 | The Dawn in Britain |  |
A certain hird was sitting on green hill,
One rich, before the coming of the legions,
In field and fold, and goods and wicker cote;
Whose wont, in days of his ere happier state,
Was, tossing pebbles in his fist, or with
Crisp lip, loud shrilling, on his shepherd's pipe;
Or warbeling, soft, among his bleating flock,
Of love-longing, his careless stars to spill:
But all his weal the Roman-Gaulish horse
Have borne away, a prey; reaved, burned and wasted!
Whence is he now become the beacon's watch.
One rich, before the coming of the legions,
In field and fold, and goods and wicker cote;
Whose wont, in days of his ere happier state,
Was, tossing pebbles in his fist, or with
Crisp lip, loud shrilling, on his shepherd's pipe;
Or warbeling, soft, among his bleating flock,
Of love-longing, his careless stars to spill:
But all his weal the Roman-Gaulish horse
Have borne away, a prey; reaved, burned and wasted!
Whence is he now become the beacon's watch.
This, spied far-gleaming arms, of enemies' march;
Rathe kindled his, there heaped, much gathered wood:
So raised thick smouldering smoke, of stalks and grass.
Sith armed, with only sling and bat, run-forth,
On strong swift feet; he, passed much upland coast;
And tiding bare, to Fythiol, within night.
Rathe kindled his, there heaped, much gathered wood:
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Sith armed, with only sling and bat, run-forth,
On strong swift feet; he, passed much upland coast;
And tiding bare, to Fythiol, within night.
That duke then, of the scythe-carts, of East March,
Leads forth, (dim shines the moon, in falling rain,)
Ere twilight of new dawn, five hundred chariots.
Leads forth, (dim shines the moon, in falling rain,)
Ere twilight of new dawn, five hundred chariots.
They come down, nigh where Romans' camp, now halt:
Lest, even of their feltered wheels, the noise
Were heard, and their horn-footed steeds. To grass,
Leapt charioteers, anon; there left in hands,
Of few of theirs, to ward the smoking teams,
With silent foot, those steal forth, with their arms.
Lest, even of their feltered wheels, the noise
Were heard, and their horn-footed steeds. To grass,
Leapt charioteers, anon; there left in hands,
Of few of theirs, to ward the smoking teams,
With silent foot, those steal forth, with their arms.
Now are they come, to the first slumbering cohorts;
Which, weary from long march, and no foes seen,
Were lain, unfenced, to-night, down in the plain;
Neath Summer stars, about their dying fires.
Even the helmed watch drowse, leaning on their arms.
Which, weary from long march, and no foes seen,
Were lain, unfenced, to-night, down in the plain;
Neath Summer stars, about their dying fires.
Even the helmed watch drowse, leaning on their arms.
Who sleep, dream hideous voice! By bitter stroke,
Of glaive, those wake; to sleep, in endless death.
Britons pierce and slay forth then stranger Romans;
Strong robbers those, slumbering in their wet fields,
Not guests! till their red hands ache. Soon, heard tumult!
With harnessed hasty tread, the Romans' watch
Approach. Like fierce wolves, then, in the night-murk,
Blue Britons, which have houghed the tethered steeds,
Of Gauls and Roman knights, scape forth to warcarts.
Of glaive, those wake; to sleep, in endless death.
Britons pierce and slay forth then stranger Romans;
Strong robbers those, slumbering in their wet fields,
Not guests! till their red hands ache. Soon, heard tumult!
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Approach. Like fierce wolves, then, in the night-murk,
Blue Britons, which have houghed the tethered steeds,
Of Gauls and Roman knights, scape forth to warcarts.
Buried the dead, at day, then soldiers march:
(Fierce is whose countenance, for that ire, which fills
More, daily, in this Britannic war, their breasts!)
Nor Britons cease the legions' trains to grieve.
Each hour, they kill, cut-off and carriage seize.
Romans, now weak in horse, more slowly pass.
Nor aught abates blue Britons' hardihood!
Calling, for vengeance, on their gods, they ride;
Careless of wounds, despising warlike death.
(Fierce is whose countenance, for that ire, which fills
More, daily, in this Britannic war, their breasts!)
Nor Britons cease the legions' trains to grieve.
Each hour, they kill, cut-off and carriage seize.
Romans, now weak in horse, more slowly pass.
Nor aught abates blue Britons' hardihood!
Calling, for vengeance, on their gods, they ride;
Careless of wounds, despising warlike death.
In that defection of Segontorix,
Withdrawn, awhile, with his main power, to woods,
Warlord Caratacus is, before the Romans.
Though meal brought Britons, in their four-wheel wains,
And, with the host, are driven flocks and horn-beasts;
And feed forth swine-herds for them, in the forest:
Yet all were less, than, many days, suffice,
So great an army of Britons' might to eat.
Wherefore, whilst many arrive, other turn home.
Withdrawn, awhile, with his main power, to woods,
Warlord Caratacus is, before the Romans.
Though meal brought Britons, in their four-wheel wains,
And, with the host, are driven flocks and horn-beasts;
And feed forth swine-herds for them, in the forest:
Yet all were less, than, many days, suffice,
So great an army of Britons' might to eat.
Wherefore, whilst many arrive, other turn home.
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But being, by Kynan's coming, sith increased;
When they have digged, and laid their battle-dead,
In foster-mould; march swiftly long-haired Britons,
Whose meaning now is to surprise Calleva.
When they have digged, and laid their battle-dead,
In foster-mould; march swiftly long-haired Britons,
Whose meaning now is to surprise Calleva.
| The Dawn in Britain | |