University of Virginia Library

Anon, the generous sons of Moelmabon,
A shield-wall made, before the ethling's breast.
Are those tall Cerix, Ferriog, Maglos, Merion;
That stand, to fence him, with their stoutest champions.
Hark! mongst tall Britons, Thorolf's Elbe-land Almains,
With boisterous words, revile those wall-pent Romans!
(Foemen, which overlook an high-paled vallum;)
Calling them, women! for their shaveling faces.

Then certain Roman Gauls have asked of Aulus,
He suffer, they might, from the castrum port,
Go forth, chastise those insolent barbare throats.
And Aulus easily grants. Should such, to soldiers,
Which look on, be a jocund spectacle;
Without effusion of the blood of Rome.

Mongst the allies, which proffered them to fight;
Praising their forwardness, choose his tribunes out,
Four hundred of the more robust: those pass
Then dextra-port, harnessed and armed as Romans!
Uneath three hundred Britons them await;
With hardly four-score Almains. Issued Gauls
Without; they ranged them, in four bands. For ensigns,
Those horsemen's spears advance; whereon they bound
Have wisps of halm. Each holds, in his shield hand,
Two javelins. Certain tall centurion horseman,
Is chosen captain of their centuries; one
Bassus, adorned with many martial ornaments!

Bassus, in Latin tongue, oration made;
Wherein he magnifies his faith to Rome.
He warns, use all advantage of the ground;
And skill they learned, in exercise of arms:
Are valiant those with whom they shall contend.

Of Britons' part, kings look on, from their war-carts:
Sit blue caterfs down, armed, in the long grass,
To watch the fight. Already, their strong champions,
Moelmabon's sons have ordered, in three bands.

Thorolf stands, before his great-statured Almains;
(Of whom is none, that durst not thrust, alone,
Mongst hostile ranks; nor blench his hardy face!)
His helm, inlaid with gold, of hammered bronze:
A boar's head is, with long gilt tusks, the crest;
Whose bristles gold. And he embraces targe,
Shines like the moon, that of Erminius was:
That hero, (in change of hospitable gifts,)
It gave to Wittig; whose light willow-wood
The hand, with wondrous skill, had overlaid,
Of Weyland, Saxon smith, with plate of gold,
And circuits of hard tin. Hangs Marvor, glaive,
In Thorolf's baldric, dight with coral studs,
The chain is gold, the haft of a whale's tooth:
(It Arthemail bare, men say, Rome's-bane, to Almaigne.)
This now he draws, conscious of thousand deaths!

Of the ethling's champions, few ben armed as Romans.
The most, for war-shirts, hammered hides gird-on,
Of elk, or bull: flint-stiff, with old war-gore,
Are many; of Wittig's, Elbe-land's, enemies.
An angry Gaul first hurled, against prince Maglos,
His dart: but he, protending his broad targe,
It bet back, on his foeman rushed with glaive,
Eager, in all men's sight, his life to reave.
Him deadly he smote, upon the brazen pan,
And cleft to chin; and fell the Roman cold.
And like as, in some bush, child, having found
Fowl's nest, it casts; and broken lie the eggs:
So brain and morion poured were on the grass,
Of this first slain, crude sight to Roman soldiers!
That look down from their wall: but, contrarywise,
Exult the glast-stained Britons. Hark, new shout!
For Maglos brake his glaive: yet, naught amazed,
The prince, stooped, wild crag-stone from field, uplifted;
It hurled gainst that chief captain of Gaul-Romans;
Who runneth in, with bright horseman's embowed glaive,
To slay him. On the sharp brim, of his targe,
The brute-mass pight: which, by that vehement stroke,
Back-buffeted on his neck and his large breast,
The weasand, bruised, and, (wonder to be told!)
That sharp edge severed. Spouting his life's blood,
Fell forth the dying Roman, on his face.
Exulting, Maglos spoiled, (fenced by strong warriors,)
Bassus, of harness, arms and ornaments:
His head off-hewed; then backward hurled, to Britons!
That, risen, make game, to spurn it, with swift feet;
Whereat laughed loud swart lord Segontorix;
That was not seen, sith Romans burned Calleva,
To smile. Had Thorolf leapt, with fearful shout,
Gainst Romish Gauls. His left hand took an ensign;
His right arm slew, thereat, a stout centurion.
Can none withstand the ethling's immense force!
Whose giant members fenced with scaly bronze.
As pirate prow, he wades war's bloody waves;
Pursues, like Woden; bloody harvest reaps,
His arm, resistless; men, as saplings were,
Hews down to death, and rolls them in their gore.

