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

Queen Embla, journeying with Caratacus, is now come down to Ouse: whither also the wasted army of North Britons arrived; and now return home. Maglos convoys sick king Caratacus, to his father, Moelmabon. Come to Caerwent, the lord sits in king's hall; where is, daily, much communing of the Roman war.

Idhig, Kynan and Maglos, march, in the next month, with king Caratacus. They fence an hill Eastward, against the nigh coming of the Romans. A daughter is borne to Caratacus. New pestilence, in the land. Come spring-time, Titus rides, with Roman sick, from Aquæ. They pitch, in Mendip. Titus daily rides an-hunting: he slays a monstrous wild swine. The avanc beast. He visits Alban, and finds the shipwrecked Syrians there.

Aulus builds strongholds, beside chief ways and at riverfords. Caer Isca is taken by the legions. Stratagems of Antethrigus; who lurks, in woods, to surprise the Romans' march. The warlord, in the Maiden's hill, laments his low and sickly estate. He leads his warriors, to another hill-strength; where, beleaguered by Aulus, he is delivered by the coming of Antethrigus. Antethrigus, hunted by Flavius, from hill to hill; and, at last, compassed-in, by his enemies, is slain. Soldiers fall upon an unarmed people of Britons. Who of them escaped, sail, with the Dumnonian king, to Erinn.

New parliament of kings. To them, unlooked for, comes the ethling Thorolf. Venutios, in vehement anger, hurls a

dart against Vellocatus, within the sacred close. Thorolf is recalled by his father's messengers, to Elbe-land, in Almaigne. To him, sailing on the deep, Woden appears, by night.

Amathon cometh, with all his cattle, now to Alban. Caratacus fortifies Glevum. Aulus marches to assail the new dune. In a tempestuous winter night, Britons unperceived, issue forth; and partly embarked in Kowain's ships they come again, to Caerwent, unto Moelmabon. Leaving his winter-camps, Aulus journeys to Rome. His ovation there.

A new revolt in Britain. Beichiad, who had lain sick, since the field of Camulodunum, marches in aid of his brother, king Caratacus. In the way, he sickens of the pestilence. Borne to his foster kindred, in the forest, he dies there.

Now, in what day was hurt Caratacus,
Fighting, warlord, before hill-dune of Camulus;
Whence were blue Britons scattered to far woods;
Who scaped, in chariots, drave still that night forth.
Who, gainst next eve, to willows of the Ouse,
Arrive; to pasture, loose their fainting teams.

North Britons, whom, (since fallen Velaunos,) leads
The king Venutios, marching, now fifth sun,
(War-wasted remnant of ere-thick caterfs,)
There pass; and lodge, few days, to heal their wounds.
Last cometh queen Embla, from Caer Camulodunum!
She, that still silent weeps, upstays, in cart,
King Caradoc: and cast dówn be all men's looks.
So drooping seems, so nigh the sire to death.

To Embla, druid leech of dead Velaunos,
Gives bitter herb, and certain infused root:

Whereof, when Caradoc drinks; behold new warmth,
To him returns. The king sate up, and shines
A lively hew, in all his god-like looks!

But, sith blue Britons might no more, this year,
Renew the war; and all their dukes have wounds:
Kings, (council held,) confirm were borne the sire,
For his more surety, now to Deheubarth.

Passed forth Venutios, and those Northern powers,
New dread in Embla's breast, falls, of Gauls' horse;
Which, the slow journeying of sick Caradoc,
Might lightly o'ertake: and she much Bericos fears!

Known unto few, unfar, in a wide heath,
From hence, is, in some covert hollow place,
Mouth of deep winding and great cragged pit;
Under this mould, whereon we mortals tread.
To that hid earth, now Embla turns aside;
Whereof, by messengers, come from Antethrigus,
She knowledge hath. With victuals' store and brands,
And archers' guard; (those forest-wights which ward
Caratacus;) she goes dówn, in that deep place.

And, dwelling there, few days, both sense and breath,
Be come again, and favour of his face!
The queen then swift-foot runners sends, to Maglos;
Who, towards West March, his stern Silures leads;
Aye looking back, like boar that wounded is.

Him, in that midst, they found, where Cherwell's stream,
To Thames, runs down. And, heard their words, returns
The prince, with thousand hasting spears, to Ouse.
Come the sixth eve, king Caradoc and the queen,
(Whom there they find,) those bring forth. And their face
Now turned towards Hafren, warding the king round;
They journey, softly, without any tarrying.

Ending that moon, they, to Caerwent, arrive.
Who lights, infirm, from wain, in rusty weed,
Worn, next his harness, but Caratacus!
Men joy, which see, returned their lord, alive,
From Roman field. Wan is his royal face.
Lo Caradoc, drooping, leans, on his spear-staff,
And Maglos' hand. They twain pass slowly forth,
With company and torches' light, in the lord's court;
For fallen, already, is Britain's Winter-night.

The people, in kíng's hall, rise up, reverent.
Uprose Moelmabon, heard the purblind king,
Is Caradoc, of Cunobelin, coming in!
And, heavily, from his high seat he descended.

To Caradoc, groped forth, on his aged feet;
The sire him, goodly greeting, both his cheeks,
Kissed; so asks of his health, and leads to sit,
In the high settle, with him: and commands,
Mix mead, bear ale anon, and set on meat.

But Nessa, white-armed queen of warlike men;
Who lately, in Roman war, of valorous sons,
Bereavéd was, (put hastily off mourning stole;)
Is, from king's hall, went forth, with maiden train;
To welcome in, that now arrived, queen Embla.
So leads, with loving words, her, by the hand;
Fordone, to women's bower, to sup, and rest.
Rest Embla! and god-like, rest, Caratacus!

Sith, every day, the warlord's strength reneweth;
And, in great mead-hall of king Moelmabon,
He sitting, of the Roman war communes.
And calls Silures' sire, in the long hours,
(That they, with some new thing, might light men's hearts;)
His bards; and tellers calls of evening tales.

Men number, on the fingers of their palms,
Lords fallen; who with the foot, who with the scythecarts;
And that trimarch, which came out of North parts.
How, first, of Briton kings, fell valorous Golam;

Mongst mingled mighty tread, of foot and horse:
Then that great lord, of all the Northern powers.
Riders of war-carts tumbled, rife, to grass,
In press o'erthrown of flying men and chariots.
Fallen, on his knees, was seen Segontorix:
Bellowing, like dying bull, he yet contended;
And Atrebats, protending long swart shields;
Made breastwork of their bodies still, gainst Romans.

