The Dawn in Britain by Charles M. Doughty |
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 | The Dawn in Britain |  |
Has Claudius Cæsar supped, on golden plate;
And full of surfeit, drunken, on his bed,
Of purple; whereon, like draff-sack, him heaved,
His servants, routs. And as one newly dead,
No more recks he of death, nor of late dread
Of foes, nor drenching fathoms of salt deep.
And full of surfeit, drunken, on his bed,
Of purple; whereon, like draff-sack, him heaved,
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No more recks he of death, nor of late dread
Of foes, nor drenching fathoms of salt deep.
Yet late, in this moonlight, have met with Romans,
Other long barbare prows: are Thorolf's ships,
Sailed from Thames-haven, and steering for Elbe's mouth;
Thence to return, with a new charge of victual.
On Rome's long galleys, full of drowsing soldiers,
That heavy row, those rush, with furious oars.
And as few dolphins scatter school of fish,
They Romans sperse, in the dim night and chace.
Other long barbare prows: are Thorolf's ships,
Sailed from Thames-haven, and steering for Elbe's mouth;
Thence to return, with a new charge of victual.
On Rome's long galleys, full of drowsing soldiers,
That heavy row, those rush, with furious oars.
And as few dolphins scatter school of fish,
They Romans sperse, in the dim night and chace.
Dreams, drunken, Claudius; and their dreadful yells,
Io triumphe! shouts, him-seems, of Romans;
Passing his triumph gates of sovereign Rome!
Loaden with spoils of the Britannic war.
But envying some wind-god, the glory of Thorolf;
Night-mist now breathes, twixt them and Cæsar's ships,
And veiled the heavenly signs. Have those the moon,
But these not light to sail. Before their stems,
Seemed Almain shipswains loom, then, as white cliffs:
Wherefore their steersmen, fearing fall on land;
They lie upon their oars; but Romans pass.
Io triumphe! shouts, him-seems, of Romans;
Passing his triumph gates of sovereign Rome!
Loaden with spoils of the Britannic war.
But envying some wind-god, the glory of Thorolf;
Night-mist now breathes, twixt them and Cæsar's ships,
And veiled the heavenly signs. Have those the moon,
But these not light to sail. Before their stems,
Seemed Almain shipswains loom, then, as white cliffs:
Wherefore their steersmen, fearing fall on land;
They lie upon their oars; but Romans pass.
By Cantion's Foreland, have the Romans' navy
Now safely sailed, and entered Thames' large mouth;
(Shines, estuary, neath vast chamber of the stars.)
Like immense swany brood, lo, hundred ships!
Long rows, that Medway, Toliapis, pass;
Borne on a streaming tide. In night's mid-watch,
Sith Cæsar's pilots bring up in an hythe.
At clarion's sound, being anchors there outcast;
Lie silent the longships, wherein there sleeps
The power of Rome! At cockcrow, waking, Claudius,
Commands, by trumpet, That disbark his soldiers.
Now safely sailed, and entered Thames' large mouth;
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Like immense swany brood, lo, hundred ships!
Long rows, that Medway, Toliapis, pass;
Borne on a streaming tide. In night's mid-watch,
Sith Cæsar's pilots bring up in an hythe.
At clarion's sound, being anchors there outcast;
Lie silent the longships, wherein there sleeps
The power of Rome! At cockcrow, waking, Claudius,
Commands, by trumpet, That disbark his soldiers.
Who first, to land, descend, trench on that shore,
Then naval camp, foursquare. The immense elephants,
Uneasy was, upon that oozy strand,
Expose; and hardly achieved sea-weary Romans
Had all this busy travail, till late eve.
With wheels and pulleys, soldiers of the fleet;
Sith, on Thames' tiding shelves, under their camps,
In double rows, draw up, the fleet's longships.
Then naval camp, foursquare. The immense elephants,
Uneasy was, upon that oozy strand,
Expose; and hardly achieved sea-weary Romans
Had all this busy travail, till late eve.
With wheels and pulleys, soldiers of the fleet;
Sith, on Thames' tiding shelves, under their camps,
In double rows, draw up, the fleet's longships.
Then Cæsar offers, solemn sacrifice;
A sow to Hercules: and to divine Julius,
He pours wine out, great father of his house.
And yet admire Rome's war-wont legionaries,
To see, in hostile land, none enemies!
Sith Claudius, leaving guard of his fleet-soldiers,
One banner and six cohorts, legionaries,
To keep this naval camp; with blowing trumps,
From Thames' salt meadows, marched, at morning red.
A sow to Hercules: and to divine Julius,
He pours wine out, great father of his house.
And yet admire Rome's war-wont legionaries,
To see, in hostile land, none enemies!
Sith Claudius, leaving guard of his fleet-soldiers,
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To keep this naval camp; with blowing trumps,
From Thames' salt meadows, marched, at morning red.
| The Dawn in Britain | |