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

Kings Idhig and Kynan, in the West; and Antethrigus, in the East marches, receive Caratacus: who, journeyed further, finds Thorolf, at Branodunum. Caratacus, returned home, repairs to Verulam.

Decreed is now, in Rome, the invasion of Isle Britain. Claudius, emperor, appoints Aulus Plautius his legate. Revolt of the Illyric legions. Claudius trembles in Rome. Sedition in the legions; which, (now in Gaul,) should pass over, to war in Britain. Aulus writes back letters to the emperor Claudius: which, received in Rome, Cæsar recites them in the Senate. Aulus withdraws, to winter camps, his seditious legions.

Springtime returns. When, then, the legions are led forth, the troubles of the former year revive. Aulus, with the chief captains, flee by night. Vespasian rides, to view the revolted legions. Certain soldiers, risen in the night-time, slay them which had been ringleaders, in their revolt: which thus is ended. Aulus punishes the cruel centurions. He commands then, to draw out the fleet; and stand ready, to embark the legions. Abaddon flieth to Island Britain. Returned, he blows new rage in the Roman castra. Narcissus arrives, from Claudius. Mockery of the soldiers; who now, tumultuously, ascend their ships.

The warlike tribes in Britain await the dread coming of invading legions. The island nations, seen war-flames kindled on all beacon-hills; rise that night. The Roman

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army at sea. Their seditious after-sailing squadron, rows to a nigh Briton shore. The former fleet, with the prætor, hath put in to a Belges' haven. Aulus sends back messengers to the rest, to join their camps with his. On the morrow, the again-ordered legions march upland, in Britain.

Caerwent. Aulus, in fenced castra, now waits the coming of Vespasian's legion. They, the ninth eve, arrive, from Gaul. Romans, marched forth, descry before them a great camp of blue Britons. Aulus' oration to his soldiers.

Battle joined; a mist descends upon the plain. The prætor blows repair. Valorous king Golam arrives, that night, with his Durotriges' warriors; and stout prince Morag, leading Dumnonians. The warlord's dream. Geta is marched forth, by night, with intent to fall upon the rearward of blue Britons. At day, Aulus joins battle. The warlord's foster-brethren fight, standing beside him, in the royal scythe-cart. Batavians assail the women's wains. Vigantios is first of blue Britons to yield ground to Romans. Women-warriors. The warlord's prayer, to his sun-god.

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To Kynan also, king of Ordovices,
(Whose seats, most valiant nation of the hills,
Twixt the two Dees; which, from nigh sacred wells,
Flow down, with hasting foot, to opposed part;)
Called Hammer-axe, his word sent Caradoc;
Asking, at Uriconium, him to meet.

And, straight, that valiant king, by signal fires,
Answers in his high hills. The Demetans' king,
Eftsoon arrived: king Caradoc, sith, takes leave,
Of Moelmabon and his warlike sons.
Come the sixth eve, he lights at Uriconium.
There Hammer-axe, in giving faithful hands,
Sware to that new accord and common bond;
Which is of all South Briton kings, gainst Romans.

Last, after many days, return their chariots,
When ripe, already, stands the Britons' corn,

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In wide Icenian fields. Stout Antethrigus
Sallies to meet them; (that chief magistrate,
Which expulsed Bericos; who, The-bane-of-Britain,
Hereafter named, dwells exile, now, in Rome.)
To Gunt, his city walled, that stands by Yare,
For potters' wares of name, mongst all East Britons,
He brings them forth, with pomp of battle-chariots.
There, two days, council holden is; and rest
Manannan, weary, and king Caratacus.

They speed, to Branodunum, sith, and Thorolf.
Come before Hiradoc's town, they view war-keels,
Riding at anchor, of that royal Almain;
Whose summer booths stand, yonder, on waste heath.
And there, behold, is Thorolf, fleet of foot;
Running, with champions, in a shining harness.
So swift, is told, the ethling, in first youth,
Was; that, both harts in hills of Wittig's march,
And hinds, he hent: and, (tamed by his great force;)
Them herded, like a flock! Strive with the strong,
Is the hero's wont: all martial exercises,
(His puissant limbs, to furbish, from loathed rust,)
He daily useth forth. Seen arrive strangers,
He, in míd-course, stays: lo, cometh, then, anon!

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Holding in his high hand, (that he, for heat,
Hath doffed,) his glancing helm, with gilt boar-crest.
And to his shoulders large, raught, low adown;
That seemed, of ringed red gold, his royal locks.
His fierce eyes shine, like this steep summer heaven.

Now are the princes met, right hands they knit.
And when those young kings make exchange of arms,
Almains, beholding, in their war-camps, shout!
They cry out all impatient to warfield;
Because, already, Summer draws to end.
Ween their young hearts, leading these Brennid dukes,
As Balder fair, not able to withstand,
Were, the whole world, their spears' victorious force!

Now, after supper, mounts Caratacus,
With sire Manannan; and, with hasty steeds,
Towards Camulodunum, guides, in dim moonlight.
So his heart yearns, to look on the loved face,
Again, of Embla. In month, they parted forth,
Of cuckoo's voice; when, on the budded bough,
Hangs the new leaf; and, three times, kine to pail,
Go home, from the fresh mead; and, nightlong, chants,
Beside the Colne, the blissful nightingale.

How leaps the heart of noble Caradoc;

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When he, now dawn, descries above the wood,
That tower of Camulus! Then, with whip, with voice,
Yet more the prince incites his flying steeds.
How pleasant is this heath, full of sweet bees;
Which gather honey, for the winter mead,
That source of strength, to kings and warriors:
(But, who shall taste it, wot the only gods!
For cometh dark homicide war, on the White Isle.)

Enters the city's gate, Cunobelin's son;
Under that sounding tower of Camulus.
Goes up, loud joyful crying, in the town!
Rattle, on the flint stones, his horses' hooves.
Rumble, bronze-shod, his wayworn nimble wheels.
All hail, with merry throat, Caratacus!
In that he, hastily, at his own royal court,
Arrives; from threshold issues of his house,
Clear as bright shepherd's star, the vertue and grace
Of Embla his spouse, with whom are magistrates;
For wends the queen, to visit round the walls.

Daughter of kings, she noble Britoness,
In absence of her lord, so doth, as hath
She seen in Rome. The rampire she from gate,
To gate, repaired; and gathers corn and arms.
And daily her citizens, she, with glaives and spears,

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Leads forth, by Colne, to warlike exercises.
Tarries Caratacus, three days; sith, repairs
He, to Caer Verulam, with the sire Manannan:
Impatient give account, to Togodumnos,
How all South Britons' kings and magistrates,
Have, on the altars of their sacrifices,
Together sworn, gainst Rome's invading threat!
And laud all men the wisdom of Manannan.

Wroxeter.

Brancaster, in Norfolk.

Now was, in these same days, decreed, in Rome,
Those legions, which, in Gaul, already, serve;
Should pass the seas, to conquer a new world:
And namely Britain, which untouched, since Julius.
Impotent Claudius, gone forth, from the Senate;
One Aulus Plautius, well expert in arms,
Appoints his legate, for that war in Britain.

This year, in Gaul, is great munition made;
Are timbered ships, and, gathered corn; prepared,
Is every kind of warlike furniture.
But rumoured, sith, grave tidings were, in Rome.
Revolt from Cæsar his Illyric legions!
Then fear, in every place, dread in men's hearts.
Is Aulus, in the City, long detained;
Till draws this Summer season nigh to end.

And now approaching Autumn's stormy tide,

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Levy the Almains camp, at Branodunum.
Last renowned Thorolf parts, with his war-keels.