Duke Iddon's steeds, being early pierced to death,
Their traces, sunder-smitten, of bright glaives;
Covering, with wicker shields, their woad-stained breasts,
Ten Catuvelaunian champions drew his chariot.
And, when one fell, another seized his room:
Whilst, beckoning, Iddon with his warlike hand,
(Midst immense din,) whereunto all obeyed,
Yet repulsed Romans! till, (irruption made,)
A legion's cohort, that duke's cart cut-off.
Fell hundred round, nor took they him alive;
For, in that moment, brast his mighty heart!

Some tell of Romans' towers, and the elephants;
And some of Erinn hounds, and bard Carvilios;
Who voice, in Britain, was of battle-gods.
And how fell Fythiol, from swift battle-cart.
And how huge Ergund, rushing, with long lance;

(That a young poplar seemed,) resistless, burst
The legions' ranks: and when hurt Beichiad was,
And his companion-fighter hurt to death,
Ravished their madding team the rattling chariot.
Tell other, how, heard generous prince Marunus,
His father's death; and Troynovant, unto Romans,
Submitted hath; no more recovers health.
Is word, he passed hath winter-seas, to Thorolf!

Moreo'er is told, of Ith, and men of Erinn.
Where Erinn's caterans rested, erst, in forest;
They invoked Neit. Brehons, law-speakers, then,
And culdees, gave Ith read; that ended was
Now that behoof, which called them o'er to Britain.
And answered Ith, by Dagda, god that rolls
Night's starry round; they would return to Erinn!

Long then their wayfare: is, in each wood-path,
Now venison their wild meat; and fishes oft,
Where rivers they mote pass. They, journeying thus;
Sun see go down, in swart sea-waves, at length.
And being, untó Caer Segont, thence arrived,
They pass to Mona; and lodge on a salt strand,
Manannan's guests; who gives them sheep and beves.

There Ith, and who kings with him and culdees,
Consult that oracle of old Samoth's god;
How windy sea-flood they, again, might pass?

Then, neath broad-rising gleam, of second morrow,
Was wonder seen! a thousand bascad boats,
Their former fleet, they left, on other strand,
(Power of blue watery gods, great Lîr and Nuth,
To whom, with vows, they prayed,) ride neath these cliffs!
Then softly breathed, in dead Carvilios' harp,
A wind; whence being laid dark spirits of tempest,
That army of caterans safely overpass!

In the next month, came Kynan, Hammeraxe,
With Idhig, king of herdfolk Demetans,
Being neighbours both, to king Moelmabon's court.
Tells Caradoc, how, long-lying, in his trance,
He voice heard of some god, which him commanded,
To build up Glevum, gainst invading Romans.
Moelmabon king, in whom deep skill of arms;
Whose wise breast full of memory of old wars,
It weighed commends, as counsel of a god.
He deems, fence, some hill-head, his March, to ward.

Accorded be those Western kings, in arms,
To fare, with Maglos and king Caradoc.
The fifth night of full moon, to Severn ford,

Shall they together come, with their caterfs:
Those homeward wend then, to their Winter-hearths.
The third night; when erst seen that new-moon's horns,
Young warriors, (come ere to their lords, in arms,)
Towards Severn marched; they find there, (with caterfs,
Whom Maglos leads,) warlord Caratacus,
Already arrived. Britons then, uneath, pass,
For lifted Hafren's streams are on the land,
Full all, ice-cold, of frosty icicles.

Four kings thence march, with six times thousand spears,
Through frozen woods; so come, unwist of Romans,
To an hill-strength. There delving Briton warriors,
With travail and long pain, for iron frost;
That mount around, then, double rampire cast:
And wells, and pits, for harbour of their corn,
They dig. Men fence them hardly from the cold,
With boughs of pine; weaving thereof thick bowers;
And sitting round, at eve, great common fires.

Was tiding here brought, to king Caradoc;
Queen Embla, his spouse, him borne a daughter hath:
Blue Britons name, then, with loud joyful crying!
The Maiden's Castle, that their Winter-hold.

In Caerwent, night-time was of howling blasts,
And shrouded stars; and frost lay on the ground;
When gentle Embla heard her father's death.
She stooped, for grief; fell on her childing pangs.
She prayed to Belisama; and fervent asked
A son, like Brennus, to sustain Isle Britain.
Whispered the women-helpers of the queen;
When, of a maid-child, she delivered was,
That her petition had not heard the gods!

Caer Gloew; now Gloucester.

O'er Britain's earth, hovers that homicide,
(With whom the demon-eagles, of four legions,)
Angel, well-pleased! beholding, soaked with blood,
Of her own sons, and dunged with carcases.
Like evening's star, in misty heaven, I saw
Him, quoth the Muse; or as seems, in men's seeing,
Oft-time, some noisome wayside puddle shine,
Like molten silver, neath sun's garish beams!
Cast a dire cry, that ever-damnéd fiend!
To hell beneath; and called, from house of death,
Murrain, and Pestilence; on all living flesh.

Their harvest-corn, not fully ripe, this year,
Was garnered; grounden sith, in stress of war:
The very herb hath rotten gore infected.
Then erst, there perish multitude of beasts:

Men die so many, in their poor hurdle-cotes,
Whom battles not consumed, inglorious;
That left is none to bury or to bear forth;
Or little earth strew on man's festering corse.
More than erst battle-gods, that sickness slays.
The ill then creeps in camps of Roman legions.
Caradoc and Maglos lead back their caterfs.
With dread, this Winter passeth, of all hearts.

But when the moon is in, of the new grass;
Flavius, from Aquæ, to the hills, sends forth
His sick. Young Titus, who recovers health,
To Mendip, with them, rides. Unto Caer Bran,
Then Romans come: old strength, and fenced with dykes;
Of Britons' former wars, a monument.
Those banks they entered; raise, therein, their tents.

The sickness hath allayed men's hostile hearts.
Titus deals kindly, with poor Briton folk,
Of these waste hills; and they again him praise.
And daily among them, he who hunting loves,
With few companions, bearing Gaulish bows,
Doth rouse the flying hart; or, mongst rough cliffs,
Thrills the grey wolves; or bays, in crooked denes,
The tuskéd boar, that rusheth on their spears.

Of certain monstrous swine, then Titus hears,
That harbour covert brakes, of yond wild crags;
Whence she, in dale, the seeded plots doth waste:
And with sharp tushes, which be sickle-great,
That sow hath many hurt, and rent their hounds;
And fall, like reeds, their weapons, from her crest.

One eve, as did they water their tired steeds,
By fenny brook, amongst brown bramble-brakes,
Outrushed, from thicket, that fell hideous beast,
Ox-great: her hanging dugs, unto the ground,
Did seem a battled wall; and on whose nape,
And brindled chine, thick yellow mane upstares;
Her eyes like coals. Stept lightly, upon his feet,
The Roman knight, and poising swift iron lance,
He shot; and twixt the shoulders, it gored deep,
The monster's flesh: that swine brake from them forth.

