Bronwen Of The Thirteen Ships Poem by Keith Shorrocks Johnson

Then thirteen ships came from Ireland to Wales

A splendid fleet, bearing an Irish King,

Noble in their rigging and billowed sails,

Their shields upturned with peaceful meaning.



This sea-king Moir came ashore seeking Bran

The Blessed King of Wales who welcomed him

And asked him what brought them to Albion

And its precious holy land of Cymry.



‘Most revered King, Gentle Giant,

I come to seek the hand of your sister

Whose beauty and chastity are renowned,

And that you may bond another brother'.



Then Bran took aside his sister Bronwen

And asked if she would take this adventurer

Who had chanced the wide grey sea unbeknown,

For island fellowship and love of her.



But she too soon the captive of this fleet

Accepted the warrior's white gold ring,

Losing her gentle heart beyond retreat,

Gifted in love to Moir the pirate king.



But seldom do the peaceful bring horses -

And Evnissen, Bronwen's broken sibling,

Saw treachery there, and he was jealous,

Wanting her but hating the saintly king.



Then this would-be incestuous betrayer

Skinned the mouth of each horse to their jaws

Showing no mercy in his hatred there

Blinding the best in fury for his cause.



Then Moir, heartbroken, cast aside his bride,

Angry to the bone at this vile mischance,

And vowing war he readied for the tide

Set to repay dishonour with vengeance.



When word of this came to Bran the Blessed

He was distraught that he should be betrayed,

That his beloved sister should be mocked,

His rule of peace and justice thus destroyed.



And Bran the holy king sought atonement

That Moir should forgive this dreadful slight,

Aside its perpetrator's punishment,


Pledging his own claim to heavenly right -



Offering a sound horse for those maimed

A staff of silver as tall as a man

Fine plates of gold, and a cauldron, long famed,

That will restore the bodies of the slain.



Then all swore peace as the gods might behove

And Bronwen set aside her tears of loss

For tears of joy and vows of endless love

In token that these ills would fade and pass.



And after feasting the lovers took ship

Coming at last to Ireland and Moir's keep

With Bronwen soon loved for her fellowship,

And her beauty, and her playing of the harp.



But some of the Irish could not forget

Their losses and their humiliation

And Bronwen became hated and disgraced

Her life demanded in reparation.



Then Moir not wishing to put her to worse,

Made Bronwen the court cook's scullion

Bidding the butcher, as his killing curse,

To smack her ear with his cleaving iron.



But Bronwen who was pure as first-light snow

Charmed the castle birds which heard her sing

And taught a starling to speak so it could show

Bran a letter she had pinned to its wing.



Then Bran his gentleness and love despaired,

Conspired to conquer Ireland and heel Moir -

And a mighty armed fleet he best prepared

That thus the nations came to bitter war.



Of which so much is sung by the minstrels

Who tell of endless triumph and defeat -

And how the Irish opened a thousand hells

Feeding the sacred cauldron with their dead -



And how Evnissen staunched the warrior flow

By breaking apart the massive grail's bands

But died in agony as he came to know

The fullest fury one's own hell commands -



And how Bronwen died of a broken heart:

All hope for peace dying with her son Gwern,

Whose life unified what was torn apart,

The boy immolated by Evnissen -




And how they severed the head of King Bran

Burying it at the white mound in London,

To warn of civil strife and be the guardian

Of every peace the just might swear upon.