Highdown Hill is a National Trust area in West Sussex near to the village of Angmering. The earthworks at the top is a place of ritual sanctuary, burial-ground for Anglo-Saxon kings such as Aella.
Walking there, touched by its memorial energy, the 'Song from Aella' by Thomas Chatterton came into my head:
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_8kIfl3Tl661yBfIN8NhaXE4UDoJ8RADBLXHU1mldsT3rgFRPuA5mmGw1TCbm5aNnaHonNo0ho2y5ELW2oPozuoxd2jSWkhn-_KUGWUvimBSFZXOfYrOLT8ivr0RdRHbwy_yHro0xaF0/s320/20130816_170526.jpg)
O drop the briny tear with me;
Dance no more at holyday,
Like a running river be:
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.
Black his cryne as the winter night,
White his rode as the summer snow,
Red his face as the morning light,
Cold he lies in the grave below:
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.
('Cryne' is hair in Chatterton's pseudo-Middle English, 'rode' is complexion; 'summer snow' was actually a nickname for may-blossom, although global warming has meant that the phrase is not the paradox it once was.)
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