Pass seven moons: then merchantmen, from Gaul,
Arrive, in haste to finish their affairs.
For is, those tell, assembled, to their coast,
Which looks toward Britain, great new Roman army;
With multitude of men of desperate fortune,
Which wont adventure follow of the legions.
Each day, in weather fair, like hounds, they sit,
Watching, with flagrant eyes, Britain's white cliffs;
From whence their hope is, they should turn enriched.
Quoth one, whilst his two spread hands he held forth;
How ready to embark them, rides great navy:
And each were, of these fingers, hundred ships,
So many he saw and more, the Romans' fleet!

Though lie, in all Gaul's river-mouths, Rome's navy,
The legions come not yet. Is who called Cæsar,
Most wretched wight, of all which dwell in Rome.
Lives Claudius, aye, adread of his own death;
Of every footstep! of each passing voice!
Under his lattice, made like iron cage.
He all day reads men's faces, fears to eat,
To walk, to sit, in strong barred walls, to sleep;

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Lest, from the empty air, fall some new death.
And lately, in that sedition of Scribonius,
Were even his tottering private steps waylaid.
Whence now hath Claudius guard of German soldiers;
That fence him, day and night, with barbare spears.

Called to his cubicle, princes of the Senate,
Cæsar begins, yet trembling, to enquire,
What deem they? and stands it, in his might, depose
The imperial purple; which, unsought for, laid
Was on his shoulders. He, at least, would send,
Certain his freedmen, to explore the mind
Of dukes and legions, in each Roman Province.
Hardly persuaded, suffered doting Claudius,
Part, to Britannic war, his legate Aulus.

When now behold Rome's legions, from Gaul's shore,
Vast wandering Ocean, surges tumbling huge,
On the fast strand; moreo'er, and when they hear
Dwell many warlike tribes, in yond White Land,
Under whose cliffs, deep quicksands; and how Britons
Be giants of stature, (such men have they seen,
Porters, to some great lords, in marble Rome;
Other tall doorwards, in Rome's theatres,
Slaves, sons of captives, taken in Julian wars,)
Dark dread encumbers their Italic breasts.

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Then, looking one on other, gan say soldiers;
How being in Italy, they to war, beyond
The world, took none oath to their imperator.
Is there none end of war, where ends the land!
And must even these cold grey waves redden soldiers,
With Roman blood! what little rests, from wounds;
Which they, in hundred battles, have received,
These many years; witness these now hoar hairs,
Their toothless chaps, witness these maims, these scars!
Naught else they gotten, which remain alive,
Have; even of raiment, naked is their flesh,
Under these plates of bronze! Have all their dukes
Returned, to Rome, enriched: they naught possess.

How few yet live, which fellows of their years,
Were yore conscribed, with them, in the self legions!
Are wars now to begin, in a new world?
And when, at length, to them, should be assigned,
Whose covenant nigh is out, long hoped-for fields;
Which, with what little gotten have their hands,
(And whereby only stands the public wealth,)
Were able to maintain their later age:
Were even that soil some forlorn fen or heath,
In hostile land; where dukes, that turn to Rome,
Should, last, them bid take to them wives; and rest!

They perish, by ambitions of the legates:

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That those, triumphing, might, in ivory chariots,
With pomp and blowing shawms, re-enter Rome;
To pass, in all superfluous delights,
Their days, as gods, with immense gathered wealth,
Fruit of the warlike toil of their dead soldiers.
But we, which marched have, o'er vast travaillous Alps;
These score of years, must fight. Thus chat the soldiers;
Through long night-hours, about their supper-fires,
And in their leathern booths. When day now risen,
Many forsake their stations and the ensigns.

Cites the proprætor, by stern trumpet-throat,
To his tribunal, soldiers. Without arms,
Stand dissolute, now, before him, the three legions!
Their titles he recites, for glorious deeds,
Under the auspices of great former dukes,
Full hardly achieved, in many a bloody fight;
Augusta, Valens, Victrix, Adjutrix:
And that they minish naught of their high praise,
Nor dim proud lustre of their former deeds,
He exhorts. Even this sea-strait shall pervious
Be to the Roman virtue. Full of corn

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And cattle, is yond fair plenteous soil of Britain!
Which lightly may be won. Should measured then,
Be land unto all who veterans, in their legions.

Who guileful merchants, fearing for their gains,
Gin pluck then, by their tunics, common soldiers.
Them, drawn apart, they whisper, in their ears,
What wealth were in that island enterprise;
What cattle, beauty of women, spoil of towns!
If any Roman soldiers doubt that voyage,
They, with their only servants, would ascend
Longships; and won unto themselves yond isles;
What wealth should all, of a new world, be theirs!

Dismissed the assembly; the tumultuous soldiers,
Incline, to words of some of theirs, their ears;
Whom, shoulder-high, men lift forth, on broad shields,
Persuading, first, require, of their poor lives,
The wage. Then heard was long seditious shout!
If any may return, to their own hearths,
Whose lives, their fellows dead, were saved to end,
Should such be, like to old lean beasts, out-cast?

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For this, (quoth they,) they tolerate, many years,
To lie out, worse than beasts, in cold and wet!
Nay, is none so wretched beast, as Roman soldiers!

Moreo'er they plain them of their crude centurions.
Such said, made bare, under their wretched weed,
Lean bodies, many show forth weals of rods.
They clamour, how, some small relief of tasks,
Must soldiers buy, out of their meagre wage;
Of those centurions, which their lives possess.
Consumed is, thus, their body and solde and cloth.
Marvel their spokesmen, at so vile a rate,
Her soldiers' lives, of Rome, should be esteemed!
The very plough-beves, that ere Roman fields,
When dies the day, have rest; but legionaries,
Must wake all nights, in arms; whereso it please,
Their dukes to lead, in soil of enemies.

Even who condemned, for crimes, are to the sword,
Or dig in mines, were in worse case, uneath.
Their dukes, aye greedy to devise new wars,
For to enrich them, of poor soldiers' loss,
(Which, sith, dight with triumphal ornaments,

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Sit, purpled, in the first seats of the Senate,)
Wont, lightly in great adventure, cast whole legions.
But soldiers, by whose arms, they all achieve,
Naught have; nor when they, long years, serve abroad,
A license to repair home from the wars,
(Even from their winter-camps:) to see how lead
Their parents old their lives; and their own hearths!
Caligula, now, is slain; and that is scathe,
Who friend was, with oft gifts, to his poor soldiers.

Lo, mingled deformed routs, not Roman soldiers!
For loosed is now all warlike discipline.
Again, them, Aulus, with loud trumpet's throat,
To his tribunal calls: with insolent tumult,
They turn, once more, the prætor's word to hear;
From the sea-shore. Blaming them, Aulus shows,
With his right hand, white-shining cliffs of Britain!
In the other, he a rescript holds of Cæsar.

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Soldiers, (he cries,) the emperor bids us pass.
And ye be unworthy, now, of Cæsar's trust,
Bear back to the prætorium, they, the eagles,
Whose duty it is; lest your seditious shouts,
Against the public-weal, should hear the gods!
Have memory, O soldiers, what their punishment is,
Which do forsake their legion's ordinance.
Yea, and if ye give occasion now to Gauls,
Inconstant nation, will ye not repent,
When ye have put in jeopardy your own state;
What time, and had ye overpassed to Britain,
Were the island prostrate, ended all the war.
But now, of all these things, write I to Cæsar.
Then Aulus, prætor, letters sealed, before
Them all. His ready messengers, bear them forth;
That put on, day and night, from post to post,
To horse. The tenth eve, those are come to Rome!

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In Rome, reads, trembling, impotent Cæsar Claudius,
The words of Aulus: and, though night, commanded
He, the officer, straightway, summon a full senate,
To temple of Fidius. The emperor come, therein,
He, rheumy-eyed, those letters of his legate,
With stammering tongue, recites. Then, he himself,
Commiserates himself; who, cannot, Cæsar,
Put off this burden of the imperial state.
O times, O malice! But responds Vitellius,
Consul elect, chief flatterer, lately, was
Of mad Caligula, yet, in council, one
Found wise; Even as wont the immortal gods,
Ill men offend, so bring these care on Cæsar!

