Explore "Prophecy of Taliesin. from the Ancient British" by George Borrow on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Within my mind / I hold books confin'd, / Of Europa's land all the mighty lore; / O God of heaven high!
With how many a bitter sigh, / I my prophecy upon Troy's line {73b} pour:
A serpent coiling, / And with fury boiling, / From Germany coming with arm'd wings spread, / Shall Britain fair subdue / From the Lochlin ocean blue, / To where Severn rolls in her spacious bed.
And British men / Shall be captives then / To strangers from Saxonia's strand; / From God they shall not swerve, / They their language shall preserve, / But except wild Wales, they shall lose their land.