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

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.