Book XXIV

THEN taking leave of Lazarus and his house,
In Gaul; Zelotes set his stedfast face,
To go to visit Arimathean Joseph:
And, one day's journey, Justus brought him forth.

Simon went, forty days, then on his feet,
Nor ceased, for any weariness he hath:
Even whilst he walks, he is, in spirit, with Christ.
He came to haven, at length, which looks towards Britain;
And finding corn-ship ready, in the road;
Which should, to-day, Isle Britain's sea-strait pass;
Simon hath hastily entered, on her board.

He the Island views hence, far-off; as we see
Sometime the moon hanging, after midday,
Like a white cloud, in sky. They loosed, at eve,
Sail forth. Whilst sleeps the weary saint and rests;
Them, o'er sea-billows, wafts a South wind's breath;
So that, or day, they furl in Dubris' port.

Were, (as the Lord ordained,) come, yester-even,
To white-cliffed Dubris, other proselyte Greeks;
Two men, of that New Life in Jesus Christ;
From Durovernium, (now a Roman station,)
For their affairs. As they, at morn, went forth;
It fortuned them to mark a new-furled ship,
Within the port; and standing, on her board,
Some stranger of their own far Midland-deep;
Seems whose sleeved raiment of Phoenician fashion.

Those then, companions, entered in a skiff,
Do row aboard. When they return to land,
Soon, those bring with them the Apostle Simon;
Whom found they one, that Maran-atha quoth,
And named the Holy Christ! They, to the inn,
Him lead, their guest; and Simon there abode,
Two days. The third, he went, with one of theirs,
Forth, which should guide his steps, towards Troyno-vant.

Faring then, by stone-street, and paths of Kent,
Five days; aye pressed in spirit, the father prays,
Aloud: and where they lodged, spake much of Christ.

Roman Augusta Londinium, now wasted,
And burned lies, both sides Thames. Howbeit they find
Some which, of Alexander, hearers were;
Mongst whom, refreshed, the saint, the second morrow,
Fared-on, by new paved way, to Verulamion.

And happened Pistos there to be arrived,
Ere days; who, with great reverence, by the hand,
Takes that disciple of the Lord! and Simon
Brake also, with them, bread of the New Life:
And he their faith confirms, and they rejoice.

Being come the morrow, Pistos brought him forth;
And will him lead, through land, to visit Joseph.
Calleva now they pass; and thence descended,
By Venta and Sorbiodunum, fare to Aquae:
Where being arrived, tiding, to fenny Alban,
Sends Pistos, hastily, whilst they rest, to Joseph;
Simon is come, the kinsman of the Lord!

He, father, marvelling, rose-up, with the brethren;
And went forth, to meet Simon, in the path.
Young men were they and ruddy, whilst conversed
The Lord on earth; now aged men, they meet.
Joseph, who borne in litter, hastes to light;
And each, on other's neck, those fall and kiss;
Saying Shalom, Maran-atha, and they do weep.
Though changed, through length of days, their out-ward face,
Simon and Joseph know each other's voice;
Sounding, in Utmost Isle of the whole earth.

Is noon, when they arrive, with concourse great,
At Ithobal's hall. There, sitting soon, at meat;
That living Bread, come to us sinners down,
From heaven, they do all break; and drink that cup
Of blessing. Sith, in much discourse, they pass
The hours, till eve; and then short night, nor marked
Any it is night; and they forget to sleep:
So joy they, in that Hope; and is the Spirit,
With them, of Prayer; and in their midst, is Christ.

Much hath hoar-headed Simon, to relate:
O'erall, Christ's everlasting gospel preached;
And of the twelve, how some were fallen asleep;
Philip, Nathaniel, Levi, and Juda, and James.
Simon, the son of Jonas, feeds Christ's flock.
That loved disciple daily is rapt to Christ,
In heavenly vision. Both to Jews and Greeks,
Saul, which ere persecuted the Lord's Church,
Hath, in all Asia, the glad tidings preached.
Simon of Githa, that withstood the Truth,
With his forged signs, is lately dead, in Rome.

He tells how Lazarus, Martha and Mary of Clopas
Dwell, in great river-city of the mid-Gauls;
But Miriam passed before them, to New Life.
And Miriam, mother of the Lord, deceased:
And James the Just the Jews have done to death.

But heard, how many afflictions are of Christ,
By cruel persecutions; cannot choose
Joseph, nor aged Simon, but they weep.
Whereat strong outcry arose, of all their hearts,
Which have believed; and bowing all their knees,
With groans, they pray, come quickly unto His Church,
The Lord, the Spouse. So lifting up their eyes,
Lo, day is come. Britons sing, in their tongue,
Loud hymn of Cuan; and so abroad they pass.

Jews, Galileans, few now, grown old, in Alban;
Are Joseph and good Salema, Joseph's wife;
Shalum and Aristobulos; who, at morrow,
Is come, with Barnaby, and certain faithful druids;
But Sabra, Barnaby's mother, sleeps in Christ:
Nor yet her grave is green, beyond the mere.

And with the brethren, whom finds Simon here,
Is Phelles, that Phoenician mariner;
And Cuan of blue Britons, which believe;
The Lord's sweet singer, in their island tongue;
And Tegid, waggoner, wounded in long war;
And Felix who arrives, from Mendip villa.

Mongst these, lifts Simon up his aged palms;
And blesseth them, which have life, through Jesus' death.

The saint reads forth then, in that roll of Joseph;
Wherein, both many faithful things, be writ;
And apt to teach these souls, new called to Christ;
Which have not seen the Lord. And Simon set
His seal, for testimony, before them all,
Thereto. The Apostle-Fathers, sith, ensearch,
Which yet hear the Lord's voice, within their hearts,
What things pre-signifieth, the mind of Christ;
And, through His holy prophets, the Spirit of Truth
Revealed aforetime, which must come to pass,
Hereafter, in the earth, and namely in Britain.

Simon, in whose heart is prophetic breath,
Foreshows, her people neighbours should, by ships,
Be, to all nations: mighty angel Albion,
Should go, in power of God, forth, with her sails;
Loosing their bands, which longtime, in the isles,
In darkness, dwelled. Now, after other days,
Was straitened the Zelotes' aged breast;
Till turned, from Utmost Isle of the wide earth,
He see again that Mount of the Lord's house:
Where all his vows performed, might wait his flesh,
Christ's coming, end of his long pilgrimage.

Then, taking leave of Joseph and the saints;
He, to the grace of God, them all commendeth,
And he them all embraced. Erst Felix Murcius,
Brings Simon forth, to Pudens' Mendip villa;
Whence Pistos, journeying the same way, conveys
The saint to the Longport. Thence Simon passed,
With some tin-merchants, to Gaul's Continent:
With whom he following, came, at length, to Narbonne;
Where looked Zelotes find some ship, for Rome.

But when he heard, in that sea-haven, how Babylon
Burned! and there, from Italia, was no vessel
Come in; and being now passed other days:
Parted the saint, in ship, which sails for Carthage.

Ere might have any, knowledge, in far Britain,
Was bruit already heard, of burning Rome:
It noised had, in the air, no mortal voice;
But Spirits, which flit o'er this vast earthy mass!

Pass other weeks, or speeding messengers
Have brought in letters, unto Cæsar's legate.
Then in Isle Britain heard, All Gaul is risen,
To expulse the legions; and to slay all
Romans.

Chant druids, Should rule the world, the people of Brennus!
Then Romans fear, in this Britannic Province.

Joseph hath letters, of the City burned;
Which his dear daughter, in the Lord, to Aquae,
Him sends; wherein, much weeping, word writes Claudia,
Of those so great afflictions of God's saints;
That, from the World's beginning, came not such
Unto men's ears. Christ's brethren, falsely infamed,
Accused of crimes, to divers cruel deaths,
Were damned; and men and women cast to beasts.
(Though they did dread to die, those feared not death!)
Wives were and maidens, spoiled of seemly weed,
Brides of the Lamb, exposed to be devoured.
To pales, in public view, those girded stood,
Of brazen chains, about their bodies pure.
But, to Him looking, Who exalted was,
Above the World; they esteemed those chains, indeed;
Through exceeding faith, their spousal orna-ments!

