For those dim sounds his mother-tongue express,11
But in some dialect of remotest age;
Like that in which the far Saronides[1]
Exchanged dark riddles with the Samian sage.[2]
Ghostlike the sounds; a founder of his race
Seem'd in that voice the haunter of the place.
"Guest," said the priest, with labour'd words and slow,12
"If, as thy language, though corrupt, betrays
Thou art of those great tribes our records show
As the crown'd wanderers of untrodden ways
Whose eldest god, from pole to pole enshrined,
Gives Greece her Kronos and her Boudh to Ind;
"Who, from their Syrian parent-stem, spread forth13
Their giant roots to every farthest shore,
Sires of young nations in the stormy North,
And slumberous East; but most renown'd of yore
In purple Tyre;—if, of Phœnician race,
In truth thou art,—thrice welcome to the place!
"Know us as sons of that old friendly soil14
Whose ports, perchance, yet glitter with the prows
Of Punic ships, when resting from their toil
In Luna's[3] gulf, the seabeat crews carouse.
Unless in sooth (and here he sigh'd) the day
Cære foretold hath come to Rasena!"[4]
"Grave sir," quoth Arthur, piteously perplext,15
"Or much—forgive me, hath my hearing err'd,
Or of that People quoted in thy text,
(Perish'd long since)—but dimly have I heard:
Phœnicians! True, that name is found within
Our scrolls;—they came to Mel Ynys for tin!
"As for my race, our later bards declare16
It springs from Brut, the famous Knight of Troy;
But if Sir Hector spoke in Welsh, I ne'er
Could clearly learn—meanwhile, I hear with joy,
My native language (pardon the remark)
Much as Noah spoke it when he left the ark.
"More would my pleasure be increased to know17
That that fair lady has your own precision
In the dear music which, so long ago,
We taught—observe, not learn'd from—the Phœnician."
"Speak as your fathers spoke the maiden can,
O many-vowell'd, ear-afflicting man!"
The priest replied. "But, ere I yet disclose18
The bliss that Northia[5] singles for your lot,
Fain would I learn what change the gods impose
On the old races and their sceptres?—what
The latest news from Rasena?"—"With shame
I own, grave sir, I never heard that name!"
The Augur stood aghast!—"O, ruthless Fates!19
Who then rules Italy?"—"The Ostrogoth."
"The Os——- the what?"—"Except the Papal states;
Unless the Goth, indeed, has ravish'd both
The Cæsar's throne and the apostle's chair—
Spite of the Knight of Thrace,—Sir Belisair."[6]
"What else the warrior nations of the earth?"20
Groan'd the stunn'd Augur.—"Reverend sir, the Huns,
Franks, Vandals, Lombards,—all have warlike worth;
Nor least, I trust, old Cymri's Druid sons!"
"O, Northia, Northia! and the East?"—"In peace,
Under the Christian Emperor of Greece;