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

But come day, when Cunobelin, lord of Britons,
Established had, to set forth, from Caer Verulam;
In wicker litter, is the sire, infirm,
Borne, on men's shoulders, towards the sacred plain;
With a great pomp of chariots, slow, ensuing;
Wherein ride lords, chief magistrates and high druids.
They journey: and his shield-bearer the king's arms,
And dragon-targe, lo, in the royal scythe-cart,
Upholds. They lodge, next eve, nigh where fenced dune,

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Calleva, on yonder woody hill, is seen,
City of the Guledig, swart Segontorix;
Who, mongst all Belges' kings, most war-renowned,
Which nephews are, to antique Commius.
Rides forth, salute them, king Segontorix,
And sheep he sends, to the king's camp and beves;
And mead and bread: for, midst his sacred voyage,
Cunobelin were not lawful, lodge in walls.

Thence marched; they, three days, journey and now approach,
In that wide plain, to precinct of the sun,
Where great choired temple of the hanging-stones;
Which, fame is, giants had poised to the day's god;
Mongst grave-hills, where dead nations lie around.
They find Duneda, and lords of the West tribes,
Already arrived; with whom much people and druids
Assembled: mongst whom, on tall Gaulish steed,
Carvilios sits. To him, with listful ears,
All throng. He cunning hand, to dreaming crowth,
Applies; and lifts, to heaven, great clarion-voice.

From throng to throng, Gaul's noble vates chants,
And Britons follow him, from how to how,
Like sheep-flocks. He them coming of Rome's legions,
Foreshows: and how more in malicious arts,

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Than manly valiance, lies proud Romans' force;
Men hewed like thralls. Plate-clad, the legionaries
Sally, stand fast, keeping, aye, even ranks;
At one man's word; or launch forth sleet of darts:
Whose hauberks bronze, and sallets on their heads;
That Gaulish glaive and spear, might hardly pierce,
Nor their thick battle-ranks, the scattered brunt
May break, of naked warriors, though more valorous.

At morrow, arrived Armoric Divicos,
One who is called a king of Summer ships.
Pirates, those wont reave, on some Roman coast,
Steeds; whereon mounting-forth, they harry and burn.
His winter wonne is with free kings of Almaigne,
Beyond the flood of Rhine. Five captains, Divicos,
(This Gaul,) hath slain, with his right hand, of Rome;
Not without scars seen on his hardy face.

Being lately, in stress of storm, come Divicos in,
With ships, to a South haven, in Island Britain,
He heard; how parliament, warlord king Cunobelin,

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Had called, of all South tribes, in Belin's plain:
Whose lords convene there, to consult, with him;
And that, concerning Rome's invading threat.
With guides, rode Divicos, thither, then; and leads
Twelve bounden captives, that were Roman soldiers,
Taken in a longship, with their arms and harness.

On startling Gaulish steed, borne in his vessel,
Stern Divicos rides. Before the temple-gates,
He, lighting, joins hands with the Briton kings.
Hang, griesly, at Divicos' saddle-bow, five polls,
Namely of those captains he had slain of Romans;
Pitched visages, that have silver scales, for eyes;
And on whose grinning teeth, spread leaf of gold.
Stern Divicos mounts, again; and all men marvelling,
He a green mound ascends. Thence, with main voice,
That seemed of battle-trumpet's throat, he cries;
Britons, when I behold your warlike face,
Methinks, ye should, full well, contend with Romans!

Probably Silchester.