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

Like glittering immense flood, of storm, borne forth,
Rolling great billows, poise of Roman legions
Hath first invaded thick-speared bands of Almains.
But they, well covered of their hide-dight shields;
Break, like fast rocks, and cast those waves, aside,
In bloody spume. To succour Almains, scythe-carts
Outrush; join battle blue caterfs with cohorts.
The heavens rebellow infinite battle-noise!

Strenuous, fulfilled of ire, the soldiers fight;
That hope win cattle, and prey of slaves and corn.
Is first the woad-stained host, tumultuous,
Of Britons broken; then, they repulse Romans.

Valorous Bodvocos, leading thick caterfs,
Was parted from them, in much battle-press;
And closed, with few, in pale of Roman glaives.
Nathless, made fence of bucklers, the king's warriors,
Shouting their gods! fight, ring-wise, round their lord.
Men fall, each moment, of them on their arms;
Till few be left. Then gored, by a shot javelin;
Fighting, to save his men, the prince waxed faint:
Nor able more his homicide iron to wield,

He, first of Britons' kings, was taken alive.
Yet hardly and bellowing fierce disdain, like bull,
Which, bound with cords, is haled of many churls.
Nor able valorous Golam was, on whom,
He loudly called; nor Cadern's son, to save
Their friend; though both thrust forth, with eager spears.

Maglos on the left horn, makes head: Silures,
Lifting their woad-stained hands, to the bright heaven,
Have sworn avenge, this day, the royal tomb!
On glittering scythe-wheels, hurls Caratacus,
And seems the flaming god! To dukes records
He, and blue tribes, their old renown in arms.
He, found Heroidel, bade speed, with Kent's war-carts;
And from the rearward, where less firm he sees
Their ranks, set suddenly upon the hindmost soldiers.

Wend, without whip or rein, at Caradoc's voice,
His three wing-footed steeds. Do souse, in full
Career, the winds, about the warlord's ears;
And backward fly the king's long gold-bright hairs.
He sends more scythe-carts out: and his great voice
Heartens, whereso he comes, blue warriors,
To glorious deeds, in all the army's sight;
Smiting, like threshers of the Autumn corn,
The soldiers' face. He casts far-flying javelins,

His steeds tread Romans, with their brazen hoofs;
And with sharp scythe-beam rend, and burning hooks,
And dauntless pikéd breasts, the enemies' flesh.

Yond cometh on Thorolf; and doth Romans break,
With spear and glaive of his tall Rome-clad Almains!
Are they, when battle-fury on them falls,
Strong leapers in the bloody dance of Woden!
Many have wide wounds; is seen much swart warblood,
Both on their arms, plate-harness and broad shields.
And marvel Romans, seeing barbare Romans!
And in the sun-god's ray, those boil and sweat.

Heard confuse clamour sound, behind the castrum;
Where now great cloud arrived of Cantion chariots.
Again, bids blow repair, the prætor Aulus;
Deeming new nation of unvanquished Britons,
As in the former days, assailed his legions.
Turning to Britons, evermore, their faces;
Foot behind foot, and joined over their heads,
Their targets, Romans draw them to their castrum;
Leaving the trampled slaughter-plain, to Britons;
Wherein lie five glast-stained dead, for one Roman.

With Camog and Morfran, Segontorix,
In twilight of the stars, o'er Roman vallum,
Again breaks, silent: and now, rightly, falls

The Guledig's glaive. Calleva's captives found;
(With loss of few, and blood of fearful Romans,)
Segontorix hath them saved, beyond the walls!

Yet quoth the Foster-Muse, I looked and saw,
Fly shapes of demons, under covert skies.
In form of raven, lighted Nemeton,
On rocking elder spray; she, craking dire,
There vomited battle-corse and rotten gore!
Nigh where have kings now supped, under oak-bough;
And, in their hands, yet hold the silver cups,
Of royal mead, whereof they drinking, (called
Their names,) made mention of who battle-dead,
And erst of Togodumnos! and had poured
Drink-offering, to dark gods of underworld.

Those then, anew, one upon other, stare!
Surmising, still, of Togodumnos' death.
Men murmur, as with baleful dreams oppressed.
Nor is Duneda with them, nor Manannan;
In whose wise breast springs counsel of a god.
But were those now went forth, and Caradoc;
With Maglos, that, to-day, was, fighting, stained,
With honour of a Roman captain's blood,
To comfort Moelmabon, sire; who sits,
Mourning, half-blind, alone, in the wide forest.

And none rests, who knows heart-appeasing words;
Which can men's kindled breasts, (ere they, like coals,
Flame forth, to civil strife,) in one, accord;
As iron annealed with iron, welds cunning smith.

