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

Erinn's fierce rushing warriors, clustered bands;
Fighting their naked king around, this night,
King Ith, the living ensign of their arms;
(Hath every cateran, coursing their tent-streets,
In his first sleep, some Roman soldier slain,)
Discomfited had Rome's imperial castra;
But that some enemy-god confused their minds.

As wind-flaw, out of the East's vast frozen jaws,
Descends, somewhile, in forest, roaring wide,
Gainst the wood-gods; and having felled large path,
Mongst the thick beams, at length, breaks bellowing forth;
So leaving wake of bloody overthrow,
Those furious sons of Ier, mongst Cæsar's legions:

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Nor durst them, in vast hostile soil, pursue,
Which covers the night-shadow, Roman Aulus.

Few furlongs' way, those Erinn-men now passed,
The stars their lamp, and moon with shallow face,
Halt around Ith. The glaives, the spears of Erinn,
Drip enemies' gore; and slimy is their weed,
Like to sea-wrack, with Romans' jelly-blood.

Yonder, lo, glimpsing lights, on Britons' walls;
From whence they hear loud wailing women's voice.
But Palador's warriors, which know no fenced dune,
Mislikes, to enter within hold, that they,
Despise, as helm and hauberk of a town.

Whilst, then, the naked king, with his Culdees,
Takes counsel; by high favour of some god,
Is found that sacred guest, avenged, of Erinn,
Now a cold corse, the warrior bard, Carvilios;
Whose crowth, that from his warlike shoulders hanged,
Gives dulcet sighing sound, to the night-wind!
Watcheth the noble bard, a great white hound,
In bloody field, which nourished, known to all,
His cunning hand: and wail the men of Erinn.

Their spears they wipe then, all, on his fringed weed:
And bury, in place he fell, in Roman blood,
The mortal part of that undying bard.

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His mantle-full, then, each one delves, of earth,
Mognet, who noblest, erst, with Palador
And Cerig; then, at brehons' word, all mound
Isle Britain's mould, o'er Gaul's great vates, dead;
Laid in his shining harness, arms and weed.
But the harp, king Ith uptook, of bard Carvilios;
To hang in Tara's house, of his sun-god:
Which aye, stirred of an heavenly wind, might sound.

This hastily ended, neath the bloody sod,
Of battle-ground, they leave that glorious dead.
Then, slowly, Erinn's bands; for many are hurt,
Now towards West-shining stars, returning, march.
Ere day was risen, they entered, in swart wood.