And like as gentle flowers, being trodden down,
Give a sweet smell; so beauty of holiness,
In their last passion, seemed to breathe around.
Yet, in another letter, Claudia writ;
How they contemning, (looking aye towards heaven,)
The poor earth-garment of their stedfast souls.

Their bodies here, their lifted souls, with
Christ;
Like women, which desire their travail soon;
Diid welcome teeth of lions, most dreadful roaring,
And their sharp claws; whilst yet, with lowly voice,
Which seemed of heaven's bliss, those con-fessed Christ!

Insomuch, that to many which, young Romans,
Looked-on, their's seemed to be the happier case;
Of whom, some going then home, believed on Christ.

Dulling his midday beams, the sun seemed clothe,
On their vext flesh; then hid his troubled face.
The murderous beasts, abased their hideous crests;
Were seen to lick, of that poor people of Christ,
The feet! Stern murmur rose, in theatre:
Were heard seditious cries, accusing Nero;
Was he had kindled Rome! Hell-hearted Cæsar,
Startled, made sign, uprising, with his hand!
Then guard advancing them, of Almain soldiers,
They hastily hedged Rome's lord, with barbare spears.
Who keepers were, of the man-slaying lions,
(That now had bounden ox-hides, on the saints;)
Then shouted! whereat frayed, the hideous beasts
Fell raging, on those pure elect of Christ:
And they attained the CROWN of endless life!

Other, did extreme torment of the flame,
(In Agrippina's gardens, Tiber's stream
Beyond; where circus, in the golden-hill,)
Endure; smeared with much tallow and daubed with pitch;
Lighting, as lamps, the night of ribald Rome!
But they rejoicing, through exceeding faith,
Fainted not, in the bitterness of that death.

Then, day and night, continue all Christ's Church,
Throughout the World, in prayer and fast; that might
Be Satan bound. But lightly, in this far Province,
Of Britain, Cæsar's prescript is observed;
Commanding sacrifice, unto gentile gods.
Hail! thou war-wasted Utmost ISLE, whose wild
Rocks, whose dim heathen woods, (ere only voice
Of shipwrecked saints; but now even of pale druids,)
Resound, Thine everlasting NAME, O Christ!

Cuan, Christ's bard, went forth, from the cranog.
Kindled his breast with flame of heavenly love;
He chants, in Britons' tongue, to Erinn crowth,
Christ's gracious words. And, as then custom was,
He passed, in circuit, by the neighbour tribes:
And men him name, the new Carvilios.

That Avalon bard came, journeying, beyond Hafren;
Singing the things of God, with sweet accord,
To Caerwent, to mead-hall of king Moelmabon:
Nor yet have Romans vanquished Deheubarth.
Him follow young men of the bards, and druids
Of Eryr; even as, in the leafy woods,
Run the dun roes, to wayfarer's blithe pipe:
And they would Cuan hear, that VISION sing,
In measures sweet, which come is among men;
And veiled in mortal flesh gods' heavenly Light!

The long-aged sire well-pleased, who bed-rid lies,
Is hearken that new chant of Avalon's bard;
Like to a Summer-dawn's refreshing breath!
He feels his harms assuage, when he him hears:
Whose heart doth fail, for sorrows of these wars;
Wherein he hath forlorn five valiant sons.

Yet lives, but exile, great Caratacus;
Whom he, the sire, counts as his sons. Sings Cuan,
That golden Branch, which berries bears, as pearls,
With healing leaves, the very misselden,
Which found, these last days, is, in forest-
World!

Even Christ, our druid; which graffed, in our souls,
Tho.ugh die our flesh, shall they not taste of death.

A land there is, beyond blue vast West flood,
Of God; from whence came faithful men, which made,
(An angel entered with them, in the ship!)
With beavers, in the meres, their crated bowers;
And healed therein a people of fugitives;
Power of their God! whereby, (sings Christ's sweet bard,)
Is brought again the paradise unto Alban!
Then Cuan chants, The GREAT FORGOTTEN GOD,
Above all gods, ALFATHER of the world;
Whose waget weed, (yond, broidered all with stars,)
The infinite heavens. He is that Power which wields,
Above earth-field and seas, those trembling signs,
Which beckon to us, earthling wights, by night.

Chief bard, in Moelmabon's court, Talaith,
At Venta dwells. Had king Caratacus
And Maglos loved his passing high device:
And him they likened, to a fat of gold;
Whereof, in silver cups, is daily poured
Ambrosial mead. Of heroes and high gods,
He each day made, in those Silures' ears:
And of earth-ruins, which we men call the World,
Could sing the Prime, and smiling Summer-glad-ness.

And he endowed is, with so noble voice;
That, to his words, consent all hearers' hearts.
Then he contends with Cuan, sweet bard of Christ.

His warbeling strings, the illustrious vates touched,
In heroes' hall; and weaved them in his hand!
To trembling crowth, he chants, Song of the earth.
Whose ground-walls laid the everliving gods,
And reared above clear firmament, of frost,
And fire: whose remnant, broken in old war
Of gods and giants, now heaven's clear stars be seen.
And was, when floods flowed backward, on the land;
Forsook wide valley of the World, all gods.

They thence withdrew them, unto mountain tops,
Of misty Eryr; whereas, in murk grove,
Of pines, had gods a cold star-glittering house.

Bewept, long-age, then, spouses of high gods,
Earth-world, beneath, forlorn, deformed, and drowned,
Was erst so fair. But sith their straitened mood
Began appease, singing the golden-haired
Belin, an heavenly melody, among the gods.
Lord of the sun; when he his ivory harp
Strook, parfumed seemed the light of day, the air
Golden in heaven. Then issuing all the gods,
They looked down-forth again, towards waste world!

Bright handmaid of the spouses of the gods,
The iris-winged SPRING, their messenger,
They send then view earth's empty field, so wide.
Joyous, on her bright wings, that heavenly maid
Leapt forth. She stooped, soon, from her aery voyage,
Runs-on, like partridge, in earth's green hill-sides.

Much marvels gentle Spring, to view, how shines,
The World, beneath her feet, in weed arrayed,
Like spouses of the gods; what days they deckt,
And shining all, with precious carcanets;
Dwelled yet on mould, or ever grew those wars.

They, to 'scape immane giants, which them pursued,
Erst gem -stones cast, to them, from their bright necks;
They cast then, from their heavenly brows, clear frets,
As stars, of pearls; sith chains and bracelets.
In that they up-rose, forth, in swift-teamed cloud-chariots!

Fell scattered, on wide bosom of the mould,
Sheen, diverse hewed, their divine ornaments.

Was war, twixt strong earth giants, and the high gods!

Earth-spirits those, which had burst their former bonds,
(Seven towers, seven brazen walls, seven cloudy floods;)
Wherewith great Dagda, father of the gods,
Had bound them; and thereon whelmed stony mounts.

Those crept forth, as from tomb, under far coast,
Of heaven, and night-time, turned to ground; oppressed
Erst Haesus, drowsy porter of the gods;
Who sate in porch of their gold-glittering house;
Wherein, drinking a dulcet mead, then gods
Kept monthly feast. Had Haesus there, in hold,
All arms and furnitures of the weaponed gods;
Bolts, helms, spears, maces, budgets, tools, work-bags!

But not bright Belin's golden harp, (which hanged
Down from his divine neck, within, at feast.)

Those, stolen Red Taran's lightning, and the rain,
And the twelve winds of heaven, and divine arms;
Huge, suddenly, with vast torment, raging, (wind
And wild-fire; and eftsoon of immane flood!)
Overthrew gods' hall. Then turned were, (without arms,)
To shameful flight, ere careless dwelling gods;
And in their own immortal power, secure.
Giants sithence, kindling lustful heat, pursued,
From hill to hill, in vain, swift goddesses.

