 | Rural sketches and poems |  |
181
CORONACH,
OF DRUID BARDS OVER A BRITISH CHIEFTAIN.
“The most important and essential rite of Sepulture among the
Ancient Britons was the funeral song, containing the praises of the
deceased, sung by a number of bards, to the music of their harps,
when the body was deposited in the grave. To want a funeral
song was esteemed the greatest misfortune and disgrace; as they
believed that without it, their spirits could enjoy no rest or
happiness in a future state.”
On Eston's promontory
Renown'd in ancient story,
A reverend Druid stood—
His locks were long and hoary
His hands were red with blood.
FIRST BARD.Renown'd in ancient story,
A reverend Druid stood—
His locks were long and hoary
His hands were red with blood.
“Hail foremost of heroes, the godlike in might,
Beloved of the maidens, of foemen the dread
No more shall thy faulchion be wielded in fight
No more shalt thou triumph 'mid heaps of the dead.
Beloved of the maidens, of foemen the dread
No more shall thy faulchion be wielded in fight
No more shalt thou triumph 'mid heaps of the dead.
Like an oak-tree of Kempley he tower'd o'er the foe,
The tempests of battle rag'd round him in vain,
Destruction awaited each terrible blow,
As he trod like an Angel of Death o'er the plain.
The tempests of battle rag'd round him in vain,
182
As he trod like an Angel of Death o'er the plain.
He was mild as the rainbow, like morn bright and clear,
His hair soft and curling as mists of the hill
He was strong as the wild-boar and fleet as the deer
In Love and in Battle victorious still!”
His hair soft and curling as mists of the hill
He was strong as the wild-boar and fleet as the deer
In Love and in Battle victorious still!”
With groans and piteous weeping
They mourn'd the hero sleeping,
In sadness and despair:
Whilst women's hands were reaping
Their locks of raven hair.
SECOND BARD.They mourn'd the hero sleeping,
In sadness and despair:
Whilst women's hands were reaping
Their locks of raven hair.
“Where the wild-roe was swiftest, and fiercest the boar,
Fast as whirlwind he sped o'er each forest and dale,—
Now the mountains shall echo his footsteps no more,
No more shall the hunter's rejoice at his call.
Fast as whirlwind he sped o'er each forest and dale,—
Now the mountains shall echo his footsteps no more,
No more shall the hunter's rejoice at his call.
No more shall his hearth ring with festival cheer,
When the minstrels awoke each melodious tone,
As the maids gaily dancing, the guests quaffing near,
We chanted the deeds of his forefathers gone.
When the minstrels awoke each melodious tone,
As the maids gaily dancing, the guests quaffing near,
We chanted the deeds of his forefathers gone.
Once like spring-tides of Ocean, like wolves of the plain,
Like the Avelanche rolling its deluge of snow,
Like some fierce mountain torrent all swollen with rain
In fury he rush'd on the ranks of the foe.”
Like the Avelanche rolling its deluge of snow,
Like some fierce mountain torrent all swollen with rain
In fury he rush'd on the ranks of the foe.”
Now came the Chieftain's daughter
And to the solemn slaughter
Led forth the snow-white bull:
Whilst from the roaring rafter
The flames ascended full.
THIRD BARD.183
Led forth the snow-white bull:
Whilst from the roaring rafter
The flames ascended full.
“Now Denmark, and Norway, and Iceland rejoice,
The valiant is perish'd once first in the fray,
He is dead the brave Chieftain whose terrible voice
Scatter'd dread and despair o'er each Island and bay.
The valiant is perish'd once first in the fray,
He is dead the brave Chieftain whose terrible voice
Scatter'd dread and despair o'er each Island and bay.
But you, grateful Britons, whilst heaping his pyre,
Remember with rapture his glorious name,
For bright as the flames of this funeral fire
Shall his deeds shine aloft in the Temple of Fame.
Remember with rapture his glorious name,
For bright as the flames of this funeral fire
Shall his deeds shine aloft in the Temple of Fame.
His bones may all crumble, his Urn may decay,
His sword and his faulchion perish with rust,
But his spirit shall flourish in brightness of day,
And a radiance Immortal illumine his dust.”
His sword and his faulchion perish with rust,
But his spirit shall flourish in brightness of day,
And a radiance Immortal illumine his dust.”
CHORUS.
“He is gone!” loud rang the Chorus,“He has reach'd the skies before us,
And he walks the sacred vale:
But his spirit hovers o'er us,
And re-echoes Glory's tale!”
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