The Dawn in Britain by Charles M. Doughty |
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 | The Dawn in Britain |  |
It Vellocatus is, who enters soon.
Combed and perfumed, comes this, seems, from the queen!
Gold-wreathed his noble neck. He, the high gods,
(Prickt to the very soul, before them all,)
To witness calling, much protests the prince,
His perfect loyalty unto his lord Venutios:
But, silent, captains gaze, on him, reproof.
Venutios turns from him his royal face.
Combed and perfumed, comes this, seems, from the queen!
Gold-wreathed his noble neck. He, the high gods,
(Prickt to the very soul, before them all,)
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His perfect loyalty unto his lord Venutios:
But, silent, captains gaze, on him, reproof.
Venutios turns from him his royal face.
When Vellocatus, to the night, outgoeth,
Is hell in his proud looks. From Camulus' gate,
Passed forth; he, in sullen, dark, disparted place,
(Come nigh to tiding Colne,) drawn his glaive forth,
Smote deadly his chest; and wallowed in dank grass!
Towards midwatch, haply, of the sacred night,
Of certain was he found; which kept that path;
And bruit, as groaning, in the silent murk,
Heard; for not dead, but as in trance, this lieth.
Is hell in his proud looks. From Camulus' gate,
Passed forth; he, in sullen, dark, disparted place,
(Come nigh to tiding Colne,) drawn his glaive forth,
Smote deadly his chest; and wallowed in dank grass!
Towards midwatch, haply, of the sacred night,
Of certain was he found; which kept that path;
And bruit, as groaning, in the silent murk,
Heard; for not dead, but as in trance, this lieth.
Put-to his light, then, rude man of the round;
(Quoth he,) Who, lies here, slain, in so fair weed?
Whose this bleak face? Be'th not, another saith,
It, fellows, he whom loves the Northern queen,
That prince, that daily arides with her, in chariot?
A man might silver win, bearing this in,
Here, bleeding corse, to her. Ha, a sikes, a breathes!
A nis not dead! How's all black-run a's blood,
In this moonshine! Heave we him, on our shields.
(Quoth he,) Who, lies here, slain, in so fair weed?
Whose this bleak face? Be'th not, another saith,
It, fellows, he whom loves the Northern queen,
That prince, that daily arides with her, in chariot?
A man might silver win, bearing this in,
Here, bleeding corse, to her. Ha, a sikes, a breathes!
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In this moonshine! Heave we him, on our shields.
Those rude wights, rugged shoulders, undersetting,
Him bearing forth; return, with matchéd steps:
And passed the porters of the gate of Camulus;
They mount now up, to lodging of the queen.
Him bearing forth; return, with matchéd steps:
And passed the porters of the gate of Camulus;
They mount now up, to lodging of the queen.
Sleeps Cartismandua armed; and in her dream,
Is vext her sense, of some familiar spirit.
Her rumour wakes of arms, and tread of feet,
In the paved court, beneath! She, anon, upleapt;
And as she was, is come forth to the porch.
She now descries, by flickering dim watchlight,
Ah! shield-borne body, of her loved Vellocatus.
All is he bloody, and seemeth dead corse, alas!
Is vext her sense, of some familiar spirit.
Her rumour wakes of arms, and tread of feet,
In the paved court, beneath! She, anon, upleapt;
And as she was, is come forth to the porch.
She now descries, by flickering dim watchlight,
Ah! shield-borne body, of her loved Vellocatus.
All is he bloody, and seemeth dead corse, alas!
With bosom loosely knit and untressed locks;
She, amongst them, is run down to the queen's court;
Nor more keeps measure, in her woman's tongue;
Nor more dissembles love, nor hides her grief.
Him, upborne to her bower, she them commanded,
All softly to lay down, on her own bed;
That yet is warm, where she herself was laid:
So gives them, hastily, meed. But those, fared forth,
Now sparred the door; she maketh, ah, so loud moan,
That heard the queen's complaint is, in the street!
She lifts, as would she lull him in her arms;
Now foldeth her bright limbs, upon him cold.
She waxed nigh mad; and fall her tears, like rain,
On his wan face; more pale than his, her face.
And oft her lily hands she winds, and shrikes!
Lamenting much, that her untimely speech.
She, amongst them, is run down to the queen's court;
Nor more keeps measure, in her woman's tongue;
Nor more dissembles love, nor hides her grief.
Him, upborne to her bower, she them commanded,
All softly to lay down, on her own bed;
That yet is warm, where she herself was laid:
So gives them, hastily, meed. But those, fared forth,
Now sparred the door; she maketh, ah, so loud moan,
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She lifts, as would she lull him in her arms;
Now foldeth her bright limbs, upon him cold.
She waxed nigh mad; and fall her tears, like rain,
On his wan face; more pale than his, her face.
And oft her lily hands she winds, and shrikes!
Lamenting much, that her untimely speech.
Then kissed she, thousand sithes, his parted lips;
Which like to those twinned shells the falling tide,
Leaves on some silver sand, of sea's salt shore;
Which seeming dead, therein as pearls appear.
Which like to those twinned shells the falling tide,
Leaves on some silver sand, of sea's salt shore;
Which seeming dead, therein as pearls appear.
Swooned the queen's heart; but when, at length, gan mark
Her blubbered eyes, that staunched the clottered blood;
She rose and called to her, her wandering mind.
With cunning fingers, she, in leechdoms, skilled,
Now searcheth every part: with waters warm,
(Wherein night-gathered herbs, in the full moon!)
Foments his hurt. Then whispering healing spell,
She binds, with salve of baume and sleepy morel.
Her blubbered eyes, that staunched the clottered blood;
She rose and called to her, her wandering mind.
With cunning fingers, she, in leechdoms, skilled,
Now searcheth every part: with waters warm,
(Wherein night-gathered herbs, in the full moon!)
Foments his hurt. Then whispering healing spell,
She binds, with salve of baume and sleepy morel.
| The Dawn in Britain | |