before their bower, then, sitting, on green grass;
Bewonder still those strangers' reverend looks!
On their large shoulders, hang long gabans warm.
How seem those angel-fair, with yellow locks!
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Them chaceth far with stones. He and his sons,
Before their bower, then, sitting, on green grass;
Bewonder still those strangers' reverend looks!
But opened, in Armoric tongue, good Pistos,
His mouth, quoth; Peace! Nor marvel, Friends, these strangers,
Whose keel was cast now on your river's coast,
Be servants of High God, of all wide earth.
His mouth, quoth; Peace! Nor marvel, Friends, these strangers,
Whose keel was cast now on your river's coast,
Be servants of High God, of all wide earth.
The elder herdman, sent a son, for milk;
Which when they had drank out, that Briton hailed
The strangers, guests! and, Dylan, named himself,
Set o'er the flocks of rich lord Amathon,
Who the desire should fulfill of their hearts.
Then Dylan sent his sons, to mind the flocks:
And bring (he shouts,) when they return, gainst eve,
Some yearling lamb, to supper of their guests!
Then Dylan went himself, to gather wood.
Which when they had drank out, that Briton hailed
The strangers, guests! and, Dylan, named himself,
Set o'er the flocks of rich lord Amathon,
Who the desire should fulfill of their hearts.
Then Dylan sent his sons, to mind the flocks:
And bring (he shouts,) when they return, gainst eve,
Some yearling lamb, to supper of their guests!
Then Dylan went himself, to gather wood.
| The Dawn in Britain | |