Mount hastily then the Roman knights, to horse:
Whose Briton steeds are wont, to these rough steeps;
But twilight thickens on her bloody trace.
Last they all lighted; and, now, tied their steeds,
They kindle fires and sup: sith, hunters, sleep,
Neath stars, on their spread cloaks, till morrow's break.

When drives new faery Dawn forth, in winged chariot;

And, from their golden manes, her rushing steeds
Shake dew, on the low earth; and, to wide airs,
Her veil of crocus and her purple amice;
Fleeing before Sun's face, she, virgin, casts
Upon the fleecy skies; those knights uprose:
And ready, anon, they mount again to horse.
Titus bears Æthiopian bow of steel;
Which only his young strength can ply, mongst Romans.
His messenger now it brought; (whom he, to-night,
Sent back to camp,) with Briton hounds, in leash.

In the fresh morning air, those questing run
Forth, on the blood. Not long was, or their deep
Throats men hear open. Romans, left their steeds,
Bounden, thrust-on, through thicket brakes, with spears;
For now is roused the swine, from her night-lair.

That sow outbrake, and rushed on men and hounds!
But her swift steel-head shaft attains of Titus.
She fell; and wallowing rent the bloody grass,
And smoked the mould; fierce hounds seize on her flanks.
The swine, of them, awhile, tormented was;
Then last, with ferine groan, she gave the ghost.

Sith, bear the brittled carcase Briton hinds,

(Poor wights, from herdmen's cotes;) and crowned with flowers,
Their heads, with merry songs, and blithe reed pipes,
Up to Rome's soldiers' tents. The monster's skull
They, and long red-bristled spoil, set on a pole,
Terrible to look on. Britons there, to drink,
Remain: they eat with Flavius' legions' soldiers.

Another while, strong comely Titus rides,
In the low plain, the avanc beast to hunt,
(Which, sithen, beaver hight, on English tongue;
Fiber in Italy, where great Padus flows,)
Which timbers her, in fenny streams, an house,
Of beams, hewed with her teeth: whose floor she beats,
And pargetteth, with ooze, her chambered walls.
(Her hairy hide is holden good, for rheums.)

Rides noble Titus, with few Gaulish horse,
And company of his friends. Till noon, they naught,
Yet, find to hunt. Would Titus then pass forth;
Those Britons' sanctuary isles, beyond
The fen, to view; whereof he heard, at Aquæ.

Descended now, to Avalon's lyn, they find
A causeway of beams; whereby, they overwade.
At Alban's borders, where white mere-stones set,
Britons meet Titus, with their magistrate;

Unto whom, (interpreting some Gaul with him,
Of the allies,) he peace, giving his hand,
And faith, confirms, of great Imperial Rome.
Titus, unarmed, then, enters with his friends.

Hyn erst leads Romans view, there, sacred pool,
Like crystal cup; where men wont cast-in gifts.
Titus ring, from his finger casts, of gold;
In saying, with voice of mirth; To Britons' gods,
Behoves pay tribute! Who come, with him; some
Cast pin; some a fibula, or trifle of great Rome.

But when those light companions precious gifts
Perceive, lie glittering on that water's floor;
Gold, silver vessail, sunk-up in base ooze,
Which, like scaled fishes, lurking under weeds,
The scattered sunbeams smite, whispering to Titus,
They him persuade, to break the Roman faith;
And blowing trumpet, call in harnessed soldiers,
These things to reave. Reading their guileful looks,
Gather the innocent Britons covert stones,
In their poor weed. But straightway noble Titus
Rebuked, in the Greek tongue, his friends; in whose
Hearts burns the hellish Roman thirst, for gold.

Then came an adder, with uplifted crest;
(Whose scaly boughts, uprolled,) out of the reeds;
And, hissing, fleeted on that water's face:

And Briton folk cry out, It is the god!
Whence, seeing them now much moved, made Titus haste,
To taste the proffered antique horn of mead;
That fetcht is to him, from Sun's temple-house;
Whereof, who drinks, men name him, sacred guest.
Hyn leads then noble Titus, to that hearth;
Where, day and night, sits, venerable priestess,
To bete, with fenny turves, of Brigida pure,
Daughter of the Sun-god, the mystic fire.
Looked Keina, longwhile, on that knight of Rome!
Sith, stretcht her lean palm forth, in Britons' tongue,
Spake with loud voice; and all, on Titus, gaze!

Titus requires, What thing the Sibyl saith?
The Interpreter whispered, in young Titus' ears,
Thou, after days, she saith, shalt rule o'er Rome1
And Titus changed his colour, and shook out
His garments; and made haste, to get him forth.

Thence, Romans, rowed, in little wicker barks,
Be come to water-hamlet, in the mere,
Timbered on stages. Romans, like to this;
In that campaign, which Lucius made in Thrace,
Had seen. Stand Britons forth, with brabbling voice:
They look askance, on strange approaching Romans!

Hyn calls young Cuan, bard of the Cranog.
And seem when this on Erinn's trembling crowth,
Plays, sunbeams fall, as rain, on the dull mere.
Hearing his Briton chant, much like to song
Of birds, in leafy woods, admire the Romans!
Quoth Titus, Less could the immortal gods
Not, unto men that live, than these, have given;
To whom are roots, he hears, of river reeds,
For meat; and fish, with honey of wild bees.
And yet, with golden music of the harp,
And warbeling chant, they live, as wanting naught,
Next to the gods. And Titus silver brooch,
Which fastened had his baldric, gave that bard.

Yet, as they row from thence, is told to Titus,
Of certain strangers, which, in Avalon isles;
Do lead their lives, in innocency, and in prayers.
And, lo, in holm, whereto they now arrive,
The man of God, who meets them, at the shore;
Venerable of aspect, long, white-bearded sire!
On whom then looking, Titus, to his friends,
Whispers, as they again go up on land;
Is not he like that Zeus of Phidias?
Which, in the Capitolium, now is seen.

Albeit, go clad, in Briton weed, those men;
Well, in the strangers' aspect, he perceives
That visage of the Jews, now many in Rome.
Hark! Titus speaking, in Hellenic tongue,
And using the grave countenance of a Roman;
Ordains, that they appear before duke Flavius!
Titus departing, spake; Should Avalon isles
Be sanctuary still, and free from Roman tribute.

When issue Romans, now, from Winter-camps;
Aulus erst measures long paved street, in Kent,
Which, on that conquered soil, he lays, like yoke!
Blue Britons, all, to servile tasks, unwont,
Labour, in bands, by cruel stripes enforced.
Strange insolent Romans, on them, now impose,
Nigh Samoth's cliffs, hew down their sacred groves!