Ben they not Blæsus' legions, which, from Gaul,
To Isle Britannia, now, should overpass?
The same, which stationed, in Tiberius' days,
In wide Pannonia, and namely on both sides,
Danuvius' flood, that great sedition made;
Wherein, they tribunes cast forth and centurions?

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Aye, and certain, in their fury, beat to death!
Which crimes, beheld his own eyes, in his youth;
What time he also served, in his first arms,
Being lodged in tent of great Germanicus.

Fathers, and most, quoth he, imperial Claudius!
My counsel is, Ye send Vespasian Flavius,
Leading his legion Pia, (rightly named!)
Aye well-affectioned to the imperial house,
In aid, (that time was also innocent;)
Which ever sith, in Germany, hath remained:
In aid, I say, to Plautius. The fleet soldiers,
(Men still found faithful,) able were, alone,
With wings of Gauls, allies, to chastise Britain.

Then first faint Claudius smiles. He smote together,
All in another mind, for joy, his palms.
And promised Cæsar, twenty Afric elephants,
(From Mauritania, lately again subdued,)
To draw his towers, in that Britannic war.
And, by divine Augustus' image, sware
Thereto, his palms outstretching! In new war,

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Beyond Gaul's seas, would he, (as Julius, ere,)
Captain, himself, his legions' armament!

Vitellius moves; Be Cæsar's gracious words,
In tables graven, of undying bronze,
And solemn thanks recorded of the Senate.
Will follow, the divinity of Claudius,
The Roman legions. In this sense it pleased
Write letters; which they send, with speed, to Flavius.

The emperor bade enquire, and seek through Rome,
Out, who have knowledge of the parts and coasts,
Of Gaul, that look towards Britain. When of such,
(Merchant-provincials, come, for their affairs,
To the world's city,) is known, few weeks remain,
For navigation of those boisterous seas;
Claudius writes rescript, to his legate Aulus;
Charging withdraw, to winter-camps, the legions.

Lo, now the imperial speedy messengers;
Passed through Main Gaul, to those sea-camps arrive.
And, in armed troops, behold, Rome's legionaries,
Wander like robbers; and they spoil the Gauls!
Yet, weary of this new license, not few soldiers,
To hear the letters read, revert to castrum.

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Sitting, before them, on high bank of sods,
Plautius' proprætor, then, oration made;
He magnifies the high clemency of Claudius,
Permitting draw, to winter-camps, the legions.
Great, then, their shout, Live Cæsar! from the shore.
Advance the eagles! Leave this curséd place!

Flavius Vespasian, with the legion pia;
Which stationed to defend the Roman pale,
Against incursions of nigh warlike Almains,
Letters received, hath written back to Rome;
That for new tumult, grown, beyond the Rhine,
Might he, as yet, not march, in aid, to Aulus.

When that long winter, entering now the sun,
In Aries, past; behold the legate Aulus,
From winter-camps, again, leads forth his legions;
The fourteenth, ninth and twentieth, to Gaul's shore;
Which chosen in Rome, for the Britannic war.
But there the tumults of the former year,
Renew; though noised is coming now of Claudius!
Soldiers, thrust forth their tribunes, from the castra:
They smite, with their own rods, those crude centurions.

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Aye, and certain drawn without, they, in salt waves,
Drenched: and behold, wind-driven cold night billows,
Have cast, on the shole strand, their bodies dead!

Ringleaders, from a mound, then Rufus, Calvus,
Volturnius, Cropinus, (men that best could speak,)
Do loudly upbraid, and still rail on their dukes,
Men of soft city life, as used in Rome;
Perfumed and valiant only in the debauch:
Wretches, which, when they wasted have their substance,
Bethink them of new wars. And sith now spoiled
All lands are, they would lead o'er sea poor soldiers;
To fight in Britain, Isle beyond the world.

Aulus then, and chief captains, fled, by night,
Bearing the eagles, with them, of their legions;
With hope, to save their lives, to camp of Flavius,
Vespasian, who makes forward, with great marches.

The fugitive dukes and ensigns were received,
Amidst the pia legion's four-square castrum.
Rode Flavius, then, with wing of Gaulish horse,
To view the state of those revolted soldiers.

But when that renowned captain seen approach;

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All hail him, those tumultuous legionaries:
Men call him, Father! They, now, deformed routs;
Do throng on him, an headless multitude.
Hunger their ears, to hear his martial voice.
All pray him, enter, in their desolate castra.
But, shaking forth his purple, he denies;
That Roman duke, which Cæsar and the Senate,
Serves, with their fury, would be maculate.
On their heads, be the crime of this revolt.
And choose they, whether they, which once were soldiers,
Will, here, in border of their enemies,
Most warlike nations, with the legion pia,
Contend, when this, the third day, shall arrive;
Or else revert to their obedience!
Which heard, they swarm the more, about his horse,
And humbly entreat great Flavius, lead them forth;
And were it, to new war, beyond the world!

He, blaming them, persuades, they sue to Aulus,
Imperial legate; that, for them, to Cæsar,
He intercede. The punishment, is, of soldiers;
Soldiers, which make sedition, in the field,
That each tenth man, by lot, should suffer death!

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There brake great Flavius off; and turned the duke,
With austere looks, from them, his horse. In troops,
They follow him; but rode Vespasian, forth.

The same night, certain constant legionaries;
(Which spoken have together,) weary of this
Excess, men faithful to their sacrament,
Have armed them, secretly; and, when the camp slumbers,
They tents of, who ringleaders were, Volturnius,
Cropinus, and other more, with iron, invade;
And them they slay! Loud outcry rose, of soldiers,
Then, in the dark! that start from heavy sleep:
And wot not, wounded, why they fight and die!

Come dawn, and seen; how slain, all those men, lie,
Who authors of their fault: with one accord,
Soldiers send message, to the legate Aulus.
And, for were now their camps contaminate,
With civil blood; all, with their tents, pass forth,
With troubled looks, to pitch, by the sea-side.

Returns, the third day, that stern duke Vespasian,
With whom rides Aulus, midst the pia legion,
In battle ray, being winged with Gaulish horse.
Hark! stretching stern hands forth, those Flavian soldiers,

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Clamour, them lead, gainst the revolted legions.
Sith, they alone, embarking, would win Britain.

Without their tents, stand the three legions' soldiers;
Tents, seen, confusedly pitcht, longs the sea-shore.
And lay all blame, their orators, come to Aulus,
Unto that forepast cruelty of their centurions.

Vespasian and the legate, found the castra,
With corses, strewed; that were they cleansed, commanded,
From civil blood! Restored, then, to the legions,
Their prefects, Aulus mounted, with stern countenance,
To his tribunal. He ordains, before him,
Then, pass centurions: he, in that, enquires
Of each, his stipends, deeds of hardihood;
And whence obtained he martial ornaments.
And whom, with loud cry, soldiers of his cohort
Approve, confirms the duke: but when, unto any,
They all, impute immanity, in his service,
Or avarice; he his sergeants, beat, with rods,
Bids, (laid on such arrest;) and they deface,
Deposed from all authority, his helm's crest.

Descended Aulus, soldiers take their ranks.
With trumpet-sound, march the new-ordered cohorts,
To the sea-brinks; and they, their impure hands,
There wash: then lifting, at new clarions' voice,

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To heaven; all those, (which they did violate,)
To the emperor, loud! renew their sacrament.
Aulus, that all might hear, with a great voice,
Draw out! commands the Prefect of his fleet;
And ride, at anchor; to embark the legions!

