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

Chided this Summer night, Caratacus,
Impatient for the sons of Moelmabon;
Till he, on Romans, wreak their timeless deaths.
And Almain ethling Thorolf takes no rest,
So woodness kindles his great heart, gainst Romans.
Maglos sleeps, battle-weary; but all night,
He, in slumber, groaning, called the names, and wept,
Of his dear germains, went beneath the earth.
And Cerix, wounded, though he may not wake,
For drowsy herbs, which leech steeped in his drink;
Much wallows still, and winds, in troubled sleep;
Like red-hot iron, in tongs of cunning smith:
And when him new day wakes, he wakes to weep.

The sun uprisen, in wide field, now, are seen,
Wide-ranged, the naked Britons' blue caterfs.

The long-haired island king, in his white war-cart,
Rides visit the tribes' battles. Loud, great Caradoc
Cries; No man dear, to-day, account his life!
As bird, loost from the hand, shall each soul mount,
From his cast flesh, to star-hall of the gods.
And promised, with main voice, Caratacus;
Who fall in fight, their children should not want.
Avenge they now, in field, king Togodumnos!
All shout and smite, again, the glast-stained Britons;
Bright arms, to bulls'-hide-dight long wicker shields.

Thorolf cries, in their speech, to battailed Almains,
Riding on white war-steed; Are those the Romans,
Whom oft, both sides the Rhine, our fathers slew!
But could not Maglos speak: he silent looks,
To gods in skies, (else his stout heart must break;)
Unto whom he vows a nation's sacrifice.
Was heard Segontorix shouting to his men!

Who, duke, leads up Icenian thick caterfs;

And seems his four-square targe a tower of brass,
Is Antethrigus. Next enranged to his,
Are the thick spears of merchant Troynovant.
Marunus, Cadern's son, is their bold captain.

Who midst moon-shielded swart Belerions rides,
Is Decet; stand then battailed Demetans.
But Catuvelaunians, Britain's royal tribe,
Thick spears, blue-shielded ranks, the middle hold:
Beyond whom, Dobuni, that Bodvocos leads;
And Trinobants, which neighbour Troynovant.
On the two horns, are Maglos' stern Silures,
And light-armed power of Kent, and squadroned scythe-carts.

Blue Britons, seen, that come not yet the legions,
Sit down on the green herb; and battle-songs
Loud chant, from tribe to tribe, which made Carvilios.
And now hot noon, sit Britons, negligent;
But Thorolf risen, impatient, after meat,
Lo, shining bands, his warmen of the Elbe,
Upleads. Now passed mid-space, a wall of shields,
The castra they approach. Then sound out clarions!
And issue, harnessed, from all ports, at once,
The shining legions. Caradoc leaps, anon,
And every Briton captain, to his scythe-cart.

As cornfields, hurtled of new-breathing wind,
Rise up the woad-stained tribes, in their caterfs.