But Titans slumbering, after wicked wrack,
Drunken of mead; high gods, sending great birds,
Of eagle kind, recovered their lost arms;
Which lay around those strewed! Marched gods then armed,
To dreadful battle. Belin went before,
Chanting and playing, on his heavenly wires;
(Whose sound those Titans cast in deeper slumber!)
Reeled earth's wide mould, sunk, neath gods' mighty tread!

They Titans smote: and had of them just gods,
Full vengeance. Giants, gods, in the meres, thus made,
To the everlasting ground-rocks, left then, chained!

Sweet Spring danced gleeful forth, with maiden foot;
Yet oft she stays, behold those living gems,
That shine like dew-born thing. Of stars, she deems,
Begot; or some celestial influence!

How all, with blissful hews, unfold their heads!
More than in changeful gorget of the dove.
Her-seem these tottering clusters, in smooth wind;
(And whereon wild bees light, from the sunbeams,)
Some silent wonderous music of the field!

Great store, all in her lap, the heavenly maid,
Gathers then of those daughters of sweet mead.
And erst, of daisies pied, a lace she made;
Sith chapelet fair entwined, for her bright head;
Much like that galaxie, which girds-in and crowns
The starry heavens. The flowery golden knops,
Like amber beads, she tressed, with jacinth, ment;
And nodding windflowers, pale, for her white neck.
With violets sweet, she broidered her bright locks;
And gauds, of coral cups, hanged in her ears.

With dainty flowers then, her dear bosom, deckt.
She storied sith, with blossom of the thorn,
The heavenly kirtle, to her crystal feet.

Last girdled, with an honey-suckle twine;
And with sweet-smelling bough of eglantine,
Filled her right hand, she joyous Spring upmounts,
From Earth's low field. Returned, with violets crowned,
Lo, Virgin Spring, to the divine abodes,
Glad-smiling, enters to those heavenly ones;
That sit on shining thrones; (and hold their hands
Those golden cups; whereof, heard Belin's chant,
Drink the gods, each to other, with great looks.)
And seemed new parfume fill their starry house!

Rose-up then, marvelling, spouses of the gods;
So mantled seeing her, of living gems;
Dight, as with living gold! All ask of this,
Take by the hand; they kiss her divine cheeks!

And she to them, in order, all rehearsed;
How, as bride bed, bedeckt with needle-work,
Lies the whole earth! and all admire the gods!
That smell her raiment, and behold those flowers.

The all-seeing god took his sweet-tongued harp, which made
In form and likeness of a maiden's breast;
The face of virgin goddess, with bright locks:
And cried, That I forget my grief! He toucht,
Soul-ravishing, the speaking sister-wires;
Like those gilt rays which darts his bow abroad;
That send forth blissful mingled arcane sounds;
Which pierce the divine ears. In the herb, he quoth.
Those gem-stones were upsprungen of the gods!

Voice answered him, of all those heavenly ones:
Let us, again, descend into the World!
And it possess. But when beheld the gods,
How sheen world's mould, they lighted down, from chariots.

Then, in low earth's plain field, and green hill-brinks,
Each goddess, hand-in-hand, goes, with her spouse,
Gathering bright flowers; and her, as bride, adorned:
Nor had they ere so fair seemed to the gods!

Sith, to their former seats, returned, high gods
Did dwell therein; where travail they beheld,
Of earthling kind of men, on living ground;
Which yet were, without malice, without jars.

He ceased: Silures loud the chant applaud,
In king's high hall, of that renowned bard!

But toucht, of new, Talaith his crowth, and quoth;
Nor stayed the gentle vates, to take breath,
For swells his breast with song: how hoved, above,
(Ere yet Night's cloud was risen, from Hell,) the Sun,
Continually, the former world: but paused,
As hovering bird, when mortals should partake
The day's refreshment of their kindly food;
Which the odorous bosom of the foster mould,
Of ever-ripe and pleasant fruits, brought forth:
Then it was eve, and men did timely rest.
Sith wheeling his fire - wheeled, swift - teamed, gilt chariot,
He heavens remounted, in new morning-red.

An hell-wolf, with those giants, his ancient bands
Had burst. He ran forth in the hollow earth;
Nor might be brought again to hand, and chained,
Even of the gods; (and yet this runs world's paths,
From the sun's setting till the morning light!)
All wights he met withal, he, madding, bit:
Whence filled was the whole world, with violence.

But when earth's field saw Belin stained with blood;
Repenting him show his ambrosial ray,
To men's misdeeds, which wretched dwell on ground,
He left to shine: all dimmed was then and dark;
Nor sovereign gods had light in their abodes.
Gods set, in firmament, their temple-fires!

Sith measured radiant courses of the moon,
And silent watches of the starry hours,
An hundred years; till last, in all the world,
Was found uneath a mortal remanent.

Whence, lest, deprived of light and mind, should perish
Man's kin; and left none worshippers were on ground;
Being, also, long entreated of all gods;
Vouchsafed, for their sakes, half the day, to shine,
The god: and gave, to comfort their cold hearts,
Twilight, what time men teeth of evil beasts
Most dread. She, virgin, born, twixt day and night,
At eve and morrow pale, still looks askance;
And hewed oft red, as blushing, she appears:
The cause men's guilt, which her pure gaze discerns.

Cuan the vates lauds, and calls to Christ;
Saying, Thou art, Master of song, Talaith,
Not far from us. As flowrets, towards the Sun
Draw we nigh, also, to the Living God!
But he, the royal bard, provokes Christ's bard;
(As bird, which sings with bird, in Summer-grove,)
Chant thing him breathes in heart, his stranger God.

Erst, Daughter of the air, me only taught,
Quoth Cuan; whose hid voice heard, in every coast:
But sith the Spirit of heaven-descended Christ!

Then Cuan toucht his dulcet perplexed wires;
Whilst pants his teeming chest. He looked towards heaven;
And came into his heart, an holy vision.

He weaved again his dreaming instrument:
And quoth, The grave-mounds sitting of my sires,
Beside; I sing, THE HOPE OF CHRIST: went forth
(Like little wandering bird, into vast night,)
Our soul, to a new Dawn, from death, shall pass.

Sounded his Erinn strings then deeper note;
Like living murmur of wind-driven waves,
That fret the timbered frame of the cranog.
He chants, in numbers grave, hymn of Christ's death.

Dead on the tree, Jesua's soul descends,
Like voice, with that His divine increate part.
It passed, by the steep rocks, beneath the earth;
To a land of shadow, and immane valley of death:
Whereas, (of whom none memory more remains,
Save in Almighty breast of infinite love!)
Sleep earthborn seed of thousand ages, souls,
For multitude, like unto leafy grass;
Which must earth's stony womb again bring forth.

Lies World's vast Tomb, in deep heart of the earth;
Gulf of eternal death, where day breaks not;
Great alabaster treasury of my God!
There souls, in their eternal rest, uplaid,
Do sleep, as were a garden in the night.

Passed through iron clodded darkness, rusty mist;
The radious Spirit of the Holy Christ,
Enters, like light, which casts clear adamant stone;
With heavenly parfume, as of springing lilies:
And, in His blissful beams, divine, rejoice
Huge antique pillars of that cragged place;
Under blind silent stony firmament.

The SUN, amongst them went, of RIGHTEOUSNESS;
(So now Christ shines!) And spake, to all those souls,
Each comfortably the Lord's voice; and was
As on dry herb, when dew of morning falls:
And was there whisper, as of forest leaves.
Christ, upon each one, as He goeth-by, breathes;
And those, of Everlasting Life, His Spirit
Receive. He bade those souls, yet patient rest;
Till last resounding trump split the tombed earth.
Not one of them, in that hour, should be lost!
Christ spake; and springs now third day on the earth.

