The Dawn in Britain :: :: University of Virginia Library

Unto him young Belinus succeeds, his son;
But god-like Brennus grudging, younger born,
His brother twin; hath passed, these days, the seas,
In secret ship, unto his mother's kin:
For had Dunwallon, as in troublous time,
In a king's court been nurtured on the Main;
And namely amongst the Sénones, Belges Gauls,
Where to the dear Corwenna, was he joined,
In his first manhood, child of Gaulish kings.
There by his uncle Correus, as became
His high estate, is Brennus entertained;
Whose valour, gentle person, and fair speech,
Gifts of the gods, accepted are of all;
Whence gather noble Gauls to Brennus' part.

Come summer season, he an hunting leads,
To Arden woods; who ride with him, bear bows.
Being entered in that wold of stony hills,
First thrilled prince Brennus' shaft, a great tyned hart.
All light, to sup, now eve, then, in that place.
Sith Main and Island Gauls sleep round their fires.

When wakes them early chiddering of small birds,
They start desirous from their leafy beds,
The tuskéd swine and fierce ureox to hunt,
Follow them britain sleuth-hounds, in wild forest.

A league those were not ridden, whenas they gleam,
In yonder hills, discern, of stranger arms;
Great-statured horsemen, under whom there run
Little rough steeds; so that the men's shanks seemed
Touch nigh the grass. An hundred on their beasts'
Bare chines sit, Almain riders, by their guise,
Such as were wont to vex, with oft inroads,
The lands of neighbour Gauls. In days of peace,
Is this most honour of their warlike youth.
Contemners of the cold, the wind and the rain;
Short pilches clothe them, broached with brazen pin,
Or thorn, at the large breast; and long rough braies.
Come mingled with them runners, fleet of foot,
And all are armed with javelins and broad shields.

Now those, which passed in hazardry have and feast,
(Casting, for dice, the huckle-bones of sheep,
Which yester they had reaved, and sith did eat,)
Much night; being risen tardy, when the sun
Already soars, whilst in cold-running stream,
Some wash them; lifting night-mist from the plain,

Their watch espy some riding of armed Gauls.
Those then, shrill-fluting in their fist, call in
Their men; that hastily running, steeds and arms
Take: mongst whom, stern young lord, their duke, up-spake;
That show they should their manhood; and what vaunts
Some, last night, made they now, by deeds, approve.
They call on Woden, god, then, as they ride,
Father-of-Victory, mighty Lord-of-Spears.

Rides Brennus only as on hunting, armed,
With bow and shafts, and bear his Gauls no shields.
Almains approach then, with hoarse chant, to augment
Whose horrid sound, like buzzing of East wind,
They press broad bucklers to their scornful lips.
To-side, some little, draws then martial Brennus;
For slanting sunbeams in Gauls' faces smite.
Lifting his hand, few words that prince then spake;
Though ride yond Almain bands, to warfare armed,
And more than we; should those now make amends,
For many ancient wrongs. As they come on,
With shout, bend your stiff bows, and naming each
His god; your levelled shafts let fly, at once.
The gods may will we fall, but not die basely.

Gauls lost from view, the Almains ride forthright;
And would have passed that thick and cragged place;

But at loud neighing of a Gaulish steed,
Wends the Almain duke, that sits high on white horse.

Twang then of bows! and sped, like swallows, forth,
That Gauls have sudden loost, as six score shafts!
Which ravisht of the wind, pierce men and steeds.
Shrink the enemy's troops; a bow-shot they draw off.
Not many are fallen, on Arden's leafy moss.
In glade those halt. An Almain youth returns,
Towards Gauls; whose shaven beard and his polled locks
Witness, that yet none enemy slain, he hath
But this, of stature huge; with goodly targe,
And raiment, seems some noble personage.
With thick speech, Sigfried, insolent, cries to Gauls,
Ha, Welshmen, archers of small fowl in wood,
Too vile your shafts were to drink heroes' souls!
Body to body, and durst ye now contend,
With men in the open, know that Heremod,
Aelling, (was Aella son to Sigegaar,
Which of the blood divine derives of Woden,)
This day, your duke defies to mortal fight.
We plight us, and our Almain say is sooth,
Were Heremod overcomen, to serve Gauls;
But, and he overcome, ye shall serve us.

To lead them forth, Gauls loud, impatient, shout!
But Brennus careful for his people's good,
Seeing they came not, as on warfare, armed,
Them beckons peace. Then he, the enemies' proffer,
Accepts. So turns that earl to Heremod.

Six heralds now, three Gauls, with three of Almains,
Measure there lists, in a green glade; and fence,
With cords and hazel rods. Gauls, hunters, halt,
With spended bows. Halt Almains, with round shields,
Of linden light, before their warlike breasts.
Shine twybills in their belts; and lean their hands,
On grounded spears. When now all ready is,
Prince Brennus, on tall steed, pricks to midspace.
Sallies duke Heremod, straight, on a white horse,
Nourished by fountain, in dim sacred grove;
Gift of his sister, virgin prophetess,
And ensign of these Almains in their wars;
And of whose neighing wont divine the prince.

