 | The Dawn in Britain |  |
Were Pen and Keth remained, in cart, without;
With Antethrigus, who yet courseth Romans:
Nor, in Caer Verulam, enter will that duke;
For vow he made, he would not lodge in walls;
Nor wash his face, nor comb his ravelled locks;
Till driven, from Britain, were again Rome's legions;
And should they have the narrow seas, repassed.
With Antethrigus, who yet courseth Romans:
Nor, in Caer Verulam, enter will that duke;
For vow he made, he would not lodge in walls;
Nor wash his face, nor comb his ravelled locks;
Till driven, from Britain, were again Rome's legions;
And should they have the narrow seas, repassed.
Then brother spake to brother; and the spears,
(Which, in their stout old hands, have fugitive Romans,
Till evening, slain,) both cast, from cart, to ground:
Why linger we? See'st not, my father's son;
How goeth low, to her setting, this late sun?
When, windows closed in heaven, should overflit,
Under steep skies, our souls, this field, all night;
Nor find, with happy spirits, a resting place.
Their team they stayed: then lighted both to ground;
And each fell, groaning, on his weapon's point!
And sink their corses, at the powdered wheels,
Of their scythe-cart, and hooves of their war-steeds.
(Which, in their stout old hands, have fugitive Romans,
Till evening, slain,) both cast, from cart, to ground:
Why linger we? See'st not, my father's son;
How goeth low, to her setting, this late sun?
When, windows closed in heaven, should overflit,
Under steep skies, our souls, this field, all night;
Nor find, with happy spirits, a resting place.
Their team they stayed: then lighted both to ground;
And each fell, groaning, on his weapon's point!
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Of their scythe-cart, and hooves of their war-steeds.
Which seen, come running Britons, from the dune.
They lift those old proud warriors dead, in wain:
So lead towards Verulam gates, or were they cold.
And whilst give gods yet twilight on the ground;
Thereunder they them hastily grave; as druids
Read and appoint. And many, in dream, to-night
Met Pen and Keth: whose praises bards shall chant!
They lift those old proud warriors dead, in wain:
So lead towards Verulam gates, or were they cold.
And whilst give gods yet twilight on the ground;
Thereunder they them hastily grave; as druids
Read and appoint. And many, in dream, to-night
Met Pen and Keth: whose praises bards shall chant!
| The Dawn in Britain | |