Then He, our Life; Who blessed them, as He rose,
(And seemed like beacon, on some mountain top;
And sith bright star!) to Joseph's garden-tomb,
Returns, to take, anew, His virgin flesh.

LIFE-OF-THE-DEAD, sing angels, at the cave;
Their LIGHT, awaken! Rise and shine: come forth!

To World, return; redeemed, Lord, through
Thy death!

Death cannot hold Thee, Thou hast con-quered Death!

Rise in Thy manhood, Jesu, Son of God:
Lift up Thy Light, Thy Glory, from the grave.
All suddenly then, the gracious Lord AROSE!

Towards Heaven, He spread His man-pierced holy palms!

He,o'er Earth's face looked, East and West; and Christ,
(Great Morning of the World!) to save, went forth.

(Eternal, for Thine INFINITE FATHERHOOD!

Save all men! World's all ages, through Christ's blood!)
He ceased; and many souls desired the Christ,
Whose heathen bowels wax weary in the war.

Christ sounds some sweet new tiding, in men's ears!

But Moelmabon, king of warlike men;
Howbe, Him Cuan sing, above all gods,
Who, God-of-war, to earth, sent down. His Peace,
Might little savour the meek things of Christ.
Yet Chuchid gladly hears, (who to his sire,
Moelmabon, in the stead of many sons,
Last of five brethren rests,) that bard of Alban.

Hardy and free, in Magics' seat, he sits;
And his young heart is old, with care of wars.
That prince gives Cuan mantle of a bard;
Broidered the blue-fringed frieze, with silver stars;
And brooch which fastened his own royal weed:
That no man, whereso he should singing pass,
Molest the Avalon bard, in Deheubarth.

Thence Cuan parted, came to Kynan's court;
Where, a great company, already, is assembled,
Of druids; that way fare, to some great assize,
In Mona. Part, without, on green hill-bent,
Cloud-gazers, sit. Other watch flight of birds:
Certain, in rotchets white, in king's hall, make
Their incantations, with ascending voice.

Asked those, of Kynan, man, in sacrifice!
Responded Hammeraxe, Were fallen, past count,
Oak-leaf-crowned warriors, to all saviour gods:
But little it availed had, in the wars!

Some then, in antique speech, gin darkly chant,
Of earth's vast Night, which was before the gods;
And strife, with heaven's fire, of earthy frost:
How sea-mews wild, of living kinds, should last;
Scream, o'er dead, drowned world-ruins', white frozen rocks!

One, hark, entreat, among them, with thick voice;
Touching that long-aged being of the gods.
But their red eyes be guileful as the snake;
Sith, on their ways, those lowering all part forth.

Calls Cuan's company then, the royal steward,
To the king's herberge, in mead-hall, and meat.
Kynan, yet feeble, of late pestilence,
Leans, in king's stool; and friendly his high right hand
Beckons, to Avalon's bard. When all have supped;
Cuan, at the Lord's bidding, his clear chords
Tempered; and chants Christ's Peace, with piercing note!

The king, to Cuan, parting, a bard's fee,
Would give; but naught would he at all receive:
Christ freely gave, and that above all worth.
So passed, upon his way, the vates forth.
He, from lord's hall to hall, chants, in West March;
Of whom some, heard Christ's inner voice, and touched
Their warlike hearts; would know more of this path:
But, Who should teach them? they of Cuan ask.
That bard of Alban tiding sends to Joseph!

Few now and old, the brethren which there rest:
Was the Lord's day, when came that word of Cuan.
Then fell God's spirit on Phelles; and he spake,
Send me! The saints, long having prayed, they laid
Then on that brother all their faithful hands.
With them that turn to Cuan, lo, he parts forth.

They journey; and certain with them, Eryr's druids,
Which run in those hill-coasts; (that lighting-places,
They deem of heavenly spirits;) whereas they seek
Cleanness of heart, and paths of Light and peace.

One morrow, amidst their voyage, came to pass
A robber band met with them, men unarmed;
(Were felon Beiges, from the Romans' Province!)
Which threatened them, with death. Yet let those go,
As many as were druids. The rest they bind.

They have, though old and stranger wight, bound Phelles;
To sell, to thraldom, or for sacrifice.
He joys, as counted worthy to partake
In sufferings of the Christ, before his death.

Now last, lo, mart-place, by that windy lake,
Whence sacred Dee outflows; where the green hill,
Tomb of old hero, who thereunder lies,
Couched in his helm and corselet of pure gold,
(Howbe his glorious name is quite forgot.)
There certain day, in every month, wont stand
Men thralls, mongst sheep and oxen, to be sold!

This morn is mart of merchants; and exposed,
Lo, Phelles, girt in blanket weed of Alban!
Chaffers him, for three rams, then some old Briton,
And certain poise of bronze. Is vow this made,
To his vain gods, for safety in the wars;
One offering, for his soul, of even years.
He hales then bounden Phelles forth, with cords,
To Dee's broad oaks; whereunder, which enclose,
In compass round, twelve mighty unhewed stones,
An altar is. (An hireling druid shall there,
Him slay, at set of sun!) Phelles, lo, drawn
On this wise forth. One meets them, in the path,
From upland, coming on, with spear and targe;
Who seems a champion, of some prince's house,
Tall glast-stained wight: And he a lord's badge wears,
On his stout upper arm; where pourtraied ship,
With silver sail and helms and oars, embossed.

Of truculent gait, and casting fierce blue eyes,
This stedfastly regards the stranger's face;
And knew him, (though him Phelles knoweth not,) stays;
And from his left arm, suddenly, on aged Phelles,
Cast the man his brave cloak; his other hand,
Upon that trembling wretch, he sternly laid,
Who Phelles hales! and hoarsely, he, of this thrall,
Requires his emption, as then custom was;
(Who shall his owner's charge pay, ere day's end,
May redeem new-bought thrall. Thus many an one
His sire hath saved, his brother or his son.)

Not daring that old wight, him to gainsay;
The scornful warrior gives him gage, till eve;
His gay broad glittering belt, of hammered bronze,
Two oxen worth; wherein, of cunning smith,
Lo, antique battle wrought of Gauls and Romans:
(Be blue-emailled these; are Romans gilt.)
He will redeem it, where they go to lodge,
In house of certain trader of Manannan.
That champion smites his cords, with warlike glaive,
Atwo: then taking Phelles, by the hand,
Long gazeth kindly on the Phoenician's face.
Phelles, him-seems, record that champion's voice:
Erewhile, him, mongst some captives, hath he seen;
Squalid then, shorn, who bears now long sheen locks:
Daubed then, with clay, whose weed is this fair lawn!

He one of them was, whom had sent lord Amathon,
(Prince Kowain's captives,) unto king Duneda;
What day the shipwrecked brethren fared to I sea:
When Phelles kindness also to him showed,
And led to Joseph; who healed his war-wounds.
His name Cathmor. He Phelles' ransom hath
Now borrowed, from that trader of Manannan,
(Was all his yearly wage.) To the old wight,
He it numbered then, redeemed his warlike belt.

Upon the morrow, ended, in these parts,
His business; at new springing dawn, they twain
Part forth, impatient Cathmor, to come home.
Much forest, faring on their feet, they pass,
In many days: but nightly find, to lodge,
In friendly cabans; and be there refreshed,
With meat; for servant, unto sire Manannan,
Is Cathmor knowen wide. Last, at salt flood,
Staying that tall champion, on his ash spear-staff,
And Phelles, feeble, aiding, (at low ebb;)
To Mona, the sea-strait they overwade:
So wend up to Manannan; who, through age,
Unapt to menage shield, or stand in chariot;
Hundred stout men of war maintains, in arms;
Whom he, to Chuchid, sends, each Summer-season,
Moelmabon's son; to strive with harnessed Romans.

