The Dawn in Britain by Charles M. Doughty |
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 | The Dawn in Britain |  |
The gods, to thee, give, great Caratacus,
This glory, in recompense, that henceforth is lost
Thy kingdom. Rumbles, with the myriad-tread,
The sod, of warriors; whose long opposed ranks,
Be like to wrestling waves, that fall in blood.
Seems the immense bosom of the element,
Shudder, to heaven, with mortals' confused noise.
This glory, in recompense, that henceforth is lost
Thy kingdom. Rumbles, with the myriad-tread,
The sod, of warriors; whose long opposed ranks,
Be like to wrestling waves, that fall in blood.
Seems the immense bosom of the element,
Shudder, to heaven, with mortals' confused noise.
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And, quoth the Muse; An heaven-descended One,
I saw, above the battle-rage; and kneeled,
In a white mist, he, on his knees, and leaned,
On his bright wings! and he recorded names
Of all war-murdered ones, Britons and Romans!
I saw, above the battle-rage; and kneeled,
In a white mist, he, on his knees, and leaned,
On his bright wings! and he recorded names
Of all war-murdered ones, Britons and Romans!
Comes the warlord, with triple rushing team.
As shard, cast of strong pulse, o'erscuds sea-waves,
Such Caradoc's leaping wheels seem and winged warcart.
Standing, the sire, aloft, in battle-chariot;
Some war-god seems. Raging, by him, in fight,
The hero of the North, Venutios, rides.
Demon of death, Dis, snatcht each flying shaft,
In the flit air, or dart of his, doth pierce
Some chief one, of blue Britons' enemies.
As shard, cast of strong pulse, o'erscuds sea-waves,
Such Caradoc's leaping wheels seem and winged warcart.
Standing, the sire, aloft, in battle-chariot;
Some war-god seems. Raging, by him, in fight,
The hero of the North, Venutios, rides.
Demon of death, Dis, snatcht each flying shaft,
In the flit air, or dart of his, doth pierce
Some chief one, of blue Britons' enemies.
Riding, from tribe to tribe, from duke to duke,
With great voice, Caradoc heartens blue caterfs.
And now he sends forth all that rest of chariots;
Them Beichiad guides. Those ruin on the cohorts,
Of Aulus' left wing: hurling they, as tempest,
Ranks overthrow; and bray them in the dust!
With great voice, Caradoc heartens blue caterfs.
And now he sends forth all that rest of chariots;
Them Beichiad guides. Those ruin on the cohorts,
Of Aulus' left wing: hurling they, as tempest,
Ranks overthrow; and bray them in the dust!
| The Dawn in Britain | |