In this long glooming, come, like dim pinegrove,
Those Roman masts and yards: that anchors shoot,
Where Colne's fleet
spreads, below the dune; and deep
Thence, slides the stream. Then mariners, in their ships,
Then soldiers, thrice, loud shout, in Latin tongue!
Their cry passed the hill-dune: it heard the legions,
Whose double voice makes answer, from two vallums!
Quoth doting Claudius; that now, after meat,
Sits in the imperial tent, with purpled captains,
Par-breaking, nodding his cup-shotten face;
Our ships, Meherc'les! drink-mates, fellow-soldiers,
From Tenedos be come in; whose wooden wombs,
Shall bring, to-night, forth harnessed Roman soldiers;
And Britain's high-walled Ilium, shall burn!
To Colne-side, hath sent Aulus, Roman knights,
With Gaulish horse; in Cæsar's name, commanding
The præfect, Cælius, he disbark his soldiers:
And early, at morrow, when should they hear trumpet,
Beyond dune walls, of there assailing cohorts;
They mount up likewise from their river vallum.
Shipmen, which climbed now their main-tops, surview
That town, in part, of the blue barbare Britons!
Behold, how, in a twilight market-place,
Go thronging people armed; mongst whom, white druids.
