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

Other caterfs run, of cerulean Britons,
Fast down from hills, new nations that arrive!
At whose view, prudent Aulus commands, blow
Repair: withdraws, then, fenced by Sabine's horse;
Nor yet is midday, his unshaken legions.

Who come, strange island people, to the war;
Men bearded, bearing moon-bent shields, unlike,
Of a dark speech, to other Britons, are

Belerions, workers in the tinny mines
Of Penrhyn Gnawd, which Bloody Foreland named.
Decet, their king, upleads them, now, in arms.

Caradoc his chariots sends, then, trouble Romans.
Sith, at his word, caterfs, dig and cast bank,
In circuit large; and fence, with pales around,
In Roman wise, their camps. But scorn Belerions,
To lodge, in field, within a wall of sods;
Saying, that such were fit, on some hill-bent,
To pinfold sheep; Belerions fear no wolf.
Let fence them Romans, in a land not theirs.

Twixt eve, and fall then of short Summer night,
Silures, from past Hafren flood, arrive.
War-renowned sire, Moelmabon, leads their powers;
And his stout sons. With them march Demetans,
Their neighbours, herdsmen of West-hills. Of broc,
Or wild buck's hammered hide, is their war-weed,
Which stripe of shaft nor dart may lightly pierce.
Great-statured Idhig, is their valorous duke.

When erst shines dawn, on night-steeped earth's dull face;
The prætor, looking from his wall, discerns
The Britons' bank; and how now seems increased
Their barbare host. He deemed then good his soldiers
Contain, this morrow, in their four-square vallum.

Nor yet day's white-horsed, swift-wheeled, chariot
Was run forth, from the secret of the gods;
When swart Belerions, on blue Britons' part,
Known, by their horned moon-shields, in four caterfs,
Go up, with shout, sheen thickets of tall spears.
Silures and tall Demetans, from their camps,
Come forth, on whom falls fury of the war-god,
Caterfs in arms; and, with swift foot, they pass.

Approaching, those disdain the Roman vallum;
That should, digged earthen bank, their foes enclose:
And, o'er that wall, they hurl their scornful spears.
Caratacus, yonder, leads out his blue army:
And with the lord-of-war, come flocking scythecarts.

They dwell then, till the sun looks from high heaven;
Waiting, that issue Romans from their gates.
Some taste meat, other drowse upon their arms,
Lain down, to slumber, in their enemies' sight,
On the fresh grass. Now, after this, approach,
From East field, lo, new host, men guised as Almains:
And, helm-clad! other bands, beside those, march.
And who them leads, tall, riding on white horse,
A war-god seems. It is the ethling Thorolf!
(Known, by his white-horse targe, and raven crest,)

Illustrious seed of Brennus. Lately he passed
With long war-keels, East seas, from Albis' mouth:
Britons' caterfs him hail, with long loud shout!

Warned, by the rowers of the Redmare ship,
Proclaimed, this second year, through Estian march,
King Wittig hath, (wherein a people of Brennus,
Wonne,) all who follow would, o'er seas, his son,
In arms to Bret-land, there to fight with Romans,
Assemble to Elbe-haven. Were they, this moon,
Thence, twice, outsailed, in thirty long row-keels.
Who foremost march come, marvel to relate!
Almains to Britain, bearing Roman arms.

Is harness drawn from forest's sacred boughs;
Spoils, which their glorious sires, of vanquished legions,
Uphanged, yore, to their strong Cheruscan gods.

Noble companion, Wittig, of Erminius,
Was; who his land's youth, leading against Romans,
In the last age, o'erthrew their consul Varus;
What day, of thirty-thousand Roman soldiers,
Out-marched from castra, thirty-score, uneath;
Which, gladly, gave their hands to bonds, 'scaped death.

That wood was a vast dying place of Romans!
Whose off-hewed heads, in all tall pines, nailed Almains:
Till none more found were trees, in Teutberg forest,

Whereon to hang the hated Roman face.
Wolves, those days, (which the wild roes wont to hunt,)
Did surfeit flesh, and vomit gore of soldiers.
Jowls of Rome's dukes, with pitch-daubed visages,
And gilded teeth, were, longtime, hanging seen,
With shields of captains, in rune-graven porch,
Of fierce Tanfana, goddess of that march:
Whose forest earth with men's bones, so wide round,
Was strewed, that seemed there heavens had rained chalk stones!

Too strait those spoils, for the great-statured Almains,
They were of them despised, and of their sons;
Till lately Thorolf warned was of Veleda,
With their own weapons to contend with Romans!
Then sent king Wittig, and were taken down
Morions and breastplates, for a thousand men;
Which Weyland's sons enlarged, with inset tongues,
Of hammered bronze, to Almains' just assize.

Halt, yonder, Almains, leaning on long spears.
Then, towards blue Britons' host, comes, barefoot, Thorolf,
(Token of mourning heart, for Togodumnos;)
And lords, with him, to hail Caratacus.

Thorolf, with Caradoc, mounts then battle-cart;

And joys, before thick blue caterfs, to ride;
And ordinance view of Britain's warlike tribes,
And Romans' vallum, in this land of Brennus.
Sith powdered, as he was arrived from march,
With angry and great heart, for Togodumnos;
The ethling Thorolf, twixt the hostile armies,
Proceeds to the mid-space. Hark, with great voice,
The Saxon hero proffers him to fight,
To-day, with Romans, many as this right hand
Hath fingers, which, before him, he upholds!
So come they on, by two, by three, at once;
And were those dukes, as he a prince of Almains.

Thorolf's warfolk gin, with hoarse insolent throat,
Chant of Rome burning, and great Heremod!
How show their heads then, bove the soldiers' work,
Men of a kindred speech, Batavians!
And, likewise, they, (though blow forth Roman clarions!)
Kindling their hearts, chant lays of Heremod!