 | The Dawn in Britain |  |
In Antethrigus' arm, is two men's pith.
And Romans he hath slain, from his swift chariot,
In heaps. Yet now he might sustain, uneath;
That Britons fly not, whom gin legions break.
On lofty steed, of Roman Gaul, his hand
Then slew, he mounts; and cries to stout Icenians,
Hold fast! whilst he recomforts the caterfs.
He, wheresoe'er he rides, finds wounded dukes,
Deformed caterfs, uncaptained chariot routs;
Whose lords, he calls, in vain, for are they dead:
Whence all dismayed blue Britons' warlike breasts;
Gin Gauls, with rushing spears, them override.
And Romans he hath slain, from his swift chariot,
In heaps. Yet now he might sustain, uneath;
That Britons fly not, whom gin legions break.
On lofty steed, of Roman Gaul, his hand
Then slew, he mounts; and cries to stout Icenians,
Hold fast! whilst he recomforts the caterfs.
He, wheresoe'er he rides, finds wounded dukes,
Deformed caterfs, uncaptained chariot routs;
Whose lords, he calls, in vain, for are they dead:
Whence all dismayed blue Britons' warlike breasts;
Gin Gauls, with rushing spears, them override.
Returned; when now Icenians he dispersed,
Beholds, by new assault and poise of legions;
He alone, would desperate, then, have hurled on Romans,
So he abhors day's light, so covets death's
Great Night, which should him hide. He would might split
This mould, and hell-deep open, neath his feet
And let him sink, whereas men's bandied spirits,
Have rest, at length! War-druids, with mystic chant,
And prophecy old, (as they allege, of Samoth,
Or Sarron, Star,) allay the hero's mood;
Even whilst, each moment, they convert their faces;
To see, if come not some new course of chariots.
Beholds, by new assault and poise of legions;
He alone, would desperate, then, have hurled on Romans,
So he abhors day's light, so covets death's
Great Night, which should him hide. He would might split
This mould, and hell-deep open, neath his feet
And let him sink, whereas men's bandied spirits,
Have rest, at length! War-druids, with mystic chant,
125
Or Sarron, Star,) allay the hero's mood;
Even whilst, each moment, they convert their faces;
To see, if come not some new course of chariots.
Is broken the East-men's host, into two parts.
In this one, Dibon, gathered main of spears,
Them bound, with hasty oath of up-cast palms!
To turn again, and fight against the Romans.
He, in thick battle-wedge, with knitted shields,
Them leads. And all that cometh to their hands,
Romans, aye and Britons, (those which turn their backs!)
They spare not smite. Thus Britons' cumbered chariots
They save, though many fall. Last, hurled dart, pierced
Dibon, twixt belly and ribs; where mortal is
The bitter stroke. Groaning, he fell down, glorious!
Yet looked that dying champion, from the earth,
Like adder, which some cart-wheel bruised, to death;
And bade, with dying breath, fight on, gainst Romans!
In this one, Dibon, gathered main of spears,
Them bound, with hasty oath of up-cast palms!
To turn again, and fight against the Romans.
He, in thick battle-wedge, with knitted shields,
Them leads. And all that cometh to their hands,
Romans, aye and Britons, (those which turn their backs!)
They spare not smite. Thus Britons' cumbered chariots
They save, though many fall. Last, hurled dart, pierced
Dibon, twixt belly and ribs; where mortal is
The bitter stroke. Groaning, he fell down, glorious!
Yet looked that dying champion, from the earth,
Like adder, which some cart-wheel bruised, to death;
And bade, with dying breath, fight on, gainst Romans!
| The Dawn in Britain | |