 | The Dawn in Britain |  |
Blue Britons' corses all unburied lie,
This third day in the field, before the walls
Of Camulus. Even spoilers of the dead,
Pity; so loath the carrion-hopping crows;
And snarling voice of wolves sound in men's ears.
And, yet, ward many of the woad-stained dead,
Gaunt hounds, gainst howling wolves and all the world,
With grinning teeth; and abay carrion birds.
Nor, hunger-slain, a moment, they forsake,
This third day now, their dead: mote spoilers pierce
Them, with their spears; to reave, of their slain lords,
The bracelets, brooches, fine lawn weed, bright glaives;
Collars of noble wights and charioteers.
But lest such charnel should breed pestilence,
Tribunes of legions, sieging round the town,
Send captive chain-bands forth, that, strewing earth,
Should cover, from sun's ray, blue dead of Britons.
This third day in the field, before the walls
Of Camulus. Even spoilers of the dead,
Pity; so loath the carrion-hopping crows;
And snarling voice of wolves sound in men's ears.
And, yet, ward many of the woad-stained dead,
Gaunt hounds, gainst howling wolves and all the world,
230
Nor, hunger-slain, a moment, they forsake,
This third day now, their dead: mote spoilers pierce
Them, with their spears; to reave, of their slain lords,
The bracelets, brooches, fine lawn weed, bright glaives;
Collars of noble wights and charioteers.
But lest such charnel should breed pestilence,
Tribunes of legions, sieging round the town,
Send captive chain-bands forth, that, strewing earth,
Should cover, from sun's ray, blue dead of Britons.
| The Dawn in Britain | |