The Dawn in Britain by Charles M. Doughty |
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 | The Dawn in Britain |  |
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.
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 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!
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:
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.
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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
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.
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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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!
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?
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!
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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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.
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,
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.
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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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.
| The Dawn in Britain | |