Bounteous Manannan, who receives all strangers,
Beareth himself what charge his man hath paid;
For that Phoenician shipwrecked mariner.
Then oft with him communes the waywont sire;
(Whose mind is as the illimitable deep!)
Of ships, lands far-off, tongues, men, merchandise;
But Phelles preacheth Christ, to sire Manannan;
Who heard, where dwelled that heaven-descended One,
Him bowed, in his high settle, towards the East;
Gate of the Sun, from whence flows all our good.

Romans, to Mona's sound, of new, approach;
Cohorts of legions, archers, Gaulish horse.
Last power of all the youth of Deheubarth,
Gainst them upmarch, in warwont thick caterfs:
(For by Moelmabon's counsel, since ere-year,
Were Winter-sieges laid to soldiers' castra.
And were, by bloody assault, some also won;
And death of all within them, stranger Romans!)
Their duke is Chuchid: in the Samhain-month,
Deceased Moelmabon. It decreed high gods; November.

That should the sire not see, of all South Britain,
Last overthrow. Lo, joined to him, king Kynan
Leads all the remnant of his martial nation.

Manannan made then whole-burned sacrifice,
Of sheep and beves, to Britons' battle-gods.
Dark was the night, when, from Manannan's court,
Tall Cathmor hundred spears leads forth, with shout!

When legions passed sea-sound, Manannan hears;
With only few in company and stranger Phelles,
He mounts mule, to the Isle's West waves to ride:
Where, (sent before him messenger,) ready lies
His ship now, the Red Mare, with sail and oars.
They journeyed forth, lodge, by dim light of stars,
That sea beside; and pass, with troubled hearts,
The hours, till afternoon; when tiding brought,
Of battle joined, twixt Chuchid and the Romans!

Came further word, at even, by long land-shout!
Is Chuchid hurt; king Kynan fell from chariot;
Blue Britons fled. Have Romans taken the dune:
Soldiers burn the sire's hall! Sighed then Manannan,
That little now is left, in his great age,
To maintain guests. Then heard was strange vast voice,
Calling, by name, Manannan Son of Lir!
(Voice of the Oracle!) and, Unto the Deep,
Commanding, launch forth now the Red Mare ship!

His swains her heave, o'er wide sea-bent, to strand.
Manannan, mounted on her board, quoth loud,
He would forsake the World! Rumbles salt flood,
Whose bosom Lir's steed-necked prow doth receive.
Manannan bade his swains then row, for life;
Else should swift currents steal them, from their course;
Nor might sustain their sail-yard weight of wind.

But last of them, which, on the shore, remained;
Was heard, from waves, rebellowing to fast land,
A more than mortal shout! wind - spurned, the wing-
Sailed Red Mare, towards far sea-rim, swiftly flies!
So that did cast her rowers, in board, their oars.
And wrought the sea: beat then great billow reared,
O'er them, that snow-drift seemed! Fallen the young men
In tideway now were seen: whereas, being changed,
To swans, in tumbling watery heaps, they ride.

But, sitting on his keel, the sire remained;
That, under him, as whale-fish seemed. Sang then
Manannan chant divine; whose words arcane,
(But hid the sense,) raught hardly unto men's ears.
Beyond wan circuit of sea-waves, which seemed
Then molten wall, from ken, he shortly passed,
Of mortals, looking from hoar craigs: but sith,
Bards sing, unheard-of tiding, to their harps,
In the mead-halls, of lords, in wide West March;
How, being of nature with the deathless gods,
The Son of Lir, in form of a white mist,
Unto the evening skies, exalted was!

God's Spirit had parted from that fellowship,
Phelles, who wandered, through wood-shaw, all night;
So bade the blessed Christ, which is our Peace;
Fleeing the cruel face of Mona's druids:
Till weary; and when begins now day to break,
He sate him down; and saw, from thence, unfar,
A remote cliff, and breaking wave beneath;
Whereas some bay and solitary shore.

Grey deep, how wholesome, to a shipman's eye!
And who is 'scaped, from ape-faced world, not joys
Look forth, o'er thy vast wandering breast, abroad,
From some lone cliff, and snuff-up thy salt breath?
Eternal flood! how thy waves' sullen sound,
Doth seem, as mother's voice, to wakening child!
(And art thou Infinite Deep, the antique Womb
Of all!) He gazed wide out, and wished for God!

Then looking through the fingers of his palms,
Wherein his aged face is fallen; he gives
God thanks, for his soul saved. Unto that strand,
Descending, will he wait the will of Christ.
Phelles bethinks him, of that swart-blue deep,
(Hewed as the jacinth flower,) of far Phoenice,
Whose glassy waves dance to a Summer-strand;
And his fair Tyrian shore, whence wont he look
Forth, to those laurel hills of Nazareth.

Now, after prayer, (how sweet of a lone soul,
Which sealed to heavenly life, and cleaves to Christ!)
He, son to poor Phoenician fisher-folk,
Returns, in happy musing of his spirit;
To Accho strand, and days past of his youth.
Again, he, by clear-fleeting Belus' brook,
That caban sees, and little garden-close;
The hedge, with gourds o'errun, of glistering reeds;
And that pitched bark, was their poor livelihood.

Tyre's large sand shore, like sickle, lies beyond;
That strewed is, after Winter's stormy wrath,
With shells and shining wealth of salt sea-deep:
Whose world of billows, like to watery light,
Melodious, had lulled his cradle-sleep.

He mused, in busy thought, how fares his house;
And yearning fervent prays, might they be Christ's!
And as, (for so loved God the World,) died Christ;
He also, for his brethren, would taste death.
They, as their father, (being then grown young men,)
His childhood loved; and what time they came home,
From all-night fishing, in their bark; each one,
Lifting him, in his manly arms, kissed oft.

Five days, lodged Phelles at those wild waves' brinks;
Sea-eggs, with limpets of the craig, his meat;
And, warped there, certain kind of salt sea-wrack,
(Red dulse, or water-leaf; and the green sloke;)
Which might be eaten, on that forlorn strand;
Nor he alone, for in him dwelleth Christ.

Phelles, the stranger, find there enemies druids.
Now midnight, slumbering on a pebble-bank,
He dreams Christ's advent, with the heavenly stars!
Those come up, then in moon-shine, from their bark.
He sleeper, wakened, meekly rose: him stand,
His foes around; that prick him, with their spears.
Those Phelles bind: they hale him then, down-forth;
And headlong, cast in, with them, to their bark.
The druids' boat servants thrust then, from the land!

Till dawn, those row: and where they now take shore,
Those cast-out patient Phelles, from their board.
Some buffet him; pluck other down, alas!
His hoar head mocking, in the bitter billow;
Making as would they drench him, in salt flood.
Him, whom they smote; they goad, still threatening death,
On, with their spears: then having, on his neck,
Laid all their burdens, journey forth afoot.
Thus dies he many sithes, before his death;
Who ever liveth, in God's life-giving Christ.

Now afternoon, they halt, by half-burned croft;
Whence fetor blown! Hath murder-war filled Mona,
With Britons' blue unburied carcases.
Julius Agricola, lo, the twelfth great captain,
Whom Cæsars sent, their legates, unto Britain;
(And noblest he, of all those heathen Romans!)

In Britain warring, under duke Suetonius,
Gone eighteen years, he Mona's fields had wasted:
And now returned, with the same Roman legions;
He all utterly spoiled hath, and her villages burned;
And, taken their cattle, blue Britons' standing corn
Destroyed. Sith, as had chanced then, to Suetonius,
Are tidings brought him of new warlike stirs,
Mongst Britons: from North March, descends Venutios.

Wherefore, repassed Agricola Mona's strait;
He marched, in haste, to meet his enemies.

