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

King Caradoc finds, with much disorder, filled
His court, wherein dwelled, lately, Red Adminius:
And this last night-time, (an East wind them wafted,)
Fifteen long stranger war-keels were come in;
Are men of uncouth speech and battle-gods,
And Almaigne guise, who sail, upon their boards;
That warped, now, cold-beaked anchors, in this hythe!
And some on Woden, some on Thunor, call.
On their most shields, is pictured a white horse:
A raven is their ensign, in the wars.

The men are pirates, sailing in long keels,
With high-necked dragon stems and gilded ensigns;
Whose crated bulwarks, deckt, with hard bulls'-hide,
Are shingled all with shields. Their wadmel sails,
Loost-out, to dry, hang, flagging, in the wind.
In every nimble keel, sail fifty thanes;
And fifty strong boats'-carles row, on the banks;
That draw long sinewed oars of the light pine.

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And limned, with blue, each warrior's face is seen.
Some wear ring-kirtles, over long frieze coats;
And each one girds broad leathern belt, wherein
Shines skean or twibill. In the tawny locks,
Of many, (upbound for fence,) are broad iron rings.

Those boast them ploughmen, in their boisterous lays,
Of the sea's field; whose fallow long wave-rows,
Their balks and furlongs; wherein they, to Ran,
Wont tithing cast, of all their gotten preys;
Which they have ravished, on some enemy-coast:
Whence those, with braying song, of their rude throats,
Which seem contend with the hoarse tempest's voice,
Row forth, with speedy oars. If any pirate,
Break troth of his shiplord: in the next haven,
Bound to an anchor, men him warp from board!

Those, turned, (in far North Coast,) to creeky shores,
When the leaf falls, drawn-up their long row-ships;
Sit, in the lords' high halls, at winter hearths,
Drunken of ale; and chant their warlike gods.
Nor any are, in the world, than these, more valorous,
Found; that none other fine esteem of life,
Than, chosen of Woden, fall in furious fight.

Lords of those pirate keels go, proudly, afoot;
Leaning, in stranger land, on their war-spears:
As each soil were, like as sea-waves so wide,

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Their own, where they arrive. The great tower-gate
They entered, of this city of Camulus,
Come on, with people's concourse, to king's hall.
Men are they of violent looks, that only trust,
(Fearing none gods,) in their own arms and force!
These thrust on, mainly, unto higher place;
And, loud, for the sweet mead, gin call and ale;
And they, uneath, had hailed king Caradoc!
Who looks, on the strange warriors, from high stall.

Howbe, they, in Northman speech, in Caradoc's hall,
Each other greet; (as who reck smally of Britons!)
Saying, Cóme-hale, Sit-hale, on this bench or stool;
Drink-hale! This Woden's cup, for Victory;
The next to Niord, and Frey; for a good year:
For young men, which have, as the king commanded,
Set meat before them, bear now ale and mead.

Whiles those eat bread and chines of larded boar;
And drink out deep-mouthed horns of curmi and mead;
King Caradoc sent, for an interpreter.
But when that sea-folk have, at length, enough;
Upspake one of those warmen, of North Strand,
(Interpreting, now, some ship-swain of Manannan,)

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Which seems, by his bright arms and lofty looks,
Should be their king, (and Bloodaxe his bold name;)
What mean the lords of Bret-land, these last days;
Sending their message, by the Red-mare ship,
To call, from far East-Way, the pirates forth,
So hastily, in arms; as gainst some Romish fleet?
Shall Cæsar sail to Britain's rime-white cliffs!

Kings of Bret-land, in plough-time, have them called,
From far-off wicks, long have they rowed and sailed:
Whence their boat-carles, for certain weight of bronze,
Look; and their thanes require, for the king's sake.
Else his ship-folk, returning home, as scorned,
Might, on some Bret-land coast, light, with armed hand;
Which hurt were to the king! he quoth, whereat,
Laught, a loud laughter, their untuned hoarse throats!
Whose insolent eyes, seem Britons to devour,
Already! Wherefore Colne's stout citizens
Watch, day and night, with secret guard of spears,
To keep the river-gate, upon their walls.