Now dies the evening red, on those cold waves,
Which compass in, Isle, crowned with long white cliffs,
Our foster-Britain. Glooming soon the skies,
I, (quoth the Muse,) saw in vast gore-swart cloud;
Whose cliffs like pearl, and towers as shining gold;
On thrones, that seemed of crystal, azure, made,
Sit demon shapes. Lord, Taran, of the lightning,
In highest place: then woad-stained Camulus.
Upon the counter-part, sate Nerth and Taith,
Unto whom wont Britons mere-stones dedicate,
God of all paths, and leader of the dead;
And Nemeton, hag, whose hellish spell can turn
The hearts of men, to wolves, in warlike field.

Sit lesser war-gods, round those misty walls;
Bran, helmed; and Caradoc, leaned on blood-stained targe,
And divine arms. Gods, without voice! discourse,
(Save wind-gods murmured, on that murky floor,)
With looking only of their glowing eyes.

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They reason of the war toward, with Romans;
Wherein they shall contend, with Latin gods.

Is dog-faced Hesus, porter of the gods,
Without, keeps ward. Lean, girt in filthy clouts,
To their cloud-hall, would enter Pestilence;
But Hesus her debars, whose carrion breath,
Would all infect, and grieve even demon-gods.
A cup she bare, betwixt her loathly claws;
Wherein, now, baleful mixture poured the fiend;
Even plagues which thee o'erhang, fair warlike Britain!

Then I beheld, towards Head of white-cliffed Kent;
And saw, dark effigied, in dim twilight cloud,
Great flying shadow! Comes, manslaying demon,
Now dread Abaddon, from the Gaulish main:
(Was he which breathed sedition, in the legions!)

Would slay our island-Gauls, this homicide fiend.
And as, oft-times, we bleak-sheen, in the sun,
Some crow see shine; at first blench, this might seem
Angel of light! Lighted, on cliff; to him,
(Falls, in whose shadow, blight and extreme curse!)
Resort the Isle's dark gods. Erst, horrid Math,
Britons' tremendous, impious, god of death:
(Can all gods not hold back his dread iron hand!)
The Morrigu then, crowned with a waning moon;
(Is she night-riding queen of murderers;)

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With Clothru and horrible Ethne, in her train:
Whom follow, hag-born, burden of the night,
Dim, bat-like, flittering brood of aery spirits;
Whose power increaseth, in the evening mists,
As day's light wanes. Abaddon, demon, shines,
With peacock feathers, full of glorious eyes,
Mongst them a moment; that incline their heads.

Yet, for all his great looks and lofty port,
Of pride, presumptuous, crooked festering corse
Is the Fiend's substance! (dread corruption drops,
And loathly worms,) of murdered wicked wight,
Whom buried beetles, in 'lone cankered grove.
None other flesh, (for greater power, to-night,
Him lets; it is great Albion's, in the earth!)
Might the man-slaying demon-angel take;
Who, puffed-up that foul carcase, rose therewith.

He, from whose fearful eyes, hell-pangs look forth,
Prepared beholds destruction of our Isle!
Well-pleased, then, casting backward baleful looks,
Lifted his spotted wings, the immane fiend,
Returns, towards Gaul. Under his heavy flight,
Is ferment of the sea, that roars for dread.

Arrived o'er legions' camps, his hellish breath,
Blows up new bubble rage. From mouth to mouth,
Then, murmur rose, Will Summer soon be wasted!

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Soldiers repent, that slowness of their hearts;
Which ere a war refused, had them enriched.
They, in the moonlight, oft, for yet is night;
Look out, on that great navy in their road.

Now, this same night, arrived, from the emperor Claudius,
Narcissus, a chief freedman of the palace.
With a great train and retinue this, from Rome,
Of cooks and varlets, the vast Alps hath passed.
Loud clarion calls, at sunrise, legionaries,
To the tribunal! they, in curule chair,
See sit one, higher than the imperial legate!
Narcissus, whose right hand holds Cæsar's rescript.
(The bill, as Claudius' face, is doubly engrossed;
That should, according to the time, be read
Rebuke or consolation.) But stout soldiers,
Anon, incensed, hearing shrill unmanned voice,
Of so base harlot, raised in their reproof!
Contemn him saying; Taints the air with unguents,
Yond piping scold! Is, (they, loud mocking, cry,)
This All-fools' day? when slaves, at masters, play.
Yond Cæsar's ribald, king of minstrels is!

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A fury, amidst these taunts, their hearts invades.
To sea, to ship! men yell, tumultuous.
They run, take arms. Some, the sacellum break:
And snatcht their eagles, stretch, to them, right hands!
Returned to camps, they pluck up tents; and carriage
Bear forth. Break soldiers, headlong, with great voice,
To shore; and loud invoke the blue sea-gods.
Who foremost, from the shelving strand, launch out,
What barks they find. Some row, to hulls of charge;
Some climb, confusedly, the longships, aboard.
This dures, till afternoon; to night, then, holds:
Nor any stays to sup. Wide-shines the moon,
Nigh to her full, on spring-flood; and them gives,
Large light, to sea. Dukes hasty counsel take.

Soldiers, with wings of horse, of Flavius' legion,
Would sally, against them, which tumultuous, thus,
Inship. But, asked his sentence, great Vespasian
Responds to Aulus; Impulse is, methinks,
Come on the them, from the gods. Were reason use
The occasion; and now overpass, to Britain!

Aulus bade sound out clarions! he commands;
That all which mounted on shipboard, descend,

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Again, to land; that ordered they, aright,
Were in their several cohorts. Whilst the legate,
Yet spake, springs merry wind. Men mainsails hoise;
And, lo, from Gaul's shore, borne forth Roman navy!

Pass tardy, in Britain, these erst summer weeks.
In every commote and in every lathe,
Assemble, each new moon, the land's armed youth,
To their lords' courts, for warlike exercises.
All lie down, nightly, on their shields and arms.
Now days of heat; but Romans come not yet!
Spies bring in word, then, of the lord Manannan;
From sea, of new sedition, mongst the legions.

Nor, yet, comes Thorolf; who hath homely wars,
Against his father's foes, on the Fast-land.
Nor yet were seen, breasting the cold wave-rows,
The pirates' keels: for lord is dead, king Orm,
Of the East-way; at whose high funerals,
In days, when should be parted all his wealth,
His son, Redshield, (so named, for he his targe,
In every slaughter, leading strong ship-swarms,
Wont dye, in war-gore of his enemies!)
Shall make land and sea plays, of running steeds;

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And champions rowing in long dragon-ships;
And shows of the seven noble skills of warriors,
Swimming and wrestling, playing at the ball,
Climbing and javelin-cast, the dance and course
Of foot and horse; and who, with bow and shaft,
Can cleave the willow-wand: and who best make,
Riddles and weapon songs; and best record,
Playing on ivory harp, in prince's hall,
Glorious war-deeds of old. And for Redshield,
Should precious meeds divide, with a large hand;
Gather, to him, from every coast, longships.

A light Dumnonian keel, of king Duneda,
Did first, men tell, espy that Roman navy,
Standing towards Britain, with confuséd noise!
To an headland, made those Iscans force of oars;
They tyned, (to that prepared,) there, tarry wood.

Watchmen, on Cantion cliffs, which, to the night,
Look forth, those over-sea red flames discerning,
Kindle their beacons. Answer beacon fires,
Soon burning, on all hills, to farthest Britain.
The sleeping Isle, at midnight, wakes to arms!

Speeding, already, at dawn, lo, thousand war-carts,
To Cantion cliffs, arrive. From Camulodunum,
Horse and light-runners, with Caratacus,

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To ward East shore, rush forth. Towards wide Thames'-mouth,
Archers of Troynovant march, with stout Marunus.

Assemble, with great power, proud Catuvelaunians.
In this first night, eight thousand were come in,
To Verulam, armed. And when new morrow breaks,
Them marshals, in Ver meads, forest of spears,
Cunobelin's son, and orders in caterfs.
Sword-men, in front, he sets; and who bear spears,
In the hind ranks. By fifties, then, the chariots,
He squadrons, with their captains, in loose bands.
Druids draw ensigns, from their hallowed groves.
The sun yet young, they march forth from Caer Verulam.