Those journeying druids, which Phelles aye torment,
Kindled now fire beside some blackened brook;
Sit down, of such meat, as they have, to dine.
Yet, whilst they eat, gives no man to the saint,
Though he their budgets bare; saying, with mocks,
Victim, which hallowed to the gods, behoves
Fast, that he were more pure. But Phelles prays,
And bowing down the head, hath inward feast.
Bound to a stem, he leans; and sleeps at once.
Till wakens him chill morrow, Phelles slumbers.

Yet is that twilight, which before the sun;
When driven, lo, Phelles forth, of cruel druids.
They journey, in beaten-path on, till high noon;
Whereas much war-stained folk, of Britons, pass:
Of whom not few have bounden battle-wounds.

And Phelles, every one which meets them, threatens;
With that, or spear or glaive, is in his hand.
All him revile as Roman; but to druids,
Which bring him bound, they bow down their proud faces!

They issue soon, to some fire-blackened glade;
Where round about, lo, wretches hanged in trees!
That groan to deaf high ear of heaven; and howl
To men; in abhorred Roman strangers' tongue.
(Were soldiers, which left hurt, in slaughter-field;
Bare too faint hearts, to fall on their own glaives.)

Have those, as public robbers, punishment;
Which to augment, their feet beneath, are kindled
Fires of green boughs! Be now, ah, horrid sight!
Some partly in flames consumed, and bitter smoke.
(Much like is, unto angry swarming bees,
Murmur of Britons thronging in that place!)

And there amidst, ringed-round of cords and rods;
Is certain space, which keep fierce men in arms.
Within, lo, sits, on marches of green sods,
With lords of tribes, some great assize of druids.
Mongst these, behold war-wounded lords be laid;
And certain are there also newly dead;
O'er whom their royal mantles are displayed!

A duke, upon his elbow, faintly leans:
Unto whom, those all, as aught of weight he said,
Give heed. It is, who Storm-of-war was named,
Venutios, of North March: whose godlike looks
Seem clay already. Ah, ceased is now his breath!
All hearts grow cold, which that king's mortal part
See sink, in iron sleep, of endless death:
Whose glory is only a memory now henceforth!

With few, of further Britons, which forepassed,
In swift-teamed carts, their thick-speared blue caterfs;
Amongst Agricola's journeying expedite cohorts,
By night-time, fell, unwares, great king Venutios.
Violent hurled javelin, in the starless murk,
Pierced the sire's loins: whom hardly Ebroc's champions
Then saved, in glast-stained arms, and hid in grove;
Whence had they brought Brigantes' lord, Venu-tios,
To die, in Mona, sacred isle of druids.

But who, mongst many kneeling, their fronts bound,
With holy oak-leaves; (shine on whose proud necks,
Wreathed collars, of red gold, all great lords' sons;)
Is that tall young man laid, already dead?
On fairer flower looked not the sun all-seeing,
Of Britain's youth! Cover, ah, long gilt locks,
Of those his peers, from head to foot, the corse;
Which have they polled, for grief of his young death!

Is glorious Chuchid, last son of Moelmabon,
Silures' king; with whom, fighting gainst legions.
Fell last resistance of stern Deheubarth.
For valorous Kynan, Hammeraxe, was pierced,
Nigh him, of shaft; and died, in field, anon.
He lies not here, who buried Briton dukes;
Him bear his men, to their tribe's royal tomb!

Priests stand, at bloody altar-stones, beyond:
With dreary knives of flint, ben armed their hands.

Lie shambles, at whose feet, ah, impious heaps,
Of murdered wights, disbowelled carcases!
(Men say, were some chief captives those, of Romans.)

To doom-ring, they arriving which hale Phelles;
Wherefore, that council ask, bring they this man,
Some merchant seems, to die before the gods?

For sacrilege, them denying to be gods!
(Thereto, make all then answer, with one mouth,)
Which Britons save, hath this the death deserved;
Who is some stranger, subject unto Romans.

When such they heard, lifting their sceptre-rods,
Did druids and lords consent, to Phelles' death!
On whom, (disciple he of Him, Who is
Our Peace,) condemned to bloody Teutates,
(Blue Britons' god of war,) mad druids seizing!
The council erst, by mouth of Camlorix, ask,
As custom is, (is this now prince in Mona,
Uncle of Ergund, man of giant stature;)
And he have aught request, towards his death?

To be, he answered, nailed on Roman cross;
(And stretch, like Christ's, his hands, from East to
West.)

This they deny him; but, and would he speak,
It is permitted to each dying wight.

Looking to heaven; and all men him beholding,
He spread his palms, (as Jesu on the rood!)
And was, in that he prayed, his countenance changed;
And seemed exalted, their blue throngs above,
His stature. Hear him all ears, in their tongue,
Yearning to Christ, pray for his adversaries!

And, whilst he spake, their anguish seemed appease;
Which hanged round, dying, on those gallow-trees.

Thenceforth, estranged his eyes, from this dark world,
On heaven, be fixt; where seems him see the Christ!

Then, as he, child, was joyous wont outrun,
What time was seen his father's bark turn home;
And hold, with infant hands, the pitchy stem;
So goes he, all jocund, to that bloody stone.
Where no dry place, he goes, in gory ground;
And it, which seemed to him the Christ, embraced;
With loving sighs, and happy cries, embraced!

And as, in Spring, the thorny eglantine
Doth blissful bios' m; so now that wintered face,
Of the old Phoenician mariner, whom saved Christ,
By water, twice. More his, than that dear joy,
Of earthly love, which, in youth of our flesh;
After long harms and sundered souls' distress;
In what hour, crowned with spotless marriage,
Each spouse, of the beloved spouse, possessed,
Lip unto lip, and faithful breast to breast;
Are they last made, in bliss of heaven, one being,
To parted be no mo. Hath aged Phelles
Such creeping lovely flames, such quick desires,
To die soon, and be ever with the Christ!

Weary begone, in that the aged saint
Kisseth the stone, slide back his feeble feet;
And fainting, through long passion of the way,
He, in that spilth of blood, fell down, alas!
And all his raiment white, of Alban lawn,
And reverend locks, abominable gore,
Distains; nor rue, on him, his enemies.

Risen on his knees; chief priest, with sceptre-rod,
Smote on his nape; which hath so numbed the sense,
That druids bear, on the stone, him, swooning man:
Where, whilst they enforce them, break the victim's chine;
One rives, with knife of flint, the mariner's chest!
He, ah, thrust then bloody hands, in the saint's bowels
Pluckt forth his quivering heart-root, prophecies;
With muttering strange, and dark confused voice!
But certain, like white dove, saw Phelles' spirit
Flit unto heaven, where now he rests, with Christ.

Tidings, of Phelles' passion, came to Alban,
In the New Year. Then magnify, with prayer,
The saints, and praise and melody in their hearts,
The Lord; for their dear brethrens' faithful deaths;
Phelles and Alexander. Midst the Church,
Standing, on the Lord's day, then Joseph spake:
Beloved, we ourselves, as dead, should reckon,
Already, and as buried in Christ's death.
Also, for all which have received the CROWN,
For the testimony of Christ; whose innocent flesh,
The teeth of beasts have rent, in their lewd shows,
In impious Rome; those yield, to God, high thanks!

Then Cuan vates, toucht his harp, and quoth;
Those feared not, (fearing die, after their deaths,)
Die, in this life, that might they live, with Christ.

The memory of them, within our hearts, is like
Unto sweet smell, in Summer field, of lilies.

Letters, from Babylon, from his daughter Claudia,
Beloved in the Lord, show in how great
Afflictions liveth daily the Lord's Church,
In caves and ruinous sepulchres, holy life,
Under the earth. And aye hath Pudens' house,
(He hears of certain proselytes,) good report:
Wherein, like image in frail womankind,
Of the dear Master, Claudia, in much almesdeed,
And works of love, is handmaid of the Christ.

After these days, being published Nero's death,
And how Rome's capitolium was burned,
In civil flames; lift everywhere their heads,
The oppressed nations. Tumults then, in Gaul;
And blood doth flow, in every land, of Romans.