Britons, war-captives, must fell holy trees,
Char coal, fire lime, delve clay; burn Roman bricks.
They lay mule-loads, on Briton warriors' necks.
Makes each centurion levy, where he will,
Of the land's youth; and shall those fight, as soldiers,
Beyond the seas, and die a Roman death!
Yet, Britons must endure, in name of tribute,
Grievous exactions, to be sent to Rome:

Or of the quæstor's servants, infamous stripes,
Who cannot pay; and yet it is not debt.

When told these tidings, in the Maiden's Hill;
Which newly, again, Caratacus hath beset;
And purged, with fire and lime; and wells, with pitch:
Standing, midst thicket, of tall glittering spears,
Great-voiced warsire of Britons, he set forth,
The intolerable wrongs of stranger Romans!
Have humbled them, in warfare, stranger gods;
And weakened are the tribes, by pestilence;
Yet when to bandy again, shall Britons' gods
Please, strange usurping soldiers to Mainland;
Shall Gauls anew, them chace, beyond vast Alps,
And tread down Roma; and Italy shall burn;
And every nation take again her own!

Builds these days strongholds, on both sides the Thames,
The legate. But in forest, unsubdued,
(Where, to him, who most valorous of his part,
Come from East March: and in bowers of green boughs,

Those wonne, and under trees,) lurks Antethrigus;
Whose wont is sally, unwares, on abhorred Romans;
And kill, in night's thick murkness, and cut-off.

Journeying now the proprætor unto Aquæ,
Sends word, before, to Flavius, with his legion;
To meet him in the path: which known to Maglos;
Down from the Maiden's Hill, descend caterfs,
Twelve thousand spears, with king Caratacus:
And, suddenly, when a Summer day nigh ended,
Those, running, fall on Aulus' rearward cohorts;
And on their carriage seize, and shrink the Romans.

Then Aulus, on the morrow, in green plain,
Led forth, sets wide array, against the Britons;
Hoping chastise those mingled loose caterfs:
But issues not, from wood, Caratacus.

Then Aulus, ware and heedful, slowly marches,
Each day, few hours, exploring wide, with horse;
And oft he halts, and must, with Britons, fight;
That have each thicket-hill, beside the path,
Beset. In that, warlord Caratacus,
Much dreading Romans should Duneda's town,
(For now their cohorts, by mid-Duffreynt, pass,)
Attempt; before him urgent messengers sent,
To Isca. Hardly were repulsed caterfs,
One noon, when Romans lodge; and semblant make,

Casting high bank, dig large their castrum fosse,
And deep: but silent, in that night's midwatch,
Left thousand fires, from decumanian gate,
The legate led, his legions' cohorts forth:
And, won ground of blue Britons, Aulus passed,
Beyond some perilous passage. Yet, next night,
With guides, by moonlight, the proprætor marched;
And outwent Britons. Thence, young valorous Titus,
To that Dumnonian dune, he sends, with horse;
To view the situation and the walls.
Rides, and turns, on the spur, by moonlight, Titus!

Heard his relation, Aulus to the tribunes,
Commands, that, this day, rest within the vallum,
Their legions; they, at changing of the watch,
To-night, shall march. To captains of Gauls' horse,
Aulus prescribes; at point of day, they were
The Britons' wall, so nigh; that when, their cattle
And hinds and market-folk first, issue forth;
They, in full career, might occupy the gate.

Day dawns; and now approaching Roman army,
Is seen from height of king Duneda's court;
How, in low combe, thick-glittering cohorts march!
Journeyed, to-night, twixt Isca and the legions;

Also Caratacus hath. He blows grave war-horns,
On woody hill. Duneda, heard that note,
With warriors, sallies from his river-part.
(Men hastily gathered, to the king, in arms,
Both of his own and warlike neighbour marches,
Which were not, in the field, with Caradoc.)
He stands, mongst their tall spears, in royal scythe-cart.

Run forth, whom Kowain leads, stout Iscan youth,
From East-gate; and hold shouting on, gainst Romans.
Come to hand-strokes, their left do wrest aside
The enemies' shields; their fierce right hands stab soldiers;
Or furious, on their bronze helms, sledge with stones:
And labouring reel the cohorts' ordinance.

But cry, in that, went up, from the town part!
They looking back, behold their city's smoke,
As from a pot, above her bulwarks rise:
And breaks forth, lo, dread tumult, at her gates;
Wherein they left their wives and little ones.

Naught more hear words their ears, (nor heed their hearts;)
Of who them leads: they turn their unfenced backs;
And all, again, towards flaming Isca, rush.
They throng to gate, where terrible is now press;

And Romans, at their necks, impetuous ride.
Few, that might enter, meet, in their own streets,
With Gauls' horse; men that having fired the dune,
Themselves now flying, bear them through, with spears!

Duneda riding, in one battle-wain,
With Hælion, stood in act to hurl his javelin!
When suddenly, split, under their feet, the chariot.
At the cross-wents, had swerved his teaméd steeds;
Where, (grown now green,) is Mormael's mounded grave!
Howled hounds, steeds boggled; the lord's axe-tree pight,
On some mere-stone: his lynch-pin brake, and strakes
And fellies were dissolved. Sore bruised, on ground,
Lies, hurled, Dumnonians' sire. Him, uneath, Hælion,
In mortal press, with flower of the king's champions,
Then saved! The lord they lift, upon an horse.
His very hounds, to save the fallen sire,
Fight; when fell, one on other, the king's warriors,
Under Gauls' spears, and glaives of expedite cohorts.

Yonder, Caratacus battle joins; leads Maglos,
With immense shout, Silures' rushing spears.

Those fall, like butting rams, on legions' cohorts.
But when Duneda's royal mount, behold
Britons, burn like vast beacon-hill, above;
Their hearts stood still, within their straitened breasts!
And faint their knees; looked even proud warriors,
Where might they save their weary lives, from death.

Though god-like, yet, like brazen trumpet, shout
Sounds, bove the strife, of Caradoc! fly blue Britons:
Ravished was, in their routs, even the king's chariot.
In vain the warlord, feeble of his hurt,
Leans forth; and heartens still, with voice, blue warriors!
Fast, áfter them, pursuing then bloody Romans;
Is Isca field left empty, with her dead!

How smokes that goodly great dune royal; rich
With shipfare, and tin-traffic to the Main:
High seat, of druids' veiled antique discipline!
Great was that victory of the Roman legate.

Wander, as roes, and tremble, in the fern,
Of summer woods, her drooping fugitives.
Journeying hurt king Duneda, in war-wain;
Ere dawn, raught to dune-hill of Amathon.

Aulus, moved by commodity of the site,

For corn and herb and water, for his horse;
And by the amenity of this fair Duffreynt,
Will stablish, at Caer Isca, stative camp.

But erst, (and having his commandment left,
Isca's high walls, lay even with the ground!)
With horse and knights, lo, Cæsar's legate rides,
And Flavius, and who præfects of his legions;
Till, to that Bloody Foreland, they arrive;
Which End of Land. There seemed-them see the sun
Sink, hissing, in dim bosom of vast Main!