Careless of aught, save haste, the legionaries
Lose their most travail, labouring at the oars,
With so uncunning hands, to-night; and oft
The tacklings burst of their mishandled sails.
They solace them, with the rude songs of soldiers.
And flames, lo, comet-star, hanging athwart
The heavens, like Persic glaive, from part to part;
Whose point, before them, Britain seems invade.

Their dukes, at dawn, (which followed, have this night,

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In the longships; scouring with sail, uneath,
And oar;) assay, amidst this confused fleet,
To bring some order. They, the medléd ships,
Do part, then, in two squadrons, of their navy.
The first shall sue the legate's purple sail;
The next, just distance keep, of a large mile.

For that, erewhile, deposed Icenian king,
(Whom after-ages named The Bane-of-Britain,)
Fell Bericos, sent then the proprætor Aulus:
He, likewise, sends for Belgic Cogidubnos.
(They, newly, with Narcissus, came from Claudius.)
Those, brought before the legate, asks them Plautius,
Where deem they best in Britain, were take land?
Bericos responds, Longs his Icenic coast!
But Cogidubnos, contrarywise, persuades,
With many words, towards setting sun, hold course;
Where Belges' march, and he hath many friends.
The pilots look, to make, soon, Head-of-Kent.

Long that day's heat, and merry their sails' flight:
But weary, in the strait hulls, that smell of pitch,
Abhor, their very souls, faint Roman soldiers.
Made Aulus sign, then; Steer, for Belges' coast!
Yet a long summer day, on vast grey deep,
The Romans heave. But, when now, falling round
Them, the third night, gin murmur legionaries;

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Said we not rightly, and being yet in Gaul,
Was this Britannic war beyond the world?

That after-squadron, lying on loose oars,
In wide moonshine, were heard, of many soldiers,
Seditious cries. Then some, drawn furious glaives,
Hack bands and stays; and hardly are they appeased.
Sith, when begins the day, at length, to break;
Midst the unending and unstable billows,
Rising the sun, from part of the Mainland;
They, no more, might discern the forward fleet;
But certain headland, nigh them, and low shore.

Impatient turn, then, all the sea-tossed soldiers,
With furious brunt of oars, to that green land,
Their stems. Where now they see some river's mouth,
They row to enter. Helped then of the tide,
The first being come in; soon made fast their prows,
Men leap, to rushy banks, out, and green mead:
Other, not few, ships rowed, to open shore.

Soldiers, in Britain's meadows, pitched their tents;
(They, in yond upland, see none hostile arms!)
Lie slumbering-out their long sea-weariness,
On the sweet herb: and say, One day or twain,

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Would they, here, rest; and then repair from Britain.
They drive this sun forth, thus, with sullen hearts,
Empty of worth and honour; that forsake,
Against their sacrament, the imperial legate.
Behind them vast sea's waves, before them Britons!
Nor they have duke, save this old chiding Geta.
Fleet-soldiers gone up, on the green hill-bents,
Mongst thyme and gossamer, looking stedfast forth;
View not their consort fleet! At afternoon,
Who watch, see glance of arms. Descends a troop.
Horsemen, of Belges; fifty spears, approach!
Bright harnessed, a tall lord, before them, rides.

The men, whose long red hairlocks, backward blown,
Are of high looks, and like to Belgic Gauls.
They bear round bucklers, dight with hammered hide,
Of the wild ox: their mantles, long-fringed, broached,
With bronze, hang, party-coloured, o'er buff coats;
Which scaled, with glittering tin, of the White Isle.
Lo, wavering, on their shoulders, long war-spears,
As they fast ride. Three come, with them, half-Romans,
Chapmen of Gaul; sons, (pale, are those, of face,)
Of Romans and their stranger Gaulish wives.

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They, in the former fleet, had sailed with Aulus.
They put to-day their lives, for promised meed,
In this adventure; knowing both the tongues,
To be interpreters, as twixt Gauls and Romans.

Stood Aulus' fleet in, under island Vectis;
And anchors warped, in haven called the Longport,
(Harbour of ships,) which in the lordship is,
Of Cogidubnos, who his foster-Britain
Betrays. Disbarked the legions, measured camps,
The legate set strong watch. He sent then forth
Horsemen, with Cogidubnos, longs East shore;
To seek the lateward fleet. Soon, those find Britons:
For, from a nigh dune, ridden, with fifty spears,
Came certain friend of his, to Cogidubnos,
One Beltucadros, saying; his people saw
The Romans' second navy row to land:
Then those returned, to the proprætor Aulus:
Who, straight, caused, mongst the merchant-sort be cried;
Romans, which can Gaul's tongue, might large reward,
Win, with those men, interpreters, to ride:
And he, for surety of their lives, would bind
As many Belges, in the legions' castra.
These Romans, pale, then offered them to wend,

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With the armed Britons; (pale, as aye adread
Of the dire altars of the island's druids!)
And they bear letters, from the prætor Aulus.

Geta the seal upbreaks; and reads, The legate
Of Cæsar, in the war begun in Britain,
Unto who chief captains, in the second fleet,
Greeting. We entered now this Belges port;
And hear, in the same tide, ye went to land.
Now, when these letters ye have read, make speed,
To march unto my castra, with your soldiers:
And, put to sea, the mariners of your ships
Row, Westward forth, longs shore, to this Longport.

Such, from green bank, a loud-voiced scribe of Geta,
Outreads. And soldiers standing him around,
Make answer, with one mighty throat, Strike tents!
And, to our fellows, march! The tribune Geta,
Spake; that they silent march, in hostile soil;
Where is dark night as a vast ambushment.

Nigh was sun-setting; when, led, by their guides,

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In land of aspect strange, the legionaries
Make forth, long trains. Toward clear star, lies their path,
Under yond golden pillars of Orion,
Celestial gateway; which, now the third month,
Low over Britain lies. Behind them, soon,
Like a vast brazier, the bright heaven-queen,
Riseth o'er strange dim field. Cynthia! they hail her:
And lightened are their hearts. Much moor, they pass;
Where cries of the wild curlews, from night loft,
Seem shrieks of aery spirits. They hear no bark
Of hound, in the night peace; they see no wight:
Far from these pastures, Britons have driven their beasts.
Mid-watch was, when they see shine thousand fires,
Of sleeping legions: hear now Roman clarion.
With shout! they answer, and to camp arrive.

Portsmouth and Porchester Harbour.

Short are these summer nights: now early in Britain,
The morrow breaks. Dukes marshal, then, the legions;
And each pass forth, to their own bands and ensigns,
The soldiers. Now arrayed, without the vallum,

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Aulus, on a white steed, before them, rides.
Blaming their errors past; he sharply exhorts,
To purge their fault, by valiancy in arms.
In Cæsar, pardon lies or punishment.
Then he, saluted the victorious eagles,
Spake; Rest they, this day, out, furbish their arms;
To-morrow march; the third day, look to fight.
All lifting then right hands, in glittering ranks,
In Britain's fields, raise, loud, long Latin shout!

Being come all ships, now, in, to the Longport,
He, with his letters, sends, to Gaul, back, part;
Thence, to convey Vespasian's faithful legion,
And wings of the allies. The rest, drawn up,
Casts Aulus, round about them, long paled bank;
And cohorts leaves, to keep this naval camp.

When, now, (pale Daughter of the East,) treads forth,
The silver-footed Dawn, in saffron stole,
Broidered with pearl, from threshold of the gods,
Of shining gold; and, soon, in heaven's steep path,
Roll burning wheels of Belin, daily god,
Whom living diadem crowns, of lightning rays:

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At clarion's second sound! Rome's legions march;
With horsemen, guides, of Belgic Cogidubnos.