Then noised was death, of king Caratacus,
In Britain; where now are established Romans,
In builded camps, conjoined of long paved ways:
Nor, till their youth be grown, may aught attempt,
Of new, her wasted tribes, gainst strength of legions.

The hero, glorious king Caratacus,
In Senogallia dwells, old city of Brennus;
Passing his days, to sit beside the sea;
And tell the idle waves, unto the strand.
(Is Idhig with the sire and king Volisios;
But deceased Hiradoc in the former year.)

Tomb, in that town, of Heremod, yet is seen;
And Caradoc offers to his divine spirit,
And Fridia and Brennus yearly sacrifices.
And who, of Britons' lords, for any cause,
Journey, at diverse times, to Sovereign Rome;
Their wont, by Senogallia, is to pass;
To reverence great bewrayed Caratacus;
Whose soul, (his body here pent,) dwells in Isle
Britain!

Howbeit Verturia, named The-maid-of-Kent,
King Caradoc's daughter, sojourns now, in Rome;
Spouse to a noble kinsman of his house;
(Son to his sister Toga and slain Bodvocos,)
Lugetorix; one who, taken great Verulam,
Unto Italy, had been sent, by Cæsar Claudius;
Where fostered, mongst the imperial hostages,
He, and the World's sad exiles, was in Roma.

There oft her mother, Embla, visits her;
But seld, who Roma abhors, her glorious sire.
Yet, felt his great heart swell, when Roma burned;
He shook himself, from rust of sorrow, and rode
With Gorran; (hoar now, as two fathers old,
Be both their heads!) to view her cindered streets,
Arcs, desolate palaces, temples, ruinous heaps;
Scorched crazy walls, which lately perjured Rome:
Destroyed, without an enemy, by the gods!

Passed abhorred Nero's last nefarious days;
Is come again, to City of Romulus,
The glory of Britain, great Caratacus:
And lodged the hero, in his daughter's house,
Which wide, from Esquiline's hill-height, surviews
The dedale infinite roofs of marble Rome.

One morn, from housetop, when the king salutes
Day's rising god; his eyes Caratacus
Cast, towards the quadrate mount Capitoline;
Whereon shines, threefold, that Saturnian fane,
Above Rome's City, of her three greatest gods;
With gates of bronze, and golden tiles and frieze;
Glistering aloft, as hauberk were of brass.
Comes thence now battle-noise, to the king's ears!
On thousand helms, this dancing sunlight plays.
Behold the temple, seized of legionaries!

Watcheth the sire, as from some marble bank,
Wont gaze men, in a Roman theatre,
Down, on some fray, which toucheth nigh their hearts.

Eftsoon, with fearful hubbub, roar the streets.
Vast ferment, hark, of dwellers in great Rome;
That mouthing servile bloody multitude!
Like the foul shadows of their marble streets,
Disdains them his great soul: of whom not ten
Were matchable, in like arms, with one tall Briton!

That furious strife, Flavians against Vitellians,
Romans gainst Romans, midst of Sovereign Rome,
Dures forth till afternoon; when noble Sabine,
(Who praefect of the City Sovereign was,)
Fell, in the cella of Jupiter; which the middest
Is of those fanes. Is he the same, (gone nigh
Now thirty years,) who, brother of Vespasian,
Leading, in the Britannic war, Gauls' horse,
Gainst the blue power of martial Togodumnos;
By that king's javelin, also wounded was.

Yet when now he beheld the innocent corse,
Borne forth, pierced by rash spears of barbare soldiers;
Mourned, generous, for his death Caratacus!
Who walks, on pillared terrace of his house.

Though gone-by tale of years, which a man's age;
Aye, with the buried bones of Togodumnos,
His brother twin, is the king's mourning thought;
Betwixt two oaks, in glade of far-off Britain;
Buried, in haste, with the eagle of a legion.
He hopes, when last should victory, over Romans,
Have given their saviour gods, to the blue Britons,
To mound, translate them, of great king Cunobelin,
And Tasciovant, and, (Rome's-bane,) Cassiobellan,
Their glorious sires; at royal gate of Verulam:
Which should, stained with the blood of hundred bulls,
Be wet with tears of all the island tribes.
For aye, hopes he, at length, (as hopeth each man,)
His heart's ease and desire, should grant high heaven!

He would again poll, for dead Togodumnos,
His now hoar locks. Should, in vast burning-place;
Of wnole felled groves, be timbered royal pyre;
Hanged all with precious veils and thousand shields
Caradoc, in thought, sees Britons' kings, with brands;
And bringing funeral gifts their other hands;
Leading blue tribes, run three-times round, in arms;
And parfumes cast in, of the tears of pines,
Gathered from holy groves: and noble wives,
And maids, should, wailing, smite their breasts to blood.

In thought, he famous bards hears praises chant,
Of Togodumnos; and loud Britons shout,
All crowned with yew, the turning of each verse.
How should seem bowering darkness of night heavens,
Vast tomb; that giant flame, Togodumnos' spirit!

Hark, shout! In Rome's great city, is new effray.
King Caradoc, lifting up his aged eyes;
Now issuing, from the Capitolium, sees
Smoke, surging flames, that leap from porch to roof!
Soon all, in immane fiery womb, enfold;
Temples and colonnade, and glittering eaves!

Upon a pillar, leans Caratacus;
In pictured soler of his house, in Rome;
Where, gone all forth, the king is left alone.
He murmurs, gazing-on, some chant of druids!
And Roman walls resound great Briton voice.

Then ended he; and weary in his great spirit,
The king sate down. His chin falls on his breast;
Like as yond sun, now going down to his rest,
Seems lean yet, on low border of this World!
Seems Caradoc sleep; and so remained long while.

Hark, footstep on the stair! is aged Embla;
Who, lo, from marble sill, looks in, at door;
(In Embla's eyes, how shines yet living light,
As beauty of clear stars!) She Caradoc calls,
Supper is dight; Beloved come to meat!
But the hero, from his settle, answers naught;
Nor may wake, any more, great Caradoc.
The king, lo, where he sitteth, is cold and dead!

Come the sixth morrow; (as decreed Rome's Senate,)
For Britons' king, is, at the public cost,
Made funeral pomp. Great dead Caratacus,
Now have the city's magistrates followed forth.
To burning place. The royal cinders sith,
Being gathered in an alabaster urn;
It, crowned with bays, and graven with his name,
(Renowned in Rome!) and age and dignities;
They send, vf'tfhflamen of the ferale goddess,
Libitina, and lictors and shrill flutes,
(For the more honour,) to Verturia's house:
Where come, and standing silent, at her port,
With covered heads; those it, in Embla's hands,
(Who weeping issues forth!) reverent, deposed.
Then they declare; she hath the consuls' licence,
This send, to be entombed, in far-off Britain.

She, widow, noble lady, in Rome, dwells still;
Which nurtured her young years. Sith, with her daughter,
Verturia, joys; being called, both, to Christ's fold!
Through Briton voice of Claudia Rufina,
(Wife to that noble Pudens, senator.)
Of Claudia's fellowship, also, which believe,
Be now even ladies of the imperial palace!

Last, deceased white-haired Embla, in the faith
And hope of Christ; and in His holy path:
What year Silures were, in fine, subdued;
Month when, nigh Parthenope, mount, that burned,
Fell in the deep, which seethed, and died all fish.

And now Vespasian, (who ere warred in Britain,)
Ruling the hundred nations of proud Rome;
The Holy City is compassed-in of armies;
Leading them Titus: till, (when Ariel ceased,
The Lion of God, fight for Christ-slaying Jews!)

Brake Romans her towered walls of goodly stones,
With mighty engines. Then await His saints,
In all the world, that coming of the Christ!
And great DAY OF THE LORD, in a New Earth!