On Brennus' bridle waits a Briton page:
Young Sigfried, with broad shield, on Heremod.
But that great-hearted, when he marks outride
Brennus, to meet him, without fence of targe;
Bade Sigfried bear his own, wrought like the moon,
Whose circuits tin and bronze, (by hand o'erlaid,

Of Weyland, Saxon smith,) to the Welsh prince.
Heremod embraced then buckler of his squire.

Now heralds in bright helm of Heremod,
Shake battle lots: and, lo, have given the gods,
The onset and first stroke to Briton Brennus.
Then hurled the Briton prince his hunting lance:
That flaw of wind, or hand of hostile god,
Makes swerve; for it o'erflies the stoopéd neck,
Of Heremod, who, lo, cometh on, with bright dart,
And bloody intent, to reave his foeman's life.
He it casts; but midst of his own well-wrought targe,
The violent bitter head is stayed, of bronze.
Yet partly, eager to drink blood, it pierced,
Through beaten hide and brass: and razed beneath,
The hero's flesh. Trembles the javelin's heel,
As wicker wand, that whips in river's stream.
They closed together, on uprearing steeds,
Wrestles duke Heremod, with stiff mighty brawns,
Recure his weapon, pluck his foemen down.
Sits like tall cedar, rocking in fell blast,
The Briton prince; with glaive then, smote the Almain.
It glancing from bright helm of Heremod,
Rasheth hard border of his hollow targe;
And severed sinews hath of the duke's arm.
So huge the stroke, astonished, would have fallen

Duke Heremod, from his sell, but, generous, Brennus,
By the belt, upholds him, now in his tough arms,
Him mainly heaves, on his tall Gaulish horse.
And the Almain duke, upstaied, before him bears!
Then, by the bridle, wrought with gingling rings,
A goodly broidered work, of thongs, embossed,
He caught that courser white of Heremod.
Gauls, Britons, shout to heaven, at this brave sight.
Returns, unto his part, prince Brennus thus:
When, ah, that burdened steed, whereon they ride,
Founders, pierced in the belly, from a bush.

Rose Brennus light; and gently him uprearing,
Who swoons, with his stout other arm embraced,
And shields the Almain duke! This wrong hath wrought
Carle which lies bleeding, by shaft's shot, on grass;
That trained him, hither, crippling, like to snake;
While fastened were all eyes on the dukes' fight.

Now when this fell deed saw the prince's page,
He loost two Britain hounds out from the leash.
Those leap forth baying deep; but gainst them cast,
From either hand, that earl of Heremod, dart;
For Sigfried hath, in both hands, equal force.
An hound one smote to earth; but the other shot,
Razed foot of Brennus; whence the angry Gauls,

Their threatful bows, whereon ben arrows crossed,
Gan draw up to their breasts: but noble Brennus,
Unto his Gauls and Britons, beckons peace;
Dreading some retchless hand, might loose a shaft,
Gainst Heremod's life; and minish his high praise.
Lay the Almain heralds, on that felon, hands;
And spits earl Sigfried in his hilding face!

Softly then Brennus lifts, on his white steed,
Hurt Heremod: and him, lo, the prince embraced,
In his strong arms, afoot, now faring leads.
Ere silent in fierce scorn, then Almain throats
Shout, praising Brennus! Sigfried now and heralds,
They send to knit, with martial Gauls, right hands;
Asking they might not serve, as vanquished thralls,
But follow aye prince Brennus, in his wars.

Prince Brennus comely grants; and quoth to Almains,
How was he put unjustly from his right,
In land, beyond sea waves, White Island Britain;
Wherefore, in Gaul, he gathers armament:
And they, in arms, should follow him as friends.
Those further ask, to take up now, in Arden,
Their slain, to make them solemn funerals,
As custom is: which, likewise, grants prince Brennus.

Bearing seven bounden corses, on their steeds,

Almains, with Sigfried, ride: hurt Heremod leave
They, with Gaul's prince. Brennus cures Heremod's wound.
And were, of Gauls, that night their lych-fires seen,
In far-off hill, where they the bodies burn.
At dawn, the dead men's weapons those divide,
From mile to mile, for plays of running steeds,
In heaps. Who heap attains, that fee is his.
Only the ornaments of all fallen men,
Shall to their widowed households, be borne home.
Nathless none run that heat of freeborn Almains;
Since, pierced by shafts, those died inglorious:
Wherefore, who servants, gather their bright arms.

Returned, they Heremod find refreshed, with Brennus,
And Brennus makes them feast, in the wild forest,
Of chines of the wood-boar and swans' fat roast,
Venison of light-foot roes and the dun deer.
And when they all, in wood, have supped their fill,
And drunk, instead of ale, of the clear well,
Mingled with the wild sweet of honey combs,
Almains and valorous Gauls, plighting right hands,
Swear brotherhood; and duke Heremod with prince Brennus.
Hath each one conquered, even thus they hold,

In deeds magnanimous; whence appeased their hearts,
They in fast friendship, will contend henceforth.

At morrow's dawn, duke Heremod, with his Almains,
Mounts homeward. He, ere long, will turn again;
Thus made is their accord, with all who will
Partake the adventure of the prince of Britain.
They slowly march; earl Sigfried Heremod's steed
Leads: is his uncle's son, that salvage groom.