By field, by seeded plots, well-tilled, in guise,
Of Gaul, they hold; which Belges, with wheel-ploughs,
(Good husbands,) ear, and dress the stubborn clod,
With marle. Of Britons, few half-naked wights,
Were seen; men breeched with skins, whose wattled bowers,
High round-built cabans, thatcht with shining reeds.

Scouts go before; on either part, ride horse;
(Belges, are those whom Cogidubnos sends.)
Journey the Roman legions, long, armed trains:
And erst, where flows, by Caer Went street, clear stream,
They lodge. Is that best water, to bleach line,
In Belges' march. And, lo, a weavers' town,
Whose clattering looms; (for they, who there wont dwell,
Are fled,) to-day, in the forsaken place,
Lie silent. Aulus caused, to be, by trumpet,
Proclaimed: Are Romans friends to Belges' nation,
For which cause, he forbids their town his soldiers.

By Further-Belges, yet uncertain friends,

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Then Romans march. Them lead their guides, not far,
From Caer Calleva, of king Segontorix.
The legions halted, in a covert place,
Mongst hills, to rest; and cause this midday heat.
Some eat then bread; and all depose their arms.

Sudden, with dreadful yells, cerulean Britons'
Shrill scythe-carts break out, on them, from thick woods.
Well can those drivers wield, in swift career;
Or hold, on an hill-bent, their rushing teams.
Their chariots leap and run, with hideous din,
Of creaking axe-trees. Ride, on each, two warriors:
Britons run hardily out, on their yoke beams,
To fight with Romans, or thence hurl forth javelins;
Or, lighted, as stout footmen, they contend.

And whom they slay, in view of all the army,
Their off-lopt polls, all-bloody, (atrocious sight!)
They, on dire hooks, hang round their furious warcarts.
Upleapt, with scornful vaunt, then, those drive forth:
And their bronze whirling naves, whereon be set
Sharp sickles, Romans reap, with griesly deaths;
And pierce long scythes, before their horses' breasts:
And scourging, here and there, with rattling wheels;
All bloody, they o'erdrive who fallen of Romans.

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Last Roman virtue, with inclinéd shields,
And javelins'-cast, repulsed the Britons' war-carts;
Which, few, draw off, to breathe their smoking steeds.

He who durst, erst, encounter with Rome's legions,
Swart Guledig is, renowned Segontorix,
Calleva's king, of Atrebatan nation,
Semblant divine, of hardy strength and skill,
In arms: and nephew of old Commius;
Who vowed eternal enmity to Romans.
Is his that helm, of bronze, which two-horned seen.

Issued the legions' trains, from cumbered paths,
They march few leagues; and now, by a brook side,
In meadows, lodge. Here, seemed it good, to Aulus,
In fenced camp, Flavius, certain days, abide:
For brought-in Cogidubnos' scouts have tiding,
Of great approaching host, of woad-stained Britons;
Led by young warlike son of dead Cunobelin.

Strenuous Vespasian hath, with thousand horse,
Of Roman Gaul, and stout Batavians, passed,
(Twelve hundred spearmen,) now, in those sent ships,
Britannic seas; and, with his faithful legion,
Disbarked, at the Longport. This ninth eve, he,
His army leads, into the legate's castrum!
Cæsar's new rescript added Flavius' cohorts,
Hath, to Britannic army of Aulus Plautius.

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At day, now, the four legions levied camps;
March forth, few leagues, in warlike ordinance.
Ere noon, explorers, sent before, renounce;
They saw lodged, not far off, cerulean Britons,
Caterfs of footfolk, with much power of chariots!

And now the legate, past hill-brow, discerns
Great camps of barbare host, wide-shining arms!
Whom four-wheel wains fence, in vast circuit, round.
Then Aulus, tribunes of his marching trains,
Bade, halt the va'ward, without trumpet sound;
And passing, each, to part, on either hand;
Range them those former legions. The third, then,
Valens, which cometh on, the middle hold:
The fourth, to-day, their carriage shall defend.

The legions thus arraying them, rides Aulus,
Before their orders; and exhorts his soldiers,
Saying; Lies yonder, the blue Britons' army!
Nations, whom virtue and fortune of great Julius,
In old days, of our grandsires, overcame.
Ye ninth, ye fourteenth and ye twentieth legions,
This day blot out the memory of your revolt,
Showing yourselves, as erewhile valiant soldiers;

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That I, to-morrow, writing to the Senate,
At large; may set forth your victorious merit!

Seems, straightway, all that Roman field, in Britain,
To burn; for myriad hands do-on bright helms,
(Which cast broad brazen gleam, against the sun,)
At once! Draw veils, then, of their Sabine shields.
Sith, with swift foot, and eager angry heart,
And clenchéd teeth, at clarions' voice, advance,
Impatient unto battle, in thick ranks,
Like to one man, the Power of mighty Rome!

Blue Britons rise up, dreadful, with strange ensigns,
By tribes, caterfs and kindreds; that might, thus,
Of every one, the valour more appear,
Before his people. Station the island horse,
On the two wings. In Britons' battle front,
Are shining squadroned chariots: glittering dukes,
Drawn of white steeds, before them, slowly ride.

Venta Belgarum; now Winchester.

Voice raught of duke, even to the ears of Romans;
Who seemeth one nobler than the rest. In chariot,
Emailléd white, he stands; and his bright scythe-wheels,
Glister with brazen rays, like sunny beams.
Lo, where that duke draws bridle, he makes speech,
And shines his targe, before him borne, with gold:

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And son is he, say Belges, of Cunobelin!
King of the royal tribe of Catuvelaunians.

From Verulam marched, now warlike Togodumnos,
Awaits, the coming of king Caradoc;
With whom, Icenians' power, leads Antethrigus;
And, archers of Caer Troynovant, leads Marunus.
Tiding, to the warlord, of their approach,
Is come, by shout. Sit blue, wayfaring, Britons,
Each on a wad of halm, or on his bratt,
(Their nation's guise,) armed ranks, on the fresh grass.
Naked, behold, glast-stained, above the belt,
Be all these long-haired island warriors.

A Celtic word: cloak.

And chosen hath Britons' warlord, Togodumnos,
This place wherein he would abide the Romans.
There fenceth his left hand, dark beechen wold;
Upon his right, lie fenny pools; his front,
Ordered like bow, and chariots on the wings;
Whereby he hopes close-in his enemies.

Not to join battle, reads divine Manannan,
Ere Caradoc, with the East-men, be come in.
The sire too old, though, nourished of a god,
His age, to stand in battle-cart; hath bound,
(Gift of his father Lîr, the blue sea-god,)

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His divine hauberk, which no dint may pierce,
Of bronze, nor steel, before the warlord's breast,
With his own hands; hands which, with sacrifices,
He lifted hath, unto the unborn gods!

Romans, with their allies, and the armed servants;
And who adventure follow of the legions,
In Britain, are as fifty thousand glaives,
More, twice-told, than hath warlord Togodumnos.
Aulus, the Romans' front, in triple ranks,
Ordains. Stands, furlong-wide, each glittering legion,
All ready to run forth. He duke and tribunes,
With guard, outride, to view blue Britons' army.

To Dobuni and Catuvelaunians, kindred tribes,
Stout Belges Atrebats be joined, in arms.
Chief of the Belges warriors, bear mailed thongs,
With scaly brass, on their large warlike chests.
Are hand-breadths of waved iron, the sheen sharp heads
Of their stiff spears. On nigh hill-ground stand druids;
Whose magic chant borne on the wavering wind.

The sitting Britons clash their arms, and chant
Hoarse songs of antique wars and battle-gods;
When cease they to hear words of Togodumnos;
Whose fiery wheels draw three renowned fleet steeds;

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White-locks, with Gold-hoof, and, their dam, Blue-mane.
His upper garment girds that shining belt,
Of strength; whence, in his flesh, the warlord feels
New virtue, infused, of Britons' battle-gods.