And, where he passed their marches, he received
Moon-shield Belerions, to be under tribute.
Decet, long-languishing, of a javelin-cast,
Which opened all his chest; (and, fallen from cart,
Their king, his shoulder broke, when Antethrigus
Was smitten, by Thames;) is newly there deceased.

Sith sacrificed a sow, to Hercules, Aulus;
And set up trophy, of his enemies' arms;
On that last head-of-land, which looks toward Erinn:
With superscription, to Rome's gods and Claudius!
And glorious letters, thence, indites, to Cæsar,
Prostrate South Britain, ended is the war.
Pitcht, at dim Western sea-rim, stands his tent!

He sends, returned to Isca, expedite cohorts,
With certain Gaulish horse, to Amathon's march:
His hope is gather there, both corn and victual,
Of cattle. But now those Britons their hill-dune
Have burned, and wide field wasted; and were driven
Their sheep and great horn-beasts, to Pedred Fen;
Beyond pursuit, for quavemires and blind moss;
And where ben known, to few, the marish paths.

Now when the Icenian hero, Antethrigus,
(Who lurks, still, in green forest, unsubdued,
And meditates, aye, new warlike stratagems,)
Had word, of cohorts' camp, that gather tribute;
He wicker maunds, on chines of hundred beves,
Lays; wherein he twice hundred champions hides;
And with them he sends other, that seem hinds;
Drivers, with skeans bound, neath their blanket-bratts.
Again young Madron is their hardy captain.

Some wend before, in guise of Dobuni:
And these allege, come to the camps of legions;
For carriage of the tribute-corn, and drift
Of thousand beves; except by covert night,
They durst not journey, for Caratacus.

Those droves, come, in dim night, to castrum port;
Suffer centurions of the watch, to pass,

Beves' train, tumultuous. Light them some ones forth,
Whereas the tribute-grain, borne on their beasts'
Chines, they might, in the open place, discharge.
Lapped, in their saies, come shivering Roman soldiers,
From leathern tents, (now chill is the night season;)
For joy, see all this victual. Covert word,
Spake Madron! Suddenly those stout drivers, glaives
Drawn, in fierce heat; then smite unready soldiers!
Men, from those double maunds, now leap to ground!
An hundred and an hundred, tall armed champions;
Chace then the oxen, bellowing, furious;
Which, on their wide-embowéd horns, bear forth,
And trample, as cockt hay, the tents of soldiers!
Britons, with dreadful yells, all, rushing, slay,
That come within their hands, to the camp-walls;
Where, (like as ploughman, at his furlong's end;)
Drive, their fierce beasts about, those Briton warriors.

The cohorts' watch, which fight against them, there,
They overrun. Being come to vallum-port;
They slay, themselves, their beves and choke the gate,
With carcasés; that might not soon Gauls' horse,
Thence, after them, pursue. A score, no more,
Be fallen of East-men; but run down, with sweat,
Their warlike limbs, and ache their strong hand-wrists,

Of their much vehement smiting; whilst, of Romans,
They, in their camps have slain, the souls descend,
To their pale sires, that tremble yet, for Brennus.

But fight on, in their castra, legionaries,
Supposing were their foes all, in night murk,
Which of strange speech. Smite Romans their allies,
(Gauls and Batavians.) Last, when morrow breaks,
Gathered their slain; they bury, as twelve-score soldiers!

Yet Antethrigus, where should cohorts pass,
Lays ambush in a wood. Half-backward, hews
He trees, beside the path; and knits long ropes,
Unto their leafy cops: in other trees,
He archers shrouds. Sith, enter train of soldiers;
That having, all day, under heavy arms,
Gone, in this Summer-heat, much thirst and sweat.
And some, (none enemies seen,) their helms have doffed;
And cast in wains, (that bring their heavy stuff,)
And shields and harness. They, with ribald songs,
Of their rude throats, disordinately march.

A woodwale shrieked! at that sign, from the gods;
Was dreadful sudden noise, in Roman ears!
Of rushing forest; whose stiff crooked arms,
Whole companies strew, at once, beat-down, oppress!

Tumble green groves, about men's fearful ears;
That felled are, on the mould, whelmed, dasht to death.
Who rest, cry out; This wood's gods fight with Romans!
Titans, which hurl, down on them, leafy towers.
Is death, midst rushing beams, by Britons' shafts.

Faber proclaims, who this relief of soldiers
Leads; that, for every Roman slain, he will
Kill now two Briton captives, in their seeing,
That shoot! But those, lo, their gyved hands upholding,
Do loud protest, they spare not, for the gods!
For them to die, (which have lost all,) were light.
Come lateward Romans forth, with grievous loss.

Heard Antethrigus, that new cohorts marched,
From Aquæ; he cast those bathed and perfumed Romans
Enwrap! He sends some, of his vowéd champions,
(Men, that, with oaken leaves, and whistered words
Of druids, have bound their brows, to Camulus;
To further Britons' war, with their souls' deaths!)
Like fugitive thralls. With well-dissembled tale,

Whilst those hold speech, mongst who, in Ikenild, Street,
With spades and axes, open, pioneers,
Wood-path, before the marching legionaries;
One cometh, their tribune, clad in purple weed.
But falling, in this Roman's mind, suspect;
He his soldiers charged, Attach them! which perceiving,
Britons, pluckt their skeans forth, would there have slain
That Roman duke; and one smote-through his horse.
He fell; but shield him soldiers, with thick spears.
Britons die, having each one slain a Roman!

Weary, in rain, cast Romans, round them, bank;
Wherein they lie down, fearful, in their harness:
And cry, from man to man, the time of night;
Till morrow break. Thenceforth, those Romans march,
More circumspectly; and when now woodland, large,
Before them, lies; they bind their Belges' guides.

There, tramelled, find they, passage of all paths,
Soldiers, by shafts of unseen foes, fall pierced.
The tribune sounded clarion then, Knit shields!
So come they, foot by foot, rank behind rank;
None having turned their backs, from forest forth.

Returned king Caradoc, to the Maiden's Hill.
Now night, by watchfires of sweet smelling pine;
Hewed as the poplar leaf, he, king of warriors,
Sits, mongst his long-haired captains; that deposed
Their helms, and arms laid by their valiant hands;
At chequers play, on bulls'-hide long, war-bruised,
Hard shields. But nothing list, in stress of war,
To play heart-weary Britons' sire. On stars,
The hero's eyes be fixt, which men call gods:
And bitter seems that mead-cup Gorran bears.
He cry aloft, of dreary night-fowl, hears;
That flit from carcases unto carcases!

