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

Is clamour heard, on further part, anon.
Hath, son of Flavius, young deed-daring Titus,
There, (scaled the bulwark,) broken in, with his cohort;
Where waited none defenders for the Romans.
Those leapt-down, in the dune, soon overrun
Few herding folk and old palled wights; for all

The hardy strength of Dobuni is in field,
Caterfs and ensigns, with Caratacus.

Titus, made slaughter, in their market place;
Shouts, mainly, to nigh bronze-clad legionaries!
They throng in to him. Thus Corinium taken
Is, in a moment! Wherein prey find Romans,
And victual, more than ere was in Calleva.
All old and impotent folk, slay, angry soldiers;
Pill, at their list, and bind for thralls, till eve;
Nor heed then voice of clarions! to repair.
They blood-stained lodge and eat, in Britons' bowers.

But entered in the dune; set guard, the legate,
Of knights of Rome, for he, this night-time, fears
Might aught mishappen his seditious soldiers.
When, in Bodvocos' hall, to sup, sits Aulus,
Loud-rattling thunder shakes the dimnéd world:
Soldiers, that drunken lie of metheglin,
Do think they voices hear, of Britons' gods.

In this night-wrath of heaven, and the thick rain,
And lightnings serpentine, of prince Beichiad's men,
Certain, climbed covertly, have entered in the dune;
With fierce hearts burning, in their bodies cold.
Mounting, afoot, those vowed gifts, to war-gods,
And might they achieve some hardy deed on Romans!
Some having, neath their cloaks, hid fire in pots,

Kindle house-eaves; whereas they now grope forth.
Whence, soon, vast flames are raised, of the wind-god!
Like spotted wasps, that men burn, in their nests,
Under the clod, with sulphur fume, by night;
Then perished many lives of legionaries.
Even Britons, captives, with their fettered feet,
And weight, in their gyved hands, of brazen chains,
Slay, in night-tumult, many Roman soldiers.

Bodvocos, wakened, in his fever-dream;
Being all, at cry of fire! his guards fled forth;
Upleaping, in his own hall, caught a staff;
And by a Tuscan lamp's dim shimmering light,
Groping, where he bethought him lay the duke,
In litter, it to-dasht, with furious force!
But, in night's tempest, ere, went Aulus forth.
Nor yet the legate rests, for busy thought;
On whom lies weight, of all this war, for Cæsar.

Returned, his servants, raging, find Bodvocos,
Whom left they bounden, as one half forgot;
Nor lightly, again, might all together take;
So, frenzied, he lets drive, to every part!

Barefoot, tread Beichiad's venging charioteers,
Without-forth, silent! They, now, the king's porch;
(Hoping to find and slay, therein, chief Romans,)
Enter: from threshold, hurl now with sharp glaives,

Of glittering bronze! Then short and dreadful strife:
They smite, to death, as hunters beasts, those servants!

Bleeding, on floor, dead-seeming, they Bodvocos
Find, for had one, whom he hurt ere of Romans,
Betwixt the shoulders, pierced him. The prince lifting,
They say; He is not dead, hath pulse his heart!
As precious thing, they bear the hurt king forth,
On their wet shoulders, twixt them, softly laid.
Not wont to fear, now fearful men they are:
Through storm, through flames, how might, without mishap,
And danger of armed thousands of strange Romans,
They steal, to-night, him forth. But those, when nigh
Now to dune walls, were met with, by the watch
Of soldiers, which relieve the guard, with Aulus;
Where few, gainst many, fighting, fell those all;
And, smitten, died king Bodvocos a new death!

Full is of bitter smoke, Corinium dune;
Of blowing flame and lurking foes, unseen:
By whose shot shafts, out of the covert night,
Die many Romans, pierced. And when now, erst,
New day begins, through misty reek, to break,
The last of Beichiad's charioteers scape forth.

The prætor gave commandment, then; Off-smite
Bodvocos' head, and crucify the corse:

But nail his long-haired poll, high, on tall mast,
To take away the glast-stained Britons' hearts.
Which fell out contrary; for more hardy grown,
Britons, in open day, durst, ofttime, rush;
And desperately contend scale Romans' work!
Tempting, still, save their king Bodvocos' corse.
Romans who vanquished, hardly adventure forth!