When now, in Avalon, Joseph understood,
How broken-down was the most holy place;
And made Jews daily sacrifice to cease;
(Which things he heard foresay the Master Christ,)
He lifts, each hour, towards heaven his yearning looks!
But the same night, God's Spirit revealed to Joseph,
How is the end not yet: the days approach,
Wherein he should be gathered to his rest.

Then thrice, with tears, His saint the Lord besought;
To Daughter, now, of Sion, ah, burned and wasted,
He might return; and in the desolate cave,
Wherein the LORD OF LIFE he shrouded laid,
Whence Christ arose, that might he lie, deceased.
But spake God's Spirit; The ransom -blood of Christ,
Hath, as one altar, hallowed the whole Earth!

He saw, in an excess of spirit, the heavens
Rolled away, like a curtain; and God's footstool,
Beheld, in an ineffable radiance.
Yet Joseph, whilst he looked, beheld that beam,
Of a wild olive, (whereon the Lord's flesh
Was nailed,) grown green, overspread, like vine, Isle Britain!

He saw, with glaive, then standing angel Albion;
With whom a chief One, of the Sons of Heaven;
In shining robe, of lofty countenance:
And likeness of an hand this lifted up,
(The Spirit of Supplication,) raught to THRONE;
And touched the knees of Him, Who sate thereon.
And Joseph heard Christ's voice saying, in his trance;
Speak patience, to My people on the earth:
A little, and shall be established Righteous-ness;
And sin and these calamities shall cease!

Joseph beheld; and saw, in Britain, rise,
(Leading Rome's armies, which Christ crucified,)
Cæsar, late nephew to his daughter Claudia;
Which bowed his helm-clad head down, as he went,
To lowly Christ; and worshipped God, the legions!

Whilst yet he looked, he Romans saw no more:
But Britons subject now, to kings; and made
Blue island nations, mongst them, confuse wars.
Then he beheld, against them rowed, long keels!

Is Britain's marriage, Daughter of the Main,
With Thorolf 's warlike seed, nephew of Brennus;
Howbe, for Britons' sins, those come with arms!
Why would'st thou, niece to Fridia and Heremod,
Clear daughter of a king, with Wes thu hale;
Giving the cup, ah, on thine honied tongue,
Embase thee to that wrong? He who forged heaven,
Nathless, of these twin nations, will make one;
(Whose name, in a late world, to be renowned;)
Shall, mighty hive, send forth sea and land swarms.
Bowing, being raised from sleep, his prayer-worn knees,
Joseph long prays; and thirsts his soul for God!

Sith to the Churches, many now in Britain,
New Verulam, Aquas and Caerwent, New Londinium;
Lindum and Eboracum, in North parts;
Sent Joseph letters, bidding all men watch:
And, in the end, with loving words, he writ;
The Father of our dear Lord Jesus Christ,
Preserve and keep you, in soul's health! this pray
I, every hour, now ready to depart.

Cuan, sweet bard of Christ, in Britons' tongue;
From Roman Britain, passed West seas, to Erinn;
He went up, from Ergalia's pleasant shore;
Where lives yet, in great age, the sire Duneda,
Host of the saints: (when Romans came to Britain,
His head was white, as blossom of the thorn!)
That royal ancient, in New Isca hall,
Sits; and he blames, in heart, his nation's gods.

When Cuan harps, in those Dumnonians' ears,
Singing, of Christ, the everlasting words;
Seem bees his gold-beard lips, which blissful flowers
Have supped, in Summer field; and some believed:
And say; like bubbling well, from a white sand,
Is heavenly lay, which springs in this bard's breast.

Prudent Rhianna, daughter to Duneda,
And widow of noble Morag, sits beside
Her sire now, in king's stool; and, in mead-hall,
Sustain is, of his eld-bound, impotent, years.
(Is lame Duneda, and taken in all his limbs;
And Kamlan, stooped in age, is lately dead.)

Heard Cuan out, Rhianna his chant commendeth,
Unto her father. She herself rehearsed
Then lay, wise bard, from far North March; (who sate,
Journeying, in Venedot and in Deheubarth,
A three-days' guest, at Maglos' Winter-hearth;)
Quoth, to the warbles of his trembling crowth;
How TRUTH, a little hoar-browed, age-bent, wight;
Whose dwelling, erewhile was, with antique dwarves,
One day, came, unto City-of-the-world.
Much Truth man-kin contemned, to them arrived,
Lapped in rent saie, to hele him from the cold.
Were none, which would so abject wearish thrall,
To guest, receive. Their high-born and rich men,
And every worldly wight; Truth, who loud cried,
But could not glozing speak, have much despised:
They him, where rest, and needful meat, denied.
Men loosed, on Truth, their hounds. Him children sith,
Have, fugitive, chaced long, up and down the street,
To their Town's end; where men the micher beat.

Last, drew they him as dead; and at their gate,
Cast forth, to beasts of forest, wild and waste.

But Truth did flit away, as a bright bird,
To heavenly cloud! whose breast, with lightning wrath,
Was big: which hurled eftsoons gods on the earth!

Duneda, though his ears waxed dull, and gross
Now all his sense, gave praise to Cuan's crowth:
Saying, When this plays, is parfume, in men's souls!

And sware by Abcan, god of music's skill,
Talargan, bard of name, made not so well,
Sitting, in his sire's days, in Isca's hall;
Mongst who then lords. The old sire sith pro-pounds
His riddles, What is that lean hag, devours
The world; and still goes drunken of men's blood?
And that which men's war-multitudes cher-isheth,
As woman's breast; but no man nourisheth?

What leaner is, quoth Cuan, than sharp glaive,
And hath so great a mouth; or nurtures less
Than warrior's shield, before his panting chest!

Yet spake Duneda; What is, bard of Alban,
That incorruptible, which corrumpeth most?
Quoth Cuan,What thing, Duneda,doth less rust;
Or hireth more men, than wage of the bright gold!
And he; Yet say, what least vile thing that is,
Which, soon as born, is stronger than the gods;
And earth and heaven fills with his violence?
Hard is thine asking, king, (Christ's vates quoth:)
Can aught compare, with all-devouring flame?
Whose sparkle a thrall's hand smites forth, of field stone!

When Joseph knew the day nigh hand, wherein
He should depart to Christ; he called the Church,
Makes known, what things foreshows the Spirit of
Truth:
And they, which this last time, of Joseph's mouth,
Do hear the Lord's commandments, cannot choose
But weep. He gave them then the Lyber Bret.

The man of God records him sith, of cup;
Wherein, to memory of Christ's most precious blood,
We drink, through faith, life to our dying souls;
(That crystal cup, which lifted Jesus up;
What night He was betrayed, to sinners' death;)
That had in worship of some simple ones!

Wherefore, come night, instructed of God's Spirit;
Put Joseph out, with Pistos, on the lake.
Tegid, who sought be with him, in the bark;
He bade still tarry, at shore: and rowing Pistos;
Joseph let, from his bosom, in mid-course,
To slide, that cup of blessing, in the mere:
Unto all, even to this day, unknown the place.

Joseph returned, called certain, with the men
Of Canaan, yet with him remained alive,
Now aged; Shalum, Barnaby and Aristobulus;
(Had Salema, already, from the body passed;)
And they him, feeble, halting on a staff,
And gazing into heaven, have followed forth,
With lifted hearts! When little now till day;
An angel parts them, at the going up
Of hill, called the Wolf's Mount. By twilight path,
Joseph ascends alone. In that, o'er Alban,
Her holms and hamlets, he outstretched his palms;
Was voice, in the air, of everlasting ones;
COME GOOD AND FAITHFUL SERVANT, TO THY REST!

Praying, he kneels; and bowed down the hoar head,
Dieth his body; and passed his soul to God.

Pray angels o'er him, standing in that place;
Like twain young men. They, Open, then commanded,
God's creature, Earth! receive His servant's flesh;
Till day of that appearing of the CHRIST,
THE BLESSED!

Dear Foster Muse, fails now my breath.