The Song of the Last Briton

The sea is grey in the death of day,

Behind me lifts the night.

I’ll flee no more from the ancient shore

Where first I saw the light.

The Saxons come and the Saxons go

With the ebb and flow of the tide;

Their galleys loom, grim shapes of doom,

But here shall I abide.

My castles rust in crimson dust,

Red ruin tossed in the drift–

But the sea is grey, and the wolf ’s at bay,

And the ravens circle swift.

Come from the mists of the Northern Sea

Where the smoke blue hazes melt.

Your dead shall lie where here I die,

The last unconquered Celt.