Cerix and Maglos, Ferriog and stout Merion,
Have, with their warriors, well-nigh overthrown
All who opposed them. Cerix' heel, mishapped,
In gore, then, slide; and he, of his own glaive,
Was wounded in his fall. Turned, at his cry,
Ferriog and Merion; and they run, to break
Much press of foes, which him now round invade:
But in that, each, in his unshielded flank,
Was pierced, of dart, which thick on them were shot.

Is this thrilled through the bladder and the loins;
Where quickly mortal is the bitter stroke:
Through shoulder he, to nipple of his breast.
Groaning, they fell; before their foremost warriors:
Which seen of Thorolf, he, with immane force,
And brunt of Almain shields, hurls back the fight,
And saved Moelmabon's sons; that were their corses
Not spoiled. Take up who noblest of his warriors,
Each prince, fainting to death, on his long targe.

Gainst plate-clad, valorous, Roman-Gaulish soldiers;
Thus naked Britons, and light-harnessed Almains
Fight: nor prince Maglos yet his germains' deaths,
Heard. He contending, boldly, far in front,
Gauls slays and chaces, to their Roman work.

Hark, lamentable cry, that thrills all ears!
Of an old wight, hath seen his children dead.
Is Moelmabon's royal fatherhood.
Though purblind, he his sons sees, borne back, slain.
He wallows on the ground; and his two hands,
With swart-snatcht dust, defile his reverend hairs.
His cry made cold, that hear, even Roman hearts.

Are Gauls put to the worse; for may none stand,
Before the brand of Thorolf; or the swift
God-given, to-day, great force of Briton Maglos!
Then other leapt down, from the pale-set vallum;
Romans, that hastily armed them, run in harness,
Gainst long-haired Britons, and their fellow Almains;
And likely had, eftsoon, sallied the two armies,
To battle, in the field; but Aulus' clarions,
(Heard, beyond hills, rebellowing sound of trumpets,
And confuse shouting,) Gauls recall to castrum.
Those, cast their hollow shields, behind their backs,
On every side, now, fly, towards Roman vallum.
Britons, with dreadful yells, pursue and smite
The hindmost. That day's cohorts of the watch,
Receive the fugitives, at their castrum port.

Sith, climbed some, in tall poplar-trees, of Britons,
Behold from river-lea, where men like Romans,
Flee scattered, before chariots. Sent out Aulus,
When Britons slumbering, (time of midday heat,)
His mules and waterers, from the hinder port.
But there had laid Heroidel, of Kent's scythe-carts,
An ambush: rushing now, from fenny brakes,
Those slay unwarlike wights and turn to flight.

Fierce Atrebats have sworn, again, to course
The legions' camps, to-night: but, with the dukes,
The Guledig is; who, for the princes slain,
Moelmabon's sons, make funeral sacrifices:
Yet, ere he parted, gave them one, Segontorix,
For captain, (who fights, with him, in his chariot,)
Young Madron. Poised, then, upright, on the grass,
His lance, quoth Madron; Should their battle-path,
To-night, be, where might, falling, this spear's point,
Show them! Which proved, with silent foot, they part.

They o'erleap the vallum; but there, from beneath
The paled work, rise up ready-harnessed soldiers!
And, as who taken is tardy, in wild billows;
When sudden eager surges on the shore:
Callevans, hemmed of thronging enemies,
Longwhile, might, not the unequal strife endure.
And for they, Belges, would not turn their backs,
Those warriors brake forth, hardly, with much loss.

Soon as the misty morrow gins to clear,
Clamour, with angry heart, to battle, soldiers.
Their forwardness praises, from a bank of sods,
Aulus; he shows them then the need of corn;
How they must march, to conquer some new dune.
Though Britons, now, in field, be a great army;
Mongst them, as wont with Gauls, soon, likely is,
Shall spring dissensions, and to factions grow.
So furious in beginning, shall these, then,
Lose heat; and that ere the cerulean hew,
Wherewith those stained have their pale bodies, fade.
As they wend forth, from council, Briton trumps
Salute the sun, with grave and dreadful note!