To gods, on height, that in yond heavenly towers,
Dwell, as men ween, in an eternal feast,
Of youth and ease, and light and divine force;
Lifting his eyes, laments king Caradoc,
His sickly estate. He cannot now, as erst,
Fight, from his scythe-wheel, swift-teamed, battlechariot.

He left alone is, in Cunobelin's house.
His Catuvelaunian royal state is lost;
Is taken Caer Verulam, Camulodunum burned:
And, after war, hath entered pestilence.
He marvels; why, (now harvest-night!) yet, comes not
Thorolf? Will Summer-season soon be past!

He hears his lords commune, how Antethrigus
Useth war-stratagems: but the martial son,
It likes not well, of great Cunobelin.
Received have Catuvelaunians, of their sires,
By open valour, smite their enemies.

Late, the self night, from fever dream, awaked;
Because him token had given his fathers' gods,
By ravens; that must Romans win this strength,
Caratacus roused his warriors to remove.
And, lo, from thence, at dawning ray, descended;
They champaign wide, to new hill-fort, o'erpass;
Whose foot in Yvel stream: and, triple banks
Digged round, that ward will hold Caratacus.

When hardly is this full-ended, Roman cohorts
Approach, with Aulus. Leaguering, round the mount,
Soldiers, by day and night, labour to turn
Fair Yvel's stream, from the now shut-up Britons:
And when, night-time, those and their beasts, must drink,
Romans shoot, on them, stones, from wain-borne engines;
And thirst, in their own land! war-weary Britons.

But when hath Antethrigus word thereof,
Through spies; he, with his East-men, hastily marched,

From Coit Mawr forest. They, to succour Caradoc,
Contend. And now, as mountain wolves, by night;
Those come, to hindward of the legions' vallum,
Blowing loud hundred war-horns! clamour raise;
As many bands did, in vast field, arrive.
Whilst soldiers then much doubting, in dark watch,
Standing in ordinance, keep the castrum walls,
Caradoc; whom Antethrigus had forewarned,
Closely, unmarked of Romans, ere that star,
Which, messenger of new day, again, is risen;
Led his blue warriors, from the hinder part.

Romans, sent scouts, at dawn, find Britons' camp,
Empty: but sith, when hears the Roman legate;
How now, to Pedred fen, Caratacus
Was went; leaving the war to end, to Flavius,
On this side Thames; he, duke, with his most horse,
Returns himself, to Roman Troynovant.

Vespasian, taking certain expedite cohorts;
Then they, from hill to hill, like salvage beast,
Valley to valley, Antethrigus hunt.
But that great Briton, some, to spy out Romans,
Sends, like base herdfolk, clad, in pilches rough;
And bearing slings and hurl-bats their tough hands.

These leasings sow, mongst hungry Roman Gauls;

How, from the Summer-pastures, had they driven
Much cattle down, to green plain. Browse their hornbeasts,
Yond, the late herb, within a valley's mouth.
Persuaded of them, many Gauls then ride.
Passed league's way, those hear lowing now of kine,
Whither they come, within a cragged cliff.

They throng in; but beyond, in cumbered place,
Of thorns, which haunt sweet birds, and trickling rocks;
The skies did seem rain on them, shafts and darts.
Then would those Gauls, betrayed, fast backward ride;
But kindled foes, against them, have all thicks!
Now, leaping dire, wild flames run on the ground;
Dance dread, uplifted, roaring, on the wind:
Them chace, which way they turn, with open throat.

Who, half-scorched, flying from this fiery death;
Fall on great felled trees, that bar now the path,
With their stiff crooked arms. Pursue fierce Britons,
With fearful yells! and iron and thrilling bronze.

Five only of Romans win, again, to camp:
Then damned be those few Britons, to the death;
Which, for a pledge of faith, were there left bound:
But they, empaled, did glory, in their bold deed!

The Great Wood, in Somerset.

On pallet lies Duneda, in Pedred, bruised.

The old king, oft, in dreams, beholds a god;
Him beckoning unto soil of Sacred Erinn;
Land of the dying Sun, that Second Britain.
Wherefore, interpreters called of visions, druids;
Sith fair Duffreynt lies waste, and Isca burned;
The king, (dune, where dwelt his old royal sires,)
Is minded, sorrowing, o'er West seas, to pass.

Moreo'er hath sent now Ith, to kings in Britain,
His message; should, in Erinn, fields be given,
To Britons, which would flee Rome's servitude;
Esteeming riches, not to live oppressed.

Then banned, is, in all borders of Duffreynt,
That king Duneda fares to Soil of Erinn,
To sojourn there, till gods, expulse strange Romans.
Come; whoso would, with king Duneda, embark,
To him, at Aber Kambilan, with their stuff!

Now, when heard Flavius, of there gathering Britons;
The duke, with speed, returns, from Antethrigus:
But, with oft onset, of swift hovering scythe-carts,
Troubles the hero each Roman march; till, last,
He was bewrayed, of Belges, where he is:
For had a price set Flavius on his head.

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Vespasian compassed, sleeping then in grove,
Him, and his champions; where no water was.
Being come day's heat, is fought, with hurled-out javelins.
But Flavius, that none enemies scape thereout,
His soldiers hath, commanded, dig; and bank,
Around them, cast. Romans and Britons strive,
Till eve; when now blue warriors thirst and faint:
Falls sith a dew, which somedeal them refreshed.

Now slumber soldiers; which, in haste, have supped;
Without the cast of slings and shot of darts.
Only the watch, with glaives strained in their hands,
Listen each bruit of the forest leaves!

Stand Britons, waiting sign of Antethrigus,
Now, in wood-side, all ready to leap forth:
Waits the hero, on an omen from his gods.
Flits a wood-howlet! and the dusk night thwarts,
Before the fierce eyes of strong Antethrigus.
Then that great Briton, certain now of death,
Rent oaken leafy bough; and bound his span-
Wide front therewith: hark, imprecation makes
The hero, to his gods; for Britons' health,
Vowing his body and blood, to Camulus!

Smiting then palms together, he gave sign;

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And first, with long bright glaive, breaks forth on Romans!
He fell out on them, as stoops hawk from cliff:
And seemed, in that he o'erleapt his enemies' dyke;
Some battle-god, with lightning in his hand!
East-men hurl javelins, which, in their murk grove,
Were fallen. From the two parts, Vespasian's soldiers,
Whom clarion wakens! uprisen; run, in harness.
They hem, they Britons close-in, at their backs.
This glory give to Flavius, Roman gods,
Take so great barbare captain; on whom, next
To Caradoc, leaned the estate of all South Britons.

Is told, when drunken was his desperate blade,
With slaughter blood, and he himself hurt oft,
Of darts; as he pursued a helm-bright Roman,
In that the moon, from dim skies, shone a moment,
With low and little light; the hero's foot,
In corded beechen root, latcht. Rusht, woeworth!
To ground, he, ón broad targe, and on his face,
And lay full still. He, parted from his own,
For loss of blood, faints mongst his enemies!

