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

Returned into the battle, seemed Venutios,
Cunobelin's warlord-son, his steeds and chariot.
There now had stern Silures repulsed Romans;
Though fallen a third part of their naked warriors.
Maglos they find, with Ordovican Kynan:
For joined had those two valorous their armed powers.

Loud heard, then, bove the tumult, voice of Geta!
Who, on his tribunes calling and centurions,
Erects, foursquare, amids the field, his legion;
(Which order this old duke, like to a castrum,
Outfound, of late.) They grounding their stiff spears,
All easily, then, sustain, on every part,
The impetuous swarming force of barbare enemies.

Thus those; whom onset, ere, of battle-carts,
And brunt of that famed trimarch of the North,
Cut-off approach, again, to the main army.
By whom r'enforced, of new, outrush those legions,
To the last overthrow of blue caterfs;
Confusedly now arrayed. Then, by vast poise,
Of Roman shields, is naked Britons' front

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Borne back, in routs. Were even then, who most valorous,
Constrained convert their face. In that assault,
Velaunos fell, great duke of all North Britons!
Who, for his oath's sake, would not turn his chariot.

Certain centurion was, which him advanced,
Desiring glory; and that his hands robust
Might slay some chief one of cerulean Britons.
This man's hurled lance, then king Velaunos pierced,
Twixt his right mammel and the golden belt;
Which entering the frail bulwark of his life,
The liver thrilled. And fell down from his chariot
The war-king, at that stroke; and gave the ghost.

Riches, nor hundred champions of his house,
Nor sacrifices, nor mails of hard brass,
In this his fatal hour, might save Velaunos:
Whose destiny, already, had shaped the gods, what night
The gentle Aguitha, flower of maidens all,
Him, in her bridal bower, of royal seed,
Conceived; and Tees, betwixt his flowery banks,
Making his streams run slow, her lulled to rest.
Nor aught availeth, with the fatal god,
To turn away his stroke, our mortal gifts.

Loud shouting, they have slain great barbare duke!

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Lo, bronze-clad soldiers of invading Rome,
Trample, as they rush on, in bloody dust,
His royal fortune, and his reverend face.
And they slew, with him, Kelidon in the scythe-cart,
His cousin's son. Enveloped of the reins,
Was dragged his breathing corse. In bitter throes,
His limbs, like smitten adder, beat the ground,
Where, hewed of swords, he yields his warlike breath.

New shout raised! rush in all the field forth legions:
That hurl, now, back blue warriors, on all parts.
He, then, in vain that seems Caratacus,
Venutios, whom draw forth the royal steeds;
Before whom Kowain lifts the warlord's shield,
Reproves, exhorts, with voice magnanimous.
As ere, in valour, now, the glast-stained Britons;
In whose hearts, fallen blind fear, contend in flight!

And, yet more, weakened is the warlike force,
Of East-men, and discouraged their caterfs:
For Gormail, that fights with duke Hiradoc forth;
And, in his targe, bears thirty Gaulish shafts;
Perceived one, his nigh kinsman, whose blood had
Erewhile the hero shed, in far North parts;
Fell Vergomar, who now rides in the trimarch.
This approached, from the backward, on swift horse;

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Or ever men might warn, ward or withhold,
Twixt shoulders smote him; and with so huge force,
His spear ran through warlike Gormail's ribbed chest:
Who fell down, bleeding carcase, without breath.
In fury, Icenians turning, Vergomar pierced.