Swells the great heart of noble Caradoc;
And hardly, his rising wrath, the king repressed,
With righteous thought, that sacred are all guests.
Cometh in then Embla: and the gentle queen,

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Unto all commendeth patience, with sweet looks.
Sith, to each steersman, giveth, herself, the queen,
A piece of gold; whereon pourtrayed, is seen
The face and battle-chariot of Cunobelin.
Moreo'er, when such their custom and land's-wont,
She understood; twixt her two gracious palms,
She bears, lo, a mighty horn in Camulus' hall,
Of royal mead, to chief ones of the ships.

Queen Embla seemed then radiance of the sun!
The hearts relent, as wax, of those stout champions,
Beholding her, beneath their ringed-iron harness:
And falls, like o'erpassed storm, their truculent mood.
Who then is there, not sayeth, in secret breast,
Fair lady, all-hail! Though gnaws, for ire, his lips,
(Whose heart like spended bow,) Caratacus;
He gives an ox, out of the royal stalls,
Unto every keel, that might those, rowing forth,
To sea, make feast: and poise, to every rower,
Of bronze. To every lord of a longship,
A silver cup; and raiment for each wight.
The Almains drink then covenant, and depart;
Covenant, that they the narrow-seas should watch.

Yet heard is word, of other Almain ships;
Come likewise in, under the cold clay-cliffs,
By Branodunum, of Icenic coast.

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Lord, warden of that march, them, Hiradoc hath
Received. The strangers, drawn-up their long yawls;
In booths, nigh-hand, of boughs, lodge, on heath side.
And Hiradoc some to Verulam sends, in chariots;
To war-king, great Bretwalda, Togodumnos.

Mongst those, came renowned Thorolf, from Elbe's mouth,
Nephew of Arthemail, with his blue-winged ships;
Whose sire now rules, o'er mingled Ambones.
Come Chaucan, with him, and Cheruscan earls,
Of his great kindred, that descends from Brennus:
Each, with armed bands, in many long row-keels.
To Britain hath, outsailing, Thorolf sworn,
A Roman captain slay, on Brennus' tomb!

Nephew of Brennus, Thorolf is, in force,
As a wild bull. Might this, is told, a wain,
Pluck back gainst an ox-team. Wolf leapt on Thorolf,
In his first strength: but like hill-sheep, him caught,
The hero-child, by his long neck-hairs, and strangled!
A bear, another while, in swart pine forest,
Whose latticed boughs, all day, dim twilight made,
With Thorolf met; whence none returning was.
Bearing no weapon, he, with snatcht wild stone,
Choked the brute's gorge; that, erewhile, had slain men;

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And, on him, gaping, rose, with dreadful claws.
Nor yet were given, to Thorolf, manly arms.

What day his sire, king Wittig, armed his hands,
With spear and shield, before the folk, and bade
Do valiantly; Thorolf went out from the feast,
Him following all the men, of his young age:
And ere they again, at morrow's break, ate bread;
That ethling smote the pirates of the Elbe;
Which, longtime, had vext Wittig's warlike march.
And grows, each day, his heart, to emulate,
Of his great sires, the high heroic worth.
Lie stooping, on the wind, now nigh the land,
His thirteen keels: and well are they purveyed,
With men and corn. Who sit, within their boards,
Chant, as they sail, of Heremod and great Brennus!

Is also told, how, erewhile, Sœxmund named
Was Thorolf; till came Hild in, to Elbe-haven,
(Hild, Elsing;) and was Hild an ancient friend
Of Wittig's father, lord of East-sea ships.
Mishapped, fell, one day, Sœxmund yet a child,
Down in Elbe's tideway, from the stranger's poop,
Whereon he played. Was Hild's hand, Sœxmund snatcht;
Fast-swimming, (leapt after him, then,) from drowning death!

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Wherefore, lap-seated the saved royal babe;
Went in, sith, to king's hall; of Wittig, asked,
The Elsing, meed; that his saved little son;
He might again, as second father, name:
Which, to that shiplord, also, grateful, granted
The king and the child's mother. Hild, which hath
No son, after his sires, then, called the babe,
Thorolf; (which Thunor's wolf sounds to West Almains:)
That, by him, to a late world, their renown
Might come; and the wise Veleda had foretold,
Of glorious Woden-life, for Wittig's son!

Britain.

All Britons' ruler.