On Antethrigus' neck, leapt harnessed soldiers;
And on his mighty limbs, and his large chest!
And they him, back and side, anon, have pierced.

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Is none, of all that brave him round, with dart
Or glaive, is in his hand, which doth not hurt,
To death, great enemy, dying Antethrigus!
Who gave, with groan, the ghost. Lifted, some one,
Last those long yellow locks, his head offsmote.

Though, from his shoulders, the grim poll be lopped;
They stare, with fear, still, on his threatful face;
Whose barbare blue eyes, dazing now in death,
Seem adders, that gaze from some baleful bush:
And ring-gold seemed the hero's ravelled locks;
And like to harvest shocks, his side-long beard,
Unkempt; for Antethrigus kept his oath.
And was, in days of great Cunobelin,
And of his warlike sons, the Britons' wont;
That freeborn men, and all of warlike age;
(Save the lip-beard, in token of Camulus,)
Go shaven-faced. Lo, on a pole, borne forth,
That mighty head of East-land's magistrate,
Seemed tawny jowl of boar, with hideous mane.
They crucify the hero's corse, whose stature,
Exceeds that, by two spans, of any Roman.

Not many, of East-men's champions, scaped that night,

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The Romans' glaive. They few, was overmatched,
Their valour and great force, of numbers' weight.
Yet some, next night, returned; from Roman cross,
Stole body; and bury, of gréat slain Antethrigus!

Sith, on much journeying foot-folk, to Duneda,
Come nigh to Camel-mouth, fall Flavius' soldiers.
In that inglorious victory, of Roman cohorts,
Over an unarmed barbare multitude, was
Gathered much prey, of weed and ornaments.

Who scaped, lamenting, from the Gaulish horse,
Embarked, with king Duneda, in many ships.
The weeping Britons, as they drew up sail,
Prayed their sea-gods, that might they safely pass!

A second day, they welter, in West deep:
Then touch their prows, to soil of Sacred Erinn.
Descends the sire Duneda. Is Westing now
Sun to world's brink; and seems wide firmament
Pavilion, lo, of purple and fine gold,
Of Erinn's gods. Then first, with covered head,
And stretcht forth his washed palms, he, reverent, them
Salutes, which have here name of chiefest gods.
Sith demons of the ground, air, floods and woods,
And well-springs. All then, leap out of their prows,
His people, unto shore of this new Britain!

104

Now; and for not possible were renew, this year,
The Roman war; with Maglos and caterfs,
Ships, from an isle, erst tongue of land, warlord
Caratacus: for whilst, behind their steps,
They digged, to fence them from their enemies;
It so, inrushing tide, deep channel made,
(And seemed then fight, for Britons, Eagor, god!)
And wide; there might none Romans overwade.
Sith lords and warriors, in Duneda's ships,
To Caerwent sailed; return, to Moelmabon.

Thence Caradoc sends to North and Midland kings;
Bidding them come, to him, to certain place;
Which great stones compass-in, by Upper Hafren.

Now kings and lords, together, there arrived;
Sit down, in circuit, with Caratacus.
Comes lateward to them, here, divine Manannan;
Ridden on his mule, from Mona, by hill-paths.
Unlooked for, last, came, from beyond seas, Thorolf!
Marched with stem-fighters, only, of two ships.

By word of Veleda's mouth, the prophetess; wars,
Which lately had king Wittig, were composed.
From Elbe-mouth, boldly then, in Winter-season,
The ethling sailed; and steered towards Island Britain:

105

Where would he see, (great kinsman of his house,)
How Caradoc fares. Touched land, in Meltraith Fleet,
Those Almain prows; whence he, with guides, ascended,
Through fens, through woods, of East and Midland Britons;
Where, new built, not few strongholds, he, of Romans,
Beheld; by fords' heads, and land-passages.

Thorolf, his homicide spear, (for none might armed
Enter that doom-ring,) hath, and Brennus' blade,
Without; and Weyland's moon-sheen targe, deposed.
All loud salute that royal glorious Almain,
Who now arrives! And he again them greets.
And Thorolf sate down, by Caratacus.

Propounds sith Thorolf, his heroic thought;
Come to him, sailing on sea-billows hoary;
Trine daughters of East wind: Fence all South Mark,
Twixt Hafren flood and dune of Camulus;
Calling armed multitude in of Brennid Almains!

Who then, to this, persuades but Vellocatus;
Uprising, mongst them, radiant as a god!

106

Whole now his hurt: and being his father, Cotus,
Lord of the parts of Derwent, newly dead;
Is he a king of fair Brigantine March.

Gainst whom, incensed, with fierce heat, king Venutios,
(Aye, and with prophetic spirit of things far-off,
Instincted, of the ever-living gods!)
Outcries; him naming public enemy!
That would new stranger arms call in to Britain.
Have not Iceni expulsed an Almain fleet,
From harbour, at East cliffs? for were they pirates!

Then seeing, how proudly him bears his adversary,
Not longer the old wárrior might refrain him;
But risen, enflamed with felon heat, passed forth:
Where snatcht, from hand of one of his, a dart;
He it hurled back, sudden, in that hallowed close!
Midst lords and Britons' kings, and sacred, druids:
And murmur rose, among them, for that deed.

Venutios would have slain false Vellocatus;
But erred his pulse. The violent iron flew forth,
Eager drink blood: on pillar-stone it pight;
Where, ware-eyed, Vellocatus' hand it caught;
Who nimbly upleapt, in time, had bowed to side.

107

Full of resentment, this, before them all,
The young king shows! Bear witness lords, he cries;
He, guiltless man, doth now, in fine, renounce
All legiance, to law-breaking lord Venutios.
Seeing the moon eclipse, all fear that night.

Lo, kings, with pomp, the third day after this,
Of their armed folk and shrill war-carts part forth;
Being all accorded, with king Caradoc,
Renew the Roman war. They, in Lent month,
Should gather, to him, armed, with new caterfs.

But, in one chariot, with Caratacus,
Returning thence, was stayed the ethling Thorolf,
By messengers at the watering of the Theme;
Almains, come in longships, with speedy oars:
And voice pronounced, of him who leads them, (Hiradoc;)
Invade, Lord, Elbe-land other enemies!

Thorolf then, thrice, embraced king Caradoc;
Whilst each calls other Brother! and kissed, thrice,
On both his cheeks. The ethling parts, in haste:
The Almain hero's heart presaging ill,
By neighing of his steed. Misgives him, he
May no more tread Bret-land, in arms of Brennus!
So, sorrowful, he returns towards that sea-haven.

108

There he inships. His sea-carles row: now hoise
Blue wadmel sail, (wherein king's broidered token,
Gold-bristled boar!) on hoary Winter-deep;
In whose wild tumbling surges, aery spirits
Seem dance forth, of West-wind: but Thorolf's keel,
Proudly, the heaving billows overrides;
And tosseth to each part, her wingéd breast.