To rancours of old faction, warped their hearts;
Some captains blame the conduct of the war.
Then Guledig spake, renowned Segontorix;
(Incensed by braids, untimely; like mis-shot,
And venimed, shaft, of friend's hand, that attains
Friend and him wounds; from lips of Antethrigus;)
Irreverent word of great Cunobelin's house!
What recks he more, he hath redeemed his oath.
Risen in fierce heat, he, mongst them, then, goes forth.

Marunus, Golam, Morag, silent sit.
The generous hearts, in their young warlike breasts;
Ache, gazing on Bodvocos' empty place!
(Nor helps it, these, mongst elder kings, to speak.)
Decet now slumbers, in the outer camps;
And Idhig came not, who is slow of speech.
Thorolf went early out, with Almain lords,
Unto whom is tongue of Britons yet uncouth:
And pight his white-horse ensigns, twixt the camps;
There he, till morrow's light, will wake, in arms.

Last called, to loud strife of unseemly words;

Which bandy dukes, in hearing of the gods,
The Britons' supreme lord, behold, approach!
With Caradoc, comes Moelmabon, mournful sire,
With frozen eyes; distained whose reverend locks,
With ashes of the hearth; for his sons' deaths.
Walks, father of good read, divine Manannan,
At the warlord's right hand. Comes, like a god,
Who rides, above the storm, Caratacus.
All who wait on his lofty countenance,
Will his high word obey, when he commands.
Comes, then, Duneda, looking on the ground.
Lifted her raven wings, when they sate down,
Flew forth the fiend; for soon should rise the sun;
When (druids ween,) should be night-hag turned to stone!

And seemed tall Maglos, Belin; Camulus,
Caratacus; and high father of the gods,
Moelmabon, as they sit! Befell, arrived
Then druid; whom, by the hand, Moelmabon's druids
Lead in, before the watchfires of the kings.
This, messenger of the oracle of some god,
Seems; who, in his hoar-yellow locks, long plume
Hath bound, of erne! Is he, a month of days,
Faring, with two companions, come from Mona.
(Are they of Samoth's druids.) With wildered looks,

Spake Airol; Groans, in the god's temple-cave,
Resounded; and his priests heard divine voice,
Say, how the former weal and free estate
Of Britons, save all kings, of Samoth's house,
Of one accord now, were, in Roman war,
Must utterly perish! At Duneda's voice,
Uprisen; then kings, touch all the warlord's glaive,
And knit right hands, among them. Caradoc, then,
Bade quickly mix the sweet-breathed metheglin;
Wherein steeped herbs, which able to remove
All heart's mislike, guile, rankling weariness.
He sends, anon, call in some noble bard.

And founden, soon, is Melyn, mongst broad shields,
Of Verulam: and, bard, leads now a caterf!
To battle armed, he, from the royal cup,
Drinks dulcet mead; and sith, deposed his targe,
And glaive, on bough, uphanged; his martial hand
Strook the shrill instrument; and seem his chords,
To thunder, and to languish and to weep!

He mourns now Britons' dead; he threats proud Romans;
And quickened are, with ire, all Britons' hearts.
He chants, to comfort of king Moelmabon,
Of heroes, which now, mongst high stars, have being.

Who fallen, on wicker shield, is, on his face;
Against the dawn, flits his immortal breath,
Waked, as from dream of sleep, from the cold corse.

He chants, how Ogma, spokesman of the gods,
This morrow's day; when great far-journeyed dead
Arrived, from sunless paths of underworld;
Had called their names aloud, extolled their deeds;
And, gracious, nodded on them blesséd gods;
And antique heroes took them, by the hand.

When now Moelmabon heard, that mournful sire;
How came unto star-hall, his fallen ones,
And entered music, in his frozen ears;
Betwixt his hands, he, bowed his hoary head,
Slumbers, that had not slept, since his sons' deaths!
Prince Maglos, doffed his hair-locks' circling band,
Of gold, them tyres, what time in battle-cart,
He rides; and to that maker of sweet lays,
(Who joying it received,) it gave in hand.

Then Melyn, touching new stern chord, prepares,
To sing an onset; and sow in men's ears,
Words, that should seem the voice, in his war-rage,
Of battle-god. He sounds loud piercing note!
Whilst young men armed, in silver cups, bear round
Ambrosial mead. But ere lords might it taste,
Heard blowing warhorns, in the Briton camps!

Upleapt all lords, and snatcht, with troubled hearts,
Their arms; they, hasten forth, to their caterfs.
Yet was but parting of the Atrebats:
Segontorix, that forsakes Caratacus!
The warlord's runners speed then, through the camps,
To bring him word, of all that falls, to-night.
They find unwearied Thorolf keeps good watch;
With his tall Almains' guard, twixt the two armies.

Or Nemetona; the same as Nemon.