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

Already Rome's new Cæsar, Claudius, dreams,
Beyond sea-waves, to conquer a new world.
Were named, these days, what legions should invade
Britannia: and merry of his foolish thought,
Waxed Claudius; but Rome's Britons sad and weary;
Even those which late conspired, gainst their own state;
Foreseeing, that, (like as Gaul,) subdued Isle Britain;

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Their children should be subject unto Romans.
Britons whom parted their tribes' enmities,
Draw now together; that, at least, might sound,
In their dull ears, sweet homely speech, in Rome.

Adminius, who was wont, at Camulodunum,
To drink, in wide-mouth horns, the dulcet mead,
Mingled with poignant juice of quicken-berries;
Now drinks deceitful cups, beyond the Alps,
In season of most heat, of blood-red wine:
Drinks drunken; and still drowseth forth his time.
He felt, then, all his inward breast aflame.
Sick, with a fever, on his bed, he lies,
Now, and deadly dreams. Against his fearful soul,
The angry gods send furies, serpents, chains.
He ofttimes cries out, for his father's son,
Caratacus; who, he hears, arrived in Rome.

Past skill of leech, past hope; last, sends, Adminius
For Caradoc: and of him, who comes, anon,
With sighs, embraced; the prince forgiveness asks;
Confessed, he compassed had his brother's death,
Amidst his voyage; when he, from Rome, should part.
Wherefore, to take his journey, Adminius warns,
By other paths, till he, vast Alps o'erpass.
Then, groaning, he laments, he dies in Rome;
And shall, in Britain, he betrayed, be named,

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Of Britons' renowned sire, ignoble son!
(There was a fervent greatness, in his soul,
Though it unrighteous were!) With faint voice, then,
He prayed his brother, his last message bear,
Beseeching pardon, by the saviour gods,
Of their king-father, sire Cunobelin;
That, after funeral flames, were not his soul,
To wander, with the ghosts of parricides,
Condemned, ah, in most dread and darksome place!

Then godlike prince Caratacus, a purse,
Takes from his bosom; and he bids Adminius,
Be of good comfort. This, their father, sends,
To signify, for his rebellious part,
Forgiveness, lo, his signet! It receives,
With joy, the dying prince, and long beheld.
So prayed of Caradoc; might be borne, to Britain,
His shorn hair-locks, home, to Caer Verulam:
That laid their father's hands, on them; Cunobelin,
Pronounce, might, the remission of all curse!

And, (with this ring-gold, on his finger,) burned,
His body; his cinders might, closed in an urn,
Be sent, to be mound-laid, in foster Britain,
Slow-streaming Ver beside; where the chief druids,
Sprinkling the blood, on them, of sacrifices,
Should loose, at length, his soul from punishment.

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And, yet, forgiveness of his father's sons,
He, dying, asks: then charged, warn Dumnoveros,
The City he and also Italy, anon, depart;
For cause he did accuse him unto Claudius!
Sith gan he, spent his spirits, some little sleep.

Then went forth, softly, Caradoc, to the street;
Musing of these things and to breathe the air,
With the companions of his enterprise,
Kevin and Iddon, lords of Verulamion:
And oft those turn, to listen, at the stair!