Classic Poem

" When the bowl again goes round,
" And Vortigern his sleep profound
" Heedless quaffs! " — —
O! impotence of memory! to o'erlook
The fated sign, and, with disorder'd speed,
Anticipate my destinies! For this
My Gods forsake me: to the adverse power
Of dull Savadan's elfin regent else
Not obvious. But with happier omens now,
And preordain'd progression, I advance
The twofold work of Fate. Why aye — proceed
Ye menial herd — Mechanic instruments —
Unconscious pivots in the state machine
With which the powerful work! — prepare the feast —
Dress up the joyous hall, with boughs, and braids
Of flaunting fragrance — hung be every seat
With sweets coronal; and the banquet heap
To feign'd Conciliation: nor suspect
What Fate and I determine. Vortigern!
Now feed thy soul voluptuous. Haste — prepare
To revel out thy last: for, even now,
The bowl is pregnant, and the ambrosial draught
Teems with thy fate matur'd. Soon — soon he quaffs —
Quaffs his last sleep profound. Then comes the crown
Of all my feverish hopes; and Arthur's hand.
Lights up the flame in which my woes expire.
But, lo! the Banquet waits. I go to greet
At once the nuptial, and funereal treat.
Yet, ere on Frea's name I dare to call,
Descend ye handmaids of the shield-roof'd hall.

Sisters three, in fearful state,
Who at Valhalla's banquet wait,
Watching the nod
Of him, supreme, The Warrior God,
Who, midst the genial rite,
While blithe the amber goblet circles round,
Thro you, inflicts the destin'd wound,
And thins the ranks of fight! —
On you, who wait by Woden's side,
(The dastard's dread, the warrior's pride)
I call —
To hover round Gwrtheyrnion's hall,
And o'er the funeral — nuptial feast preside.