The Dawn in Britain by Charles M. Doughty |
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 | The Dawn in Britain |  |
Sits, on hoar-headed windy cliff of Kent,
Which looketh forth towards Gaul, Caratacus,
In the wind and the rain. His lords, hold; o'er whom hangs
Immane new cloud of ruin! parliament:
And, with dark grief, astonished are all hearts,
And void of read. He gazes on grey waves,
As one on whose soul weighs dark direful dream!
Few proffer speech: nor hope nor comfort is,
By sea or land. Of Britons' warlike youth,
Men sigh; were, in Thames' battle, half-part lost!
And tarries yet to send, in aid, North March.
Which looketh forth towards Gaul, Caratacus,
In the wind and the rain. His lords, hold; o'er whom hangs
Immane new cloud of ruin! parliament:
137
And void of read. He gazes on grey waves,
As one on whose soul weighs dark direful dream!
Few proffer speech: nor hope nor comfort is,
By sea or land. Of Britons' warlike youth,
Men sigh; were, in Thames' battle, half-part lost!
And tarries yet to send, in aid, North March.
Ah! and nów, stroke upon stroke! the warlord hears,
Romans' rife sails have entered, in Thames' mouth.
Before him, panting, lo, those messengers stand!
Romans' rife sails have entered, in Thames' mouth.
Before him, panting, lo, those messengers stand!
King Dumnoveros, in the midst, uprose;
Whose joints stiff, with old aches, and like is his
Courbe shoulder to bent bow: the word, nathless,
In day of trouble, weighs of his ripe lips,
With a caterf. Send, Dumnoveros reads,
Now chosen lords, on speedy wheels of chariots,
Enquire; Why come not yet Velaunos' powers.
Thereto consents divine Manannan's voice;
Consent all hearts, and king Caratacus.
Whose joints stiff, with old aches, and like is his
Courbe shoulder to bent bow: the word, nathless,
In day of trouble, weighs of his ripe lips,
With a caterf. Send, Dumnoveros reads,
Now chosen lords, on speedy wheels of chariots,
Enquire; Why come not yet Velaunos' powers.
Thereto consents divine Manannan's voice;
Consent all hearts, and king Caratacus.
Cadoc, Dumnonian, Verulam lord, Ruellan;
These two, on whom then lot, among them, falls,
They send from Dover cliffs. Each, with his druid,
Eftsoons, parts forth: for whom, lifting their hands,
Make Britons their fond vows, shut-up their hearts,
To heavenly gods! Then, hastily, levied camps;
The warlord leads, with loud trumps, forth, Kent's scythe-carts.
His foot, from those white windy cliffs, remove,
To march back, day and night, with cumbered hearts;
Till Thames' wide ford, by Troynovant, they might pass.
These two, on whom then lot, among them, falls,
They send from Dover cliffs. Each, with his druid,
Eftsoons, parts forth: for whom, lifting their hands,
Make Britons their fond vows, shut-up their hearts,
138
The warlord leads, with loud trumps, forth, Kent's scythe-carts.
His foot, from those white windy cliffs, remove,
To march back, day and night, with cumbered hearts;
Till Thames' wide ford, by Troynovant, they might pass.
| The Dawn in Britain | |