# The Song of Môr-Cant Before the name was spoken by kings, It was a sound the ocean made against the cliff. A deep, resonant hollow: **O**. It is the belly of the wave, The dark enclosure of the deep, The silent *Cant* where sleeping leviathans drift. The Circle of the water world. But the sea does not stay silent. It rises. It strikes. It demands to be heard by the sky. And so the mark rises, The sharp intake of breath, The silver crest upon the blue weight. The **Ó**! It is the sound of *Môr* breaking free. From the dark circle, the bright wave ascends. From the deep silence, the great roar begins. **Ó**. *Sea-Circle. Bright-Wave. Morgan.*
