292 MEREDITH
Blow, Wind, from the field ! Bran's Head is the Briton's shield.
Beam, Star, in the west !
Bright burns the Head of Bran the Blest.
��Crimson-footed like the stork,
From great ruts of slaughter, Warriors of the Golden Torque
Cross the lifting water. Princes seven, enchaining hands,
Bear the live Head homeward. Lo! it speaks, and still commands;
Gazing far out foamward.
Fiery words of lightning sense
Down the hollows thunder; Forest hostels know not whence
Comes the speech, and wonder. City-castles, on the steep
Where the faithful Severn House at midnight, hear in sleep
Laughter under heaven.
Lilies, swimming on the mere,
In the castle shadow, Under draw their heads, and Fear
Walks the misty meadow; Tremble not, it is not Death
Pledging dark espousal : 'Tis the Head of endless breath,
Challenging carousal !
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