Who, to this shipfare, sends him merry breath;
(Wherein giant Fasolt, of the watery storm,
From land, before him flies, to the fast land,)
The mighty Lord-of-spells, King-of-the-slain,
High-father of his house, alwitty Woden;
In his sea-sleep, shows Wittig's glorious son,
The late days of Earth-world; to go before
All-doom, and last death of long-living gods;
How all must be subdued, to fatal Rome!

Vain thing, to turn back the decree of heaven,
Were the effort of a man; though he most valorous,
In counsel and in force. The god, to Thorolf,
Makes known, Him rest few now, but glorious days:
So the three virgin Norns shaped, at his birth;

109

So twined their hands; so spent, from East to West,
The golden thread, in heaven, of his life's age!
His seed, nathless, should herit land of Brennus.

The Wash.

Gigantic wind-god.

Came Amathon, in those days, to fenny Alban.
His cattle were driven before him, and much corn
Borne in his wains; for was he not to Erinn
Fared, with Duneda: but the sire in land,
(Died Bara in the late pestilence;) would end,
Which nourished hád him, his fathers, and their flocks.

Hyn gathered then young men: which withy rods,
Lopped in mere-side, have pilled; and now those pight
Long studs, in compass, (nigh to Brigida's house,
The place;) do wreathe there hall, of hurdle-work,
For this good lord, with wicker bowers; and thatch.

Behold, that venerable sire, in holm,
Host of the saints, now dwells, of sacred Avalon!
And communes oftwhiles Amathon, with Christ's brethren.
Sith when long nights be come, of Winter-season;
And all without lies cold and comfortless,
To Cuan hear, him pleaseth passing well.

Are Cuan's dreaming strings, in this lord's ears;

110

Like to that golden murmuring, which of bees,
Sounds mongst sweet linden boughs, in the Haymonth.
And Dylan, hind, which erst, with his two sons,
Received Christ's messengers, saved to Britons' land;
In osier cabans, wonne their lord around.

King Caradoc dwells, in Caerwent, with Moelmabon,
Two months; (where bands, come, of his Verulam warriors,
Now, in nigh forest, build them Winter-bowers.)
Like space, he dwells then, with the sire Manannan,
In Mona, in his new hóuse; which overrides
The path; that needs must enter all which pass,
Under his roof; where tables, ready-dight,
Stand; set with meat and drink, for all who list.
And bards, remembrancers, in the sire's hall,
Sing, each eve, lays, which made Carvilios;
Like to war's blowing trumps and rushing chariots.

And come in weaponed youth, to the lord's hearths;
To hear war-speach of king Caratacus.
For tales of mirth and solace, cure their hearts,
No more, nor heed, of jesters, the light parts;
Whose words were shafts of laughter, in men's ears;

111

Nor they love-longing's dulcet idle note,
List, or bard's chant, that breathes not bloody war;
Nor any, in treacherous metheglin, drencheth more
His sense: but sounds, with din of smitten arms,
All day, their craftsmen's street; where Caradoc walks,
With Ergund prince, wounded at Camulodunum.

Fell Winter, which the land hath lately wasted,
And spoiled of weed; now holds her, shrouded corse:
And wall of darkness seem the skies above.
Dead seems the world; save where the wild waves break,
And rushing tempests, in the aery paths.

In those days, rose up warlord Caradoc,
In caerwent, with the sons of Moelmabon;
And leading youth of Dyved, tall caterfs,
To Caer Glew, (dune of Dobuni,) now they march.

To river-isle, they Severn overpass:
Where come; they, for Corinium, burned and waste,
Will wall-up a new dune; wherein, well-fenced,
West Britons might safeguard their souls, from Romans!
Labour Silures warriors, delve deep fosse

112

And wide; and it with stakes beset. The dyke
Those crown, with pales. They lead then, in their work,
Clear Hafren's stream. Last timbered they towergate.

Thereon Caratacus set up image bright,
Of Britons' battle-god, swart Camulus:
Which Embla saved; when she king Caradoc, sick,
Saved, from that sieged dune, in a covered cart:
Unto whom, might warriors, entering into fight,
Pray and look dying, on his glittering face!
Whilst thus they wrought, the Winter now is past.

Returns the lengthening month, of the new leaf:
When Roman captains, from their Winter-camps,
Lead forth the cohorts. This year, their hope is,
To conquer all West March; though, in the Province,
Be tumults; where yet yield not to be tamed,
Tribes that pay tribute. Britons, which revolt,
Look daily, that should come king Caradoc:
And say, drawn of white steeds, by time of night,
In forest, was the warsire seen to ride.

Pass moons; and erst, when Summer well-nigh ended,

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Is told to Aulus; how Caratacus hath
Dune, in an isle, midst streaming Severn, fenced;
And stored with arms and victual. Marched from Aquæ,
To Glevum, then, with cohorts of two legions,
The legate. There, hewed alders in the plain,
He bridge builds; and towers timbers, for his engines,
Of siege: and Romans leaguer, round the walls.

Beyond all former wont, that siege endures;
What for the valour of defending Britons,
Their rampire's strength; and they have learned, as Romans,
Neath tile-work, now, to fight of knitted shields:
And fenced, with wattle breastwork, be their walls.

There warlike women oft, men's weary watch,
Relieve; nor when lack bowstrings, any spares
Her own bright locks, to shear, as wiry gold;
To Deva, the white goddess, of clear Hafren,
Commending her; whom she, with often gifts,
Serves. Some, with lily fingers, long and small,
Twining their hairs, plight nets. Salmon those, then,
Take, in large seine, which sends, in the cold stream,
In scarcity of the siege, the river's god.

The warsire never ceaseth from the walls:
And sallying Maglos oft, like vehement flood,

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With his armed youth, surprises and slays Romans.
Those, day and night-time travail, till month; when
Must drive them, from their tents, the cold and rain.

Romans, which privily have burrowed, neath their fosse
And dyke; sith pierce within blue Britons' work.
They then, in night, tempestuous, feign assault,
On further part. As moldwarps were, from earth,
Uprose few harnessed soldiers; and those wind
Loud clarions, now, in Glevum's market place!
Which entered, in king Caradoc's dreaming ears;
Who late lay down to slumber, at the walls:
The warlord leapt, upon his feet, in arms.

Then longed his soul, as bridegroom for the night,
In twilight of these stars, to smite proud Romans.
He courses with dread shout, he slays Rome's soldiers!
Through Caer Glew streets: who 'scaped his bloody glaive,
Leap in the fosse, from Britons' walls; and perish!

Might, lodged in leathern booths, Italic soldiers
Abide no longer, in an open field,
For the