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Look, I have made ye a place and opened wide the doors,

That ye may talk together, your Barons and Councillors

Wards of the Outer March, Lords of the Lower

Seas,

Ay, talk to your gray mother that bore you on her knees!

That ye may talk together, brother to brother's

face

Thus for the good of your peoples-thus for the Pride of the Race.

Also, we will make promise. So long as The Blood endures,

I shall know that your good is mine: ye shall feel that my strength is yours:

In the day of Armageddon, at the last great fight

of all,

That Our House stand together and the pillars do

not fall.

Draw now the three-fold knot firm on the ninefold bands,

And the Law that ye make shall be law after the rule of your lands.

This for the waxen Heath, and that for the Wattle

bloom,

This for the Maple-leaf, and that for the southern

Broom.

The Law that ye make shall be law and I do not press my will,

Because ye are Sons of The Blood and call me Mother still.

Now must ye speak to your kinsmen and they must speak to you,

After the use of the English, in straight-flung words and few.

Go to your work and be strong, halting not in your ways,

Baulking the end half-won for an instant dole of

praise.

Stand to your work and be wise-certain of sword

and pen,

Who are neither children nor Gods, but men in a world of men!

THE FIRST CHANTEY.

MINE was the woman to me, darkling I found

her;

Haling her dumb from the camp, held her and bound her.

Hot rose her tribe on our track ere I had proved

her;

Hearing her laugh in the gloom, greatly I loved her.

Swift through the forest we ran; none stood to

guard us,

Few were my people and far; then the flood barred us

Him we call Son of the Sea, sullen and swollen; Panting we waited the death, stealer and stolen,

Yet ere they came to my lance laid for the slaughter,

Lightly she leaped to a log lapped in the water;

Holding on high and apart skins that arrayed her, Called she the God of the Wind that he should aid

her.

Life had the tree at that word, (Praise we the Giver!) Otter-like left he the bank for the full river.

Far fell their axes behind, flashing and ringing, Wonder was on me and fear, yet she was singing.

Low lay the land we had left. Now the blue bound us,

Even the Floor of the Gods level around us.

Whisper there was not, nor word, shadow nor showing,

Still the light stirred on the deep, glowing and growing.

Then did He leap to His place flaring from under, He the Compeller, the Sun, bared to our wonder. Nay, not a league from our eyes blinded with gazing,

Cleared He the womb of the world, huge and amazing!

This we beheld (and we live)-the Pit of the Burning,

Then the God spoke to the tree for our returning;

Back to the beach of our flight, fearless and slowly, Back to our slayers he went: but we were holy.

Men that were hot in that hunt, women that followed,

Babes that were promised our bones, trembled and wallowed:

Over the necks of the tribe crouching and fawn

ing

Prophet and priestess we came back from the dawning!

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