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

And was, with hasting feet, to Britons' camp,
New power of East-men, for whom Caradoc sent;
And not few glast-stained bands, from the South March;
Arrived at Thames, by night, to Antethrigus;
Whose confidence was, thereby, much more, increased.

At day, sent Aulus, to his legions' trains,
Word, that they seem, disordinately, to march;
As who remove in fear, with haste and noise.

Whereof, when tiding brought to Antethrigus;
He deemed this the occasion he had sought,
And loud commands, blow up Icenian warhorns;
That march his army and pass before them chariots;
But left, unread, the omens of his gods!
Icenians foremost sally, a wood of spears:
Then swart Silures, strange Belerions;
And those stout hill-folk, whom king Kynan leads,
(Proud warriors those of mountuous Venedot. )
Then Golam, with sea-dwelling Durotriges.
Now all these hastily marching, from broad leas,
Of Thames, as who pursue, approach the Romans.

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Aulus feigned flight, unto green hills nigh hand,
Whereas, who are first come, gin vallum cast.
But Antethrigus, sent, before him, chariots,
It caused, by noblest Britons, be proclaimed,
In the enemy-army's hearing, to allies
Of Rome; Who yield their arms, and pass to Britons,
Should have both saved their lives: and who, in Britain,
Would dwell, should ploughland, sheep and house receive.
Behold then, many treacherous Gauls outrun!
Feigning who bows fling from them, and who spears.
Stretch suppliant hands those, as they swiftly run!

Get them to hindward, of his host, commands,
Loud, Antethrigus; that helm-clad, in harness,
Leads up long glittering wave of shielded breasts.

Then legions turn, in triple ranks, their face:
And battle joined, the first impetuous brunt,
They easily all do sustain of blue caterfs;
On whom fall, from an higher ground, their darts.

From Britons' hindward, sounds then confuse shout!
Those Gauls, which fugitives seemed, assail that part;
Uncertain, yet, to most, what thing men shout!
Whence dread the more; and wrying back their necks,

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Ingenuous Britons, with poised spears, forget
To smite, or, with shields, fence their naked breasts.
Gauls drawn out glaives, conveyed beneath their cloaks,
Have treacherously fallen, on the people's backs!

And yet strong battle wavered, on hill's breast;
When bleak-faced Fear; one of the bounden spirits,
Whom heavenly gods embayed, in wall of frost;
But broken had, to-night, that caitif forth,
Transfiguring his vast shape, to winter cloud,
From heaven-dwelling gods, himself to hide;
Gan shoot, like icicles, down his unseen shafts,
On the blue naked tribes; whose bodies pierced
Are suddenly of a strange unkindly cold!
Britons recoil, then, sore amazed their hearts;
So that they fall on their own battle-chariots;
Which part o'erthrown, with madding teams, their own
Woad-stained bands do o'errun! These, that had been,
For Britons' safety, now become their bane.

Rector of scythe-carts, most expert of Britons,
To manage warlike steeds and painted chariots,
Fell Rutupiæn young lord, Heroidel, slain;
In that he arrived, in strength of some war-god,
Swift-teamed, before the main of warlike carts.
The hero, for he would not urge his steeds,

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In Britons' press, nor more might wend his warcart,
Would have leapt down to battle on his feet.

Was then, an arrow attained him, in the nape;
Sped from a Gaulish bow-string. Passed, from part
To part, the shot; and like as royal erne,
Whom thrilled, under the wing, hath hunter's shaft,
Plumbs from the loft; so fell, from chariot-beam,
The hero down: and trodden on bruised grass,
Mongst the mean people, was, of flying feet.
And overdrave his own hooked wheels, alas,
The dying prince; and spurned his steeds' bronze hooves:
On whom, (now tangled in the reins,) anon,
They overthrew his windy rushing scythe-cart.

And taken had prince Heroidel a young wife;
Little ere that coming-in of fatal legions,
At the fond nod of drivelling Cæsar Claudius;
Bright Erdilla, flower of noble maidens all,
And daughter to rich lord of Kent. Her left
He enwombed, with fruit of happy marriage.

And is, alas! Heroidel's this brayed face,
This the duke's front? ah, whose ringed golden locks,
Thus rolled in bloody dust! was this the prince
Of Rutupiæ, who leapt to battle-cart,

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At call of the warlord and Dumnoveros;
In stature, like a god, in sounding harness?
Whom, o'er a fourth part of the Britons' chariots,
Had set Caratacus, sire, to fight with Aulus.

Is this that helm and front, as Camulus;
Which Erdilla's gentle hands, with plumes of erne,
Dight, and whereon she girt the golden band,
Of noble charioteers? the bearded lips
Are these, where last farewell of her spouse-lips,
She smiling-weeping kissed; when, from his hall,
She brought forth his cart-quivers, filled with darts?
And to her lord's forearm, his nimble shield;
And the ivory-helved whip took to his right hand!

He leapt to scythe-cart, and the supple reins
Shook, not then looking back, on his young wife;
And though sore longed his heart. At their lord's voice,
Wherein seemed, in hoarse sorrow, her name sound,
His generous steeds rushed from the sounding porch,
Panting to battle; and cried the prince, Farewell!
And would she have cried again; Heroidel speed
Thee, and save, in warlike field, the holy gods!
But voice remained shut-up, in her dear chest,
In anguish; presage, ah, of coming ill!

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Yet running, like to wailful plover, cried
She after him, a space; last, losing sense,
When seen, like little powderous cloud, the prince;
Who foremost rides, mongst Cantion's pomp of chariots,
She, of her maidens, was borne in, dismayed.

Now Erdilla, sitting in her maidens' bower;
(For enters she, as morning ray, no more,
Heroidel's hall,) sighs, in herself, and weeps;
For spouse, and that which lives, unborn, in her:
And daily vows makes, to her saviour goddess;
That might she a man-child, like his hero sire,
Bear. Soft her women, which her sit before;
To spin, to weave, the raiment of his house,
Of line and wool; whisper and weep, for ruth;
In that they look on their loved lady's grief!
But she marks naught; so is her thought distract!
Whilst, from her long-lashed eyes, fall burning drops.

She a sampler broiders, all with silver wire;
Hoar sea-cliff's image, on fair Cantion shore.
There was repulsed, Cingetorix, (her grandsire,
One of four kings of Kent,) great Julius' ships.
Was there, her lord, her love, did meet with her,
In the truce-month. Her needle she applies,
Gainst that glad day, wherein she hopes the prince,
Her spouse, come home, with famous victory,

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Should, mongst his lords, arrayed in this bright weed,
Sit feasting, in high hall of Rutupæia:
But, ah, he untimely dead, may turn no more.
In tunic stiff, with dusty sweat and gore,
Of mastery of brave steeds and battle-chariots,
He all unmindful lies. Foul ravens' beaks,
Shall fight, for spoil, o'er him, of his blue eyes!
Craking, and beating their stiff sheeny wings.

And, in one chariot, with Heroidel, slain,
Young Tulamor fell, fell pierced by Roman javelin;
Brother of Erdilla. Tempting him to save,
Golug, renowned, called the Black-hand-of-war,
Was himself slain; and generous Serpiol,
Leapt forth from his caterf, Belerion captain.
Hemmed-in the hero, of immense enemies' press,
Prevailed not his great force. When might, no more,
He his bloody lance, which slain hath many Gauls,
Advance; him flocking horsemen thrilled with spears.

Derwain, to succour; or, which he had vowed,
(His entire friend,) to give, for him, his life;
With scythe-carts' brunt, brake through Gauls' power of horse:
But in the jaws, a Gaulish lance him pierced,
Over his hide-dight targe. Tumbled from cart,
He astonished gaped; and dying vomits blood.

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Silurian champion passed by, in men's view,
(Is this one of great name, in his West March;)
Driving foes, like a flock, before his glaive!
This morn, had Uthol sworn, in battle-rage,
Which breathed in him war-fury, (wherefore bound
His helm, of shining broad oak-leaves, is seen;)
That would he slay, mongst thickest enemies,
Forth, without pause; till he himself fell slain.

Like some tall hoy, that strides before East-wind;
Deep battle-ranks he wades. Morgallion! calls,
Hark, his great voice. (He wist not that proud warrior,
Whom he, his father's son, himself, in place,
Of a dear son, had nourished on his knees;
And skill of arms, in his first manhood, taught,
Is fallen, already; even where rushed forth, of soldiers,
Great shielded press!) Thick fledged, lo, with Gauls' shafts,
Is now, of bull's hard hide, the hero's targe,
That seems a grove. As robust foster hews
His billets in a wood, this champion fares.
He shields and plate rives, on the brazen chests
Of little-statured, swart-strange Roman soldiers.

At many's cry, that call on him, to save
Heroidel's corse, he, turned him to that part;

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Then seemed some craig, that loosed of strong night-tempest,
Down-leaping from hill's crest, to plain beneath,
Through thicket breaks, and sith a shelter is;
So scattered he, before him, Gauls and Romans.

But, in that point, being come his hour, from earth,
Forewrit in the eternal stars, to pass;
Unwilling, him forsook strong Camulus.
Smote slinger of the Gauls, then, his helmed front.
Reeling his sense, astonished at the stroke,
He fell to knee; and stayed him on his hand.
And in that posture, running Rome's allies,
Him pierced Batavian swordsman of huge force;
And battle raged, round Uthol's bloody corse!

North Wales.