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

With fifteen thousand spears, the warlord parts;
Bearing those with them, only five days' victual;
And with their fellows, left their bratts and stuff,
(As druids them prescribed,) they lightfoot pass,
Following, by Thames' side, Caradoc, who drives forth,
Before them, with an hundred Kent-men's scythecarts.

Strong Antethrigus, to Thames' lower ford,
Rides, with him. Leapt down, at dim streaming brink,

(Whence he must wade or swim,) Caratacus
Drew, joined their hands, the East-men's duke apart:
And took all-Britons'-king, of him an oath,
By moon, and these high infinite starry gods,
Upon his sword! he delve and cast, this night,
A bank; and crown with pales, round, Britons' camp;
Wherein the people closed, (whose warlike powers,
By half-part now is minished,) with their beasts,
Ere sacred dawn; in safety, still, might wait;
Till he, to them, may turn again, from shore;
With victory, that is promised of the gods.
And if should march, from Thames, the legions forth;
And to them other Britons come, in arms,
Withdraw to wood, and still outwear the Romans;
But not join battle, in an open field!

Caradoc, (unwist to Romans,) midnight, passed.
Are blowing warhorns heard, on Kent side Thames,
At day, of the king's marching Catuvelaunians.
Gather uplandish folk, to him, with bows

And shafts; wherewith they wont the flying hart
To thrill, in the dun brakes of Andred forest.
They pause, at noon, awhile, to eat and rest.
Sith lies by beechen hursts, and oaken groves,
Their path, whose mighty crooked arms embraced,
(Which guirland, oft, hoar woodbind's honey locks,)
Seem lulled, to slumber, of a smooth South wind.

Under night-heaven, which seems world's starry tomb,
They halt; they lie, till dawn, down, on their arms.
Comes Dumnoveros, then, with battle-chariots,
To meet them. The third day was, after this;
When Britons' host arrived to Cantion cliffs,
Now lodge king Caradoc round, on the white grass.

Lo, weary warriors, shadowing with their palms,
Their eyeballs! look, then, under the sun's shine,
Wide o'er salt waterfloods, towards Gaul's mainland:
To wot, if yet come sails of enemies;
Over the fleeting borders, which high gods,
Eternal fence, to this fair isle, assigned.

On the spring-flood, ere yester, Romans loosed,
From Gesoriacum, in six-score longships,
With hulls of charge; wherein stand elephants;

(Through Mauretania and Spain and Gaul, had marched;
And sith, were, at quay-side, hoised with strong engines,
On their high boards, uneath.) In other hulls,
There lie gross beams, huge unknit frames, embarked,
Of wheeled machines; to hurl huge stones and darts.
Shall train them, Cæsar's Afric elephants.

A full moon shining, lightens their sea-voyage.
But, (foes, in secret heart,) Armoric pilots,
So steer the Romans' ships; that though, towards Britain,
Be turned their beaks, yet in the tideway, driven,
Rome's fleet was, all night, towards the seven stars.
At day, a vast; then, open sea appears!
Whence, doubting, Cæsar hastily sends for Vidius,
Chief pilot: whom, eftsoon, before him brought;
To crucify, he threatens, on this mast!
If any, in him, unfaithfulness were found.
But Vidius shows, then, Cæsar, the sea's drift;
How wind o'er waves, then waves o'er wind prevail.

Till the mid-afternoon, they row and sail:
When bear down on them; that seem fleeting towers!
Tall barbare hulls. Were those Dumnonian keels,
Which sends Duneda. And as few Briton chariots

Invade a cohort; rush on, confident,
Not otherwise their prows, winged of the wind.

Glast-stained, on the brown stems, like men in scythe-carts,
Stand long-haired noble Iscan charioteers;
In whose hands javelins, long sea-pikes, slings, spears;
Grapnels and tallow and tar, in flaming pots.
The freshing wind, Britons' gross-timbered navy,
Drives, mainly, Roman longships now aboard.

Like flock of daws, cry, drenching, Cæsar's soldiers;
Which, loosed from port, had deemed, under the yoke,
Of Rome imperial, flowed the very deep!
They founder in cold billows, drenching, choke,
In bitter brine; whereon, can take none hold,
Their fearful hands. Iscans, which them o'errun,
Cry out, So perish Britons' enemies!

Chatter the toothless chaps of drivelling Claudius,
Known by his purple sail and gilded poop.
He dreads, midst mighty fleet, and marvels fast,
How full this sea-fare is of barbare arms!
Sowed dragon teeth, then, Æson's hardy son,
In these wild billows, under high plough stars?
Whereof spring ships. He would, to all his gods,
That, from Italia, had he never sailed!

Kowain, who captains the Dumnonian navy,

Is borne through Romans' South wing, (that they break,
Firing some ships;) then, fetcht about, returns,
With swelling sails, made borde, on the North wind.
And as great beves, on droves of lesser beasts,
Trample, so their gross barbare hulls Rome's navy,
O'errun! nor can contend Rome's stoutest soldiers,
Gainst Britons fighting from an higher board.

Those thrust through, nigh to the imperial galley;
Which seeing cried mainly out Cæsar Claudius!
Are ship's-wreck, cold waves' death, fire-streaming pitch,
Come nigh him; whilst the barbare voice affrays
His very soul, of yond tall blue-stained wights;
Rings o'er the unstable Ocean, in his ears!

Now falls the wind, men ween, at prayer of Claudius,
Lifting his pontif's hands, to Rome's great gods.
Made the fleet-soldiers, then, new force of oars;
And with no little loss, uneath, draw forth.
All rowing, they the wind-bound Briton hoys,
At length outgo; and, sithen, lose from view.

Till night, when covered are the stars, they row.
Then weary they lie-to, not daring show
Light, in their lanterns. Mariners shout, from ship,

To ship, all night; and clarions softly blow.
Nor see men aught, when day begins to break;
Nor, neath their swart-brown bilges, weltering deep,
For the night mist. With rising wind, this lifted,
They sail forth; and hope, come, then, to some land.

But soon, behold, longships of single banks;
Which rowed against them, with impetuous force!
Yell, in their forestems, shaped like swans and dragons,
Tall wights, of other barbare tongue than Gauls,
That handle other arms. Their crated, bulls'
Hide bulwarks, all along, and weather boards,
Ben hanged with painted shields. From the thwart banks,
Rise helm-clad wights; and on them lift bright arms.
In woven mails, shine who the rest command.
Swords, bright bills, bent bows, are in their tough hands!

Is that a pirate navy, from North-way,
And the East-sea; and from the Amber Isles:
Long blue-straked and wing-breasted keels, that walk
Paths of the wild salt waves, with hundred feet.
Though bark now swart-bleak billows, and wars rouned
The wind; with sway of oars, a battle-wedge,

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Of prows, with raven ensigns, they fall on;
Spurning, that spumes again, the surging brine.

Stands every earl, to steer, in his back-stem;
His champions, midst the throbbing banks of oars.
In the forestems, stand armed their mightiest ones;
And their hoarse throats chant, Thunder, Tiu and Woden!
The pirates' fleet, as four-score long row-keels,
This night, from warding under Britain's cliffs,
Put out: the same which whilom called Cunobelin.
And they, that, as their own, the sea-waves ride,
More than all men, which neath the stars have being,
Are valorous; and great Bloodaxe them commands.

The king of Jutes outwent then other pirates,
By fleetness of his keels. Stooping, at oars,
Those thrust now in, betwixt the soldiers' fleet,
And heavy sailing carracks: they hold scorn,
As ballast-sacks, of unseaworthy soldiers.
And aye the worse have Roman legionaries,
Men wont to battle only on firm land.
Then yells of Roman drenching multitude,
Resound: those grey waves foam out Latin blood.

But Bloodaxe steers, the legionaries' ships

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To pass, where lies less booty to his hands:
He Roman carracks mainly falls aboard.
Then grapnels hurled-out; some inleap, with swords,
Some lightly o'errunning, on their banks of oars.

And slay the pirates all which, in them, sail,
With weapon; or drive, o'er their boards, faint Romans,
With untuned laughter of loud barbare throats!
Men of high looks and hard unvanquished force,
Wolves of the stormy forest of sea deep.
But when the earl hath, of a pirate keel,
Some carrack cut or twain, from Roman navy;
Being that as much as he might handle home,
In haggart seas, such, with their preys, fall off.
They take the large, and steer forsaking Romans.

Boulogne.

Father Sky, and antique war-god of German tribes; of whom, the third day of the Teutonic week is named. The word is the same as Greek Zeus, Lat. Jovis, etc.