Scythe-carts, outrushing, pursue Roman dukes;
That turned are back, inglorious, to their legions,
In sudden flight. Loud barbare trumps, sound-out!
Like many pastors blowing a grave note,
Upon that Latin Plain, which lies round Rome.
Scourge Briton charioteers their steeds, with shout;
Whose noise, whose aspect strange, of whirling hooks,
Affray, that trembling snort, Gauls' allies' horse:
And shrink their runners, from the arméd carts,
And shot of javelins, of who, in them, ride.

Britons, like hawks, leap down, from rushing chariots:
And, off-hewed polls, they hang, with vaunting cries,
On hooks, round their shrill justling battle-carts;
Dire spectacle unto Romans, which advance,
With angry shout, the eagles: legionaries,
Running, hurl forth, at once, sharp sleet of javelins.
On his part, Britons' warlord, Togodumnos,
The hardy vigour of the Island Youth,
Upleads, gainst Romans; that, now, with long shout,

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Draw out their shining glaives. Fall woad-stained Britons,
(Whom choose tremendous gods, to-day, of death,)
With Roman soldiers, on their foster-earth.

They more, (not fenced,) than fall of Romans' part:
Yet glory and shout their fellows, in their deaths!
Deeming that enter bodies, of who rest,
Their valiant spirits, which should augment their strength.
Stagger the legions, like long spumy chines
Of the sea-waves, hurled backward of fierce winds.

King Togodumnos sent forth thousand chariots,
To close in then left horn of shaken Romans.
And haply had, this day, seen their overthrow;
Were not that a South wind, which softly blows,
Down-rolling the hills' mist, their battle dimmed.
Fearing some ambush, blows repair then Aulus;
Whose guides say, cause was magic chant of druids,
That able are men transmew, to stones and trees!

Then measure, hastily, castra, Roman soldiers,
With a deep trench; and crown with high, paled, bank,
More than their wont; wherein, withdraw the legions.
Night fallen, sends Aulus waterers, to nigh stream:

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But whilst these, in cold currents, fill their sacks,
Fall out, on them, the Guledig's ambushed chariots;
Which mingle, with their drink, the Roman blood!
To tent assembled, now, of Plautius, legate;
The legions' dukes consult. Through Belges' scouts,
Is known, (confirm the Britons' beacon fires,)
To-morrow should augment their enemies.

Then license Geta asks, to lead his cohorts,
About yond hills, to-night; to fall, at dawn,
On Britons' backs. Prescribes much, also, Aulus,
To captains of the allies, Gauls and Batavians;
All, only, in battle seek they Togodumnos.
Great should be his reward, whose hand should take,
The Britons' duke; or bring his off-hewed head.

Now shrouds night darkness, both the hostile armies,
In their fenced camps. Neath oak's wide-spreading arms,
Shelter from dew, with martial Togodumnos,
Sit dukes of thousands, captains of caterfs,
Glast-stained; whose necks, with red wreathed gold, are dight.
Mongst many swart-hewed, stern-browed warriors' faces,

228

Which, with the warlord, sit; and whereon gleams
Red light of watchfires, some white bounteous looks
Be seen of noble women. To war-field,
In four-wheel wains, these followed have their lords;
And gaze their pupils, as who, to high heavens,
Make devout vows! And warlike Britons deem,
Oft moves, in women, a divining spirit,
As were instinction of some heavenly gods.
Bear bows, the most of their white gracious hands.

Erst, of Manannan, asks the Verulam king,
His counsel: who makes answer, Gaul have Romans,
Subdued, by only skill of arms, and sleight
Of dukes, and plate before their soldiers' breasts.
Wherefore our young men bind, to battle, armed,
Their bratts, before their chests: so fight they, vowed
All warlike spoils, to bloody Camulus.
Spake, likewise, Iddon, late returned from Rome.

Hark bruit! and is the mighty mingled tread,
Of horse and foot-folk; which, in this dim night,

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Approach, with men that hold forth brands, in chariots.
Comes Golam, valorous lord of Moridunion,
Who Durotriges' caterfs leads; and Morag,
Son to the king Duneda, with Dumnonians.
Those princes leap to ground, out of their war-carts!

Taking their hands, which touch his glaive, for both
Those are his friends, stern Togodumnos smiles.
And they, which now of this day's battle heard;
And see the fresh-bound wounds, of many lords,
Stand silent, musing vengeance, their young hearts.
Them shows the Roman watchfires, Togodumnos!
And, his stern voice, warns captains of caterfs;
Must be to-morrow's battle, with much blood.

Whilst rest, under the stars, (save who keep watch,)
The Roman arms; in dream, sees Togodumnos,
Of sleep, his hero-sires, Belin and Brennus,
In antique guise, and glorious Heremod;
As were they come, from mansion of the gods,
Standing on grave-hill, fast-by Troynovant.
Howbeit perceives, not well, Cunobelin's son,
Their antique speech; which tells of coming ill!

He wakes, and their dark words are in his ears,
Though fades the sense: but falls a sore constraint,

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On the young warlord's heart. Before the dawn,
The night-wind, as great mourning harp, in woods,
Sounds. Togodumnos rose, and so went forth,
To visit round all camps of his caterfs.
He knows each woad-stained nation, by their arms.
A dew is sprent, like blood, on the night-grass.
And mizzling rain steeps Britons' bulls'-hide shields.
Is rainbow seen, before the sun, that mounts.

Cohorts, which Geta leads, have strayed, all night.
Last, halted they, in thick and hollow place;
He sent out scouts. Now erst, when stars announce,
Is nigh the dawn, his spies, returned, rehearse;
How, full they found of marching men, all paths:
Britons arrived to Britons, are this night.
They creeping, close, might shroud themselves, uneath;
In grove, whence heard they strange loud chant of druids.
Then saw they Britons' priests, by altar-fires;
And captives, by them, bounden, stripped of weed;
Whom, heard their cries, perceived we to be Romans!
Whilst stood, (quoth they,) with horror, still our hearts;

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Priests smote those men, as beasts of sacrifice.
And rent their panting breasts, on the cold grass!
They pluckt forth reeking hearts, from Roman breasts!

Stood silent Geta's soldiers! Then great oaths,
They sware, to crucify, in Britain's war,
All whom might take their hands, of barbare druids.
Geta erects there, in three ranks, his cohorts.
Bird-gazing druids, which, from twilight hills,
The early flight devise of morning birds;
Now, springing dawn, descry those marching Romans!
And blow their crooked horns, of horrid sound.

Like to grim boar, that rusheth from dank wood,
Issues Segontorix, with swift battle-carts,
Calleva's king, and warriors' thick caterfs.
Had lodged, last night, the Guledig, on this part.
Gainst whom outrun, hurling their javelins, soldiers.
Romans draw forth, then, their short stabbing glaives.
They, angry, stubborn Belges Atrebats,
Bear back, on their piked shields, tumultuous,
Maugré huge force of king Segontorix;
Who slaughter makes of all, before his face!

But Belges' warhorns' hoarse and dreadful note,

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Heard, afar-off, of martial Togodumnos;
Fearing some evil turn, he hastes send out,
In aid, caterfs of Catuvelaunians;
Men wont stand fast, in battle, like a wall,
The Wall-of-Verulam, named, in chants of Britons.
Before them, rush loud-rumbling, swift war-chariots;
With sounding hooves of long-maned island steeds.
Stand noble young men, in those battle-carts,
With crackling whips, or run on their yoke-beams,
Painted, like dragons, with a bloody crest:
Whence they hurl down, on soldiers, sleet of javelins.

Certain light-armed, that march before the cohorts,
Grounding their spears, erst find, to withstand chariots;
Batavian foot-folk, men of kin with Almains,
Isle-dwellers, twixt two rivers of the Rhine:
And they exceed all Gauls, in barbare force.
Stern Guledig shouts, above the battle-din!
And soldiers fall; betwixt the Atrebats,
And spears of Catuvelaunians, which arrive.
And voice, aye more, of swart Segontorix,
Lord of the two-horned helm, like trump, cheers on,
The late beat-back, again victorious, Britons.

And where, in further field, rides Togodumnos,
Is vehement battle joined. Had Aulus, legate,

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Led, at sunrising, all his legions, forth,
From castra, in wide plain, gainst the caterfs.
And, lo, Cunobelin's son, ensign of Britain,
Standing, sublime, in white-emailled, winged, war-cart,
Blue Britons' brunt upleads, like the sun-god.

Helmed, harnessed, with him, in one royal scythecart,
Of one self-guise, stand the lord's foster-brethren,
Two strong fore-fighters, Camog and Morfran,
Sons to old champions of dead king Cunobelin.
Bears, neath his tunic, royal Togodumnos,
Manannan's plate, before his martial breast.
Nor might, of three, Cunobelin's son be known,
Save that, somewhat, his stature theirs exceeds;
And Verulam's champions fence the warlord's chariot.
Was this by counsel of divine Manannan,
(Who dreamed, befel blue Britons' king, some hurt,)
That were unwist the warlord, which he is!

A whirlwind Togodumnos, where he rides,
Seems. He his ivory-helved whip cedes to Camog,
The supple reins to Morfran; and those brethren
Both furiously drive, then, forth the royal steeds.
And, aye, their lord incites them, with great voice,
Hurling, with each high hand, far-flying javelins,
That lightnings seem. Now hath he wounded Sabine,

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Vespasian's brother; whom the Roman legate,
Set o'er the late-come wings of Gaulish horse.

Sabine, (pierced in the thigh,) his war-steed cast:
And fell, from off the noble Roman's head,
Bronze helm and eagle-crest; and Togodumnos,
The looks descried of Flavius, surnamed Sabine!
A friend, whom he, before, had known in Rome;
(When, lately, he was there, for king Cunobelin:)
Also, in Rome's great city, Sabine was
Their ductor; and before the Roman Senate.
That seeing! blue Britons' warlord turned his scythecart;
Loud crying; Do no man injury, unto yond Roman!

Whilst woad-stained Britons, in loose ordinance,
Valorous, withstand the poise of plate-clad legions;
Certain Batavian foot, by sudden course,
Hoping, to occupy the four-wheel wains,
Wherein much prey of golden ornaments,
And women-wights, rush from an hollow ground.

But naught wives, of the fathers, of their babes,
(That strive in battle-field,) to look on death,
Abashed; let flee, from spended bows, rife shafts;
Or hurl, like warriors, from their thill-boards, darts.

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Down-leapt, their Briton hounds, with a deep throat;
They fight with men, and on their spears, they bleed!

In that, there fortuned an unlooked-for case:
Scythe-carts of Kent, which journeyed had, all night;
Whom Rutupiœan young lord, Heroidel, leads,
(Forerunning they the king Caratacus,
Who cometh on, with much foot, of all East-march,)
Arriving, in that point; though man and horse
Come weary, yet infixt their dreadful hooks,
They on Batavians hurl, with furious glaives;
And them o'erriding smite, and pierce with javelins.

Victory o'erflitteth, with uncertain wing,
This battle in wide field, with double face.
First beat back Golam, lord of Moridunion,
Thick harnessed soldiers of Hispanic legion.
But, sith, prevail stout cohorts of Vespasian.
When now high noon, wax weary the cart-teams.

In this, three hundred horse arrived to Romans!
By hap. Had they, which parted were, from Sabine,
Night-time, in thirteen ships, on the dark seas;
Holding no certain course, sith, to Longport,
Come in: whence ridden, hastily, upland forth,
Aye following footprints of the forepast legions;

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They, midst great woods, in mist, (which seemed on those
High antique boughs to seize,) were, two days, lost.

But seen hill-beacon-flames, they made new speed;
And resting only at dawn, to bait their steeds,
Raught to this field; whereas, they suddenly, fetched
A compass, issue, at the blue Britons' backs!
Now on valorous Dobuni, fall their rushing spears:
Whose prince, Bodvocos, on that part, uneath,
The legions' brunt, sustains; with few caterfs.

Were, by whose coming, the spirits of labouring Romans,
Refreshed: so that did make foot-weary soldiers,
Many against few, new onset, on blue Britons.
On what part, hostile to Cunobelin's house,
Of Belges' league, Vigantios, faintly, fights;
(Who, traitorous nephew of old Commius, is
Now of intelligence with false Cogidubnos.)
And they recoil now, first, of all blue Britons!
Before a foreign foe, withdrawing foot:
Turned then their backs, yield Britain's foster-earth!
For was Cunobelin's martial son far-off;
Who makes wide breaches, with his bloody cart,
In Roman ranks, in sight of blue caterfs.

Fight, with sharp breast-pikes and their very teeth,

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His long-maned steeds, and with their brazen hooves;
Gainst plate-clad soldiers, mounting on their shields.
The king seeks, everywhere, the Romans' duke;
Desirous, with his javelin, him to pierce.

But when a new great clamour marked the sire;
And empty scythe-carts, drawn of frighted steeds,
Come from far field; he hastily gathered bands,
Of spears, strong manhood of the Isle upleads.
Headlong, outhurling darts, drives Togodumnos;
Horrid his glittering battle-chariots,
With enemies' nodding jowls and spouting blood!
And where, most, din rings, of man-slaying bronze,
Rush his shrill-whirling scythe-wheels; and now fall,
On, triple, stedfast bronze-clad Romans' front!
Shudders Earth's breast, with tumult terrible,
Of them that give and receive, wounds and death:
Neighings and prancings, rushing of strong steeds!

After him, hurl blue footmen, six caterfs;
Running with immense brunt! whose shielded ranks,
Like surging billow, that, now, kicks the shore,
And casts the pebbles forth, fall on thick Romans:
But, as the surge ebbs, soon, is spent their force!

Was then, ran Gorran, who the king's cup bears,
At Verulam; and brake through much battle-press:
So, swift-foot, came to the Dumnonian bands;

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And prudent Morag finds, son to Duneda.
That valorous, having, now, much Gaulish horse
Repulsed; to noble Kowain leaves, sustain
The battle, with his strength of blue caterfs;
And hastes, where Gorran shows him, with swift scythe-carts,
And succour of light runners, hurling javelins;
And taking, with him, other three caterfs,
Which he reserved, apart, with cries, they pass.

Men marvel see run, yonder, from the wains;
Where, ere, had their winged shafts, Batavians pierced,
A furious scour of women-warriors!
And shriek those, as they run, unto their men,
Die glorious! and shine arms, in their white hands:
And even, of some, the virile knees, compress
Swift steeds! which those had caught, of broken carts.
Other, fleet-foot, knit madding wounded horse,
With wain-chains, and with reins of gravelled chariots;
And given them, of a certain herb, to eat;
With new main cries, they chace more furious forth!

Those fallen, with great head, on a triple legion,
Tread Romans down; and burst their foremost rank:
Whose dukes behold those wifemen, in amaze!
Deeming them Scythians, one-papped women-warriors;

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Women, that smitten, rise up, from the earth;
And desperately contend, again, to death.

Beyond them, hurl those ensigns, and the squadrons
Of Morag, with dread shout! With fury, invade
They, Romans' long ranged front; and roll in blood.
To other part, then passed king Togodumnos.

Who fight, sith dawn; and yet they taste no meat,
Gin languish; and look Britons oft and Romans,
On the sun's course! Prayed the sire Togodumnos,
Then Belin, haste his setting; or infuse,
In Briton steeds and warriors, a new force!
Or, else, might soon arrive Caratacus.
And, with that thought, the warlord sends out scouts,
Eastward, to an hill-ground, which looks far forth.