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

Was Divicos of Armoric royal house:
But fallen in an outlawry, his lordship lost,
Captain of desperate men, he dwelled in woods;
Till day, his wife and child, by some of his,
For numbered silver, were betrayed to Romans.

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He hardly himself pursued, by marsh and heath,
Had 'scaped, by only fleetness of his horse.

Bethought him Divicos, then, take some chief Roman;
Whose life should ransom home his wife and son.
But, with forged words, came certain messengers,
To him, as from the Roman magistrate,
Granting, laid down his arms, he should have peace.
Let him come in; and on Mars' altars, swear
Fealty to Rome, and promise to pay tribute.
But an eavesdropper of the Romans' talk,
Old client of his house, warned Divicos,
Of their intent, him secretly to slay.

By covert night, he went to soldiers' camp,
With one young warrior, kinsman of his wife,
And bearing, neath their mantles, secret glaives.
They then, the wall o'erleapt, surprise and slay
The Roman watch; without or noise or ruth!
And, sith, he finds her, which was his loved wife.
But, ah, with deadness, now, she him receives!
Tears hang, in her pure eyes, as icicles.
Is empty of joy, her faithful breast, henceforth.
She, with a whispered wailing, him reveals,
The rapine of her beauty. Their young son,
Wrestling to save her, Romans' thrice-cursed captain,

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Caused, to be scourged with rods. The noble child,
Yester, in anguish of his soul, is dead.
Low, in dark prison-vault, he murdered lies.

The ravisher's pavilion, her white hand,
Sad, shows, from thence unfar, in clear moonlight.
Then, thrice, she adjures him, by Gauls' deathless gods!
Draw now his glaive, and slay her wrongéd flesh,
Were but in reverence of her father's house;
Whence was she, issued to him, a clean maid.
Ah, when in greenwood and uncertain place,
They dwelled together, more that goodly child
Was, to them both, than land and lordship lost.

How, sleep the gods! Why heard they not the voice,
Of that true wife? Creeps nightmare, in his blood!
Sudden, snatcht her white hand skean of his glaive;
She, ah, smote herself, riving her constant breast!
So whispered, faint; I, once more, may thee kiss!

He turned; and, groaning, pluckt the crude steel forth!
He lulled the dying, in his arms, and oft
Vowed Divicos last destruction of proud Romans.
He, as beside his mind, kissed her pale lips:
He kissed a corse; for she is, now, a corse!

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Then, as one mad, laid from him her warm flesh,
He, with his mantle, covered his dead spouse.
So went forth, with fell heart, stout Divicos.

Lynx-like creeps he: the lecher's curtain draws!
On purple sleeps, lo, Rome's foul magistrate!
By whom, is dead and outraged his loved wife;
His crime hath made them, ever, childless both!
Dim burns Etruscan lamp. Him seems, in dream
Of lust, this lies, and wine. Him Divicos caught,
By the throat-bole, anon; and slew with knife,
Whereby his innocent died, that impious!
And sunk, to hell, his ever-damned ghost.

Hackt the tent's cords, they course through Romans' camp;
Firing, with embers of his smouldering hearth,
Then, halm-thatcht cabans of, now slumbering, soldiers.
Returned, soon, with new thought, sad Divicos,
He took, upon his shoulders, his wife's corse.
And that young warrior, made, of Roman targe,
Breastwork; before him, goeth, with long drawn glaive.
So, ere yet day, they wan forth, to green wood.
There, Divicos, mourning, digged his dead wife's grave;
Whence, parting, he passed Rhine, to freeborn Almains.