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

Have crowed now midnight clarions of strange legions,
That, in their castra, sleep. Under derne woods,
Of the far field, approach to Camulodunum,
Lo, long-haired caterans and tall gallowglashes,
Footbands, which follow, from dim land of Erinn,
Carvilios' harp. And Ith, their naked king,
Them leads. And those had passed Vergivian seas,
By favour of god Nuth, in wattle-barks,

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Hide-dight. And they are half-god Ier's seed,
Lineage of his two sons, Emer and Airem.

Are Erinn's caterans naked, from the belt,
(An hoop of iron, about their middles, bound;)
And cudgyls arm and hurling-stones, their hands,
And thonged sharp darts: their captains bear iron glaives.
Kynesians, some, Cruithni other bands
Are named; for birds' and beasts' similitudes,
Seen scotcht in their tough flesh, or prickt, with woad;
And daubed on their light shields. Are other-some,
Maccon, (as who would say hounds'-kin:) yet some,
Which, Children-of-the-mist, are hight in Erinn.
With Ith, be priests high-shorn, upon their heads,
Culdees, (which Servants sounds, of Erinn's gods,)
And brehons, that declare the nation's laws;
Men girt in long-haired weed, they lanas call.

Carvilios vates' githern's silver sound,
(Which the ever-murmuring gulf, Deucalidon,
Appeased,) from cabans, holds in misty woods,
And pits, like earths of salvage beasts, for bowers,
And caves of the wild crags, drew Erinn's sons;
Which gathered to king Palador, at the shore.

Of all men, that beneath the stars have being,

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Are those most poor. Ard-righ, (high, sacred-king,)
Is Ith; who nephew named of Ier in Erinn.
Wherein, what time deceased a naked king,
Is chosen some goodly child of priests and brehons;
Whom in all innocency they, of life, upbring;
And void of malice, naked, for a sign,
He needs naught, who of kindred with the gods.
Yet hath he all, wives, cattle, house and field.
For in what place he enter, men account
Them blesséd, which minister to him of all these.
Thus, without ire or envy or covetise, is
Ith arbiter, like a god, among their tribes;
That, once a year, from Tara, hear his voice.

Ith, naked king, Carvilios' chant persuaded.
Then he, Ard-righ, banned, from that sacred mount,
War, gainst a stranger nation; which doth vex
Britain the More, unjustly, and her oppress!
His middle girded, with an hoop of gold,
He arms nor harness hath, who bears no weed;
Nor, on his feet, binds soles, in so great voyage.
Shines, in his amber-locks, a golden fret.

Now halted, in the moonlight, in the path,
Ith's host. All hail, with him, the rising god!
That cometh, with broad gleam, up, like to vast torch;

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Now climbeth in starry-steepness of East heavens;
And pray, Give happy event, of their emprise!

They meet then, in vast heath, with fugitives,
Men of some Northern speech of the blue Britons;
And those, that pass, in twilight of the stars,
Pronounce; The bard is fallen, Carvilios!
Romans have overthrown the Britons' armies:
And fell king Caradoc, the high war-sire, slain!
Cumber, that fleeter were than roes, their knees,
The gods, and cloy their feet, then, in clay-ground.
At word of his Culdees, Ith cries; They lodge!

There caterans slay and eat their evening meat,
Of oxen they had found: they chaw raw flesh:
So slumber, an hour, forth; whilst Ith consults,
With priests, Culdees, that skill of divine omens:
Carvilios being slain, should they march on?
Reads Corb; and sware, by the Ard-righ's high hand,
(Chief priest is Corb of Neit, war-rage of Erinn;)
His god would smite Carvilios' enemies.

All uprose, hastily; and sithen, at a run,
O'er wide waste field and cold; where now they rife,
Hear groans of wounded wights; those Erinn's sons
Speed, stumbling, oft on corses, shields and arms:
For many, escaped from slaughter-field, with wounds,
Be fallen down in their blood. Then Cerig put,

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(Cerig, with Palador king, next under Ith,
Their thousands leads,) his finger in his mouth;
And cast, in hollow twilight of night-stars,
Shrill cry! and caterans all suspend their foot;
The whiles he of some concerning Camulodunum,
Enquires: and seized on those new fear, of death,
In whose ears, enters Erinn's uncouth speech.

Sleep legions, battle-weary, and even the watch
Rest leaning on their shields; when barbare shout;
Sudden, thrown up, from far, is heard, Carvilios!
Whilst the moon wide, o'er bloody field, outshines.
As when some scour of wolves have pinfold found,
Fierce sons of Ier, that light on Romans' vallum,
O'erleap the dyke; and pluck down thick pale-work,
Their barbare hands: and come, eftsoons, of Erinn,
The violent spears, to tents of Cæsar's cohorts!
That like cockt hay, they tumble to the ground;
Slaying all whom they find, Rome's drowsy soldiers.

In that dark watch; under their rushing spears,
Crispinus, first centurion of a legion,
Fell and Licinius, of the knights of Rome.
Was Amnius wounded, marshal of the horse;
And Clodius, præfect of the Roman fleet,
Which stationed at Thames' side, was hurt to death:
Nigh Cæsar's wide pavilion, he fell down.

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Cry went up, tumult in their leathern streets!
Came hideous strife, to the camps' forum-space.
With barbare yells, loud Irishry and strange Britons,
Night-castra invade, and smite victorious legions!

Cateran, a kern or warrior; from cath, battle.

Irish, galloglach.