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

Under skirt-hem, of his wide-stretched pavilion,
Backward, with ashen visage, trembling Claudius,
Creeps! steals without: so flees, alone, to tower,
Remained afoot, within the legions' vallum.

There heartless quite he climbs, who imperator
Of Roma, and without breath, as some mean soldier,
To highest scaffold. Panting, from the rungs,
Like flitter-mouse, he him flattens, then, in chink:
And, in his blind fear, quakes he evermore:
Whilst the stringed engines, in this dim night-wind,
Make murmur dread; and Cæsar fears to fall.

In that, yet retching from his late debauch,
He, if he wake or dream, gins wonder fast!
What means this panic terror, in blind night;
Laid he not down, midst his victorious legions?
And, else, him-thinks; and he, indeed, be Claudius
And wake; yet never, in like evil case,
Was he, to this: not even when he him shrouded,
In curtains of Caligula's chamber door;

222

What night, in Rome, fell the foul tyrant slain!
Whence drew him, half-dead, forth, prætorian soldiers.

Nor what time Gaius' servants, at his word,
Flung him, (the tyrant's uncle,) in Rhine-ford;
For mockery: nor when he, in late sea-voyage,
Under sere Ligur's coast, was like to perish.
Nor since his swaddling-clouts, him-thinks, he was
Like vilain wet, as Claudius is to-night;
What for this flux, and for his coward sweat:
And for, in that, from tent to tower, he scaped,
A Summer shower, before the moon was falling.

Him liever were a night-crow be than Claudius!
Or quiddering swallow, neath these warlike eaves,
He himself devised. Then might he, safe, flit forth.
Would, on his bed, he were, again, in Rome,
Couched with some courtesan, to keep him warm!
No more would he, (he it promiseth to himself,)
O'er lands and seas, tempt these cerulean Britons.
Would gods now even, in Messalina's arms,
He were, his spouse; (what-though misdoubts him Claudius,
For every lithe-limbed libertine of his.)

And, aye, thrills deadly dread his craven breast,
Of some here lurking homicide enemies.
Shall Cæsar, living gods, and spirit of Julius!

223

In barbare soil, mongst yells of salvage wights,
Perish? Must he be cast away to-night!
How were Rome dimmed, to all succeeding ages,
If, of Etruscan folk, so great a lamp;
If he, miscarried! Over land and seas,
Should seem the Latin sun, no more, to rise!

Thus, like a cart-wheel, whirls his foolish thought;
Aye, full of shrinking dread, in the tower-loft:
To hear those fearful slaughter-cries, aghast.
Shivers cup-shotten Claudius, at each sound!
He starts, gropes then, to find him some new sconce,
Among these grim balistæ and catapults.

Last Cæsar wries him, in hard leathern lap,
Of hammered ox-hide; pitched, and two-fold plight
It is; full, (that tower's apron,) of iron studs.
And, aye, his brow, yet totty of his must,
So swims, that now this tower he fears should fall!
He, all aghast, the ladder would truss up;
Lest here him find his enemies. Ah, great gods,
Augustus, Julius! Is it nailed so fast?
Whence, almost, in him, dies his panting heart.
He felt, as through his reins, cold glaive did glide;
And come is now dark death. In that, his spirits
Dismayed, he hears men mounting by the stair,
With barbare shout! Him-seemeth his soul, then pass!

224

Ubba, tall captain of his Almain guard,
When Cæsar, in the imperial tent, he found not;
Hath the imperator sought, on every part.
He, scornful, smally accounts now exile voice
Of Claudius, whom he finds, last, in this sort:
But drawn forth dazing Cæsar, by the hand;
To stair-head, sternly, leads; and bids dismount!
So brings on Claudius, in this moonshine, midst
Tall glittering spears, to Almains' place of guard.