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From “Poly-Olbion”
WHAT one of all the isles to Cambria doth belong | |
| (To Britain, I might say, and yet not do her wrong) | |
| Doth equal me in soil, so good for grass and grain? | |
| As should my Wales (where still Brute’s offspring doth remain) | |
| That mighty store of men, yet more of beasts doth breed, | 5 |
| By famine or by war constrained be to need, | |
| And England’s neighboring shires their succour would deny; | |
| My only self her wants could plenteously supply. | |
| What island is there found upon the Irish coast, | |
| In which that kingdom seems to be delighted most, | 10 |
| And seek you all along the rough Vergivian shore, | |
| Where the encountering tides outrageously do roar, | |
| That bows not at my beck, as they to me did owe | |
| The duty subjects should unto their sovereign show; | |
| So that the Eubonian man, a kingdom long time known, | 15 |
| Which wisely hath been ruled by princes of her own, | |
| In my alliance joys, as in the Albanian seas | |
| The Arrans, and by them the scattered Eubides | |
| Rejoice even at my name; and put on mirthful cheer, | |
| When of my good estate they by the sea-nymphs hear. | 20 |
| Sometimes within my shades, in many an ancient wood, | |
| Whose often-twined tops great Phœbus’ fires withstood, | |
| The fearless British priests, under an aged oak, | |
| Taking a milk-white bull, unstrained with the yoke, | |
| And with an ax of gold, from that Jove-sacred tree | 25 |
| The misleto cut down; then with a bended knee | |
| On the unhewed altar laid, put to the hallowed fires: | |
| And whilst in the sharp flame the trembling flesh expires, | |
| As their strong fury moved (when all the rest adore) | |
| Pronouncing their desires the sacrifice before, | 30 |
| Up to the eternal heaven their bloodied hands did rear; | |
| And, whilst the murmuring woods even shuddered as with fear, | |
| Preached to the beardless youth the soul’s immortal state; | |
| To other bodies still how it should transmigrate, | |
| That to contempt of death them strongly might excite. | 35 |
| To dwell in my black shades the wood-gods did delight, | |
| Untrodden with resort that long so gloomy were, | |
| As when the Roman came, it strook him sad with fear | |
| To look upon my face, which then was called the Dark; | |
| Until in after-time, the English for a mark | 40 |
| Gave me this hateful name, which I must ever bear, | |
| And Anglesey from them am called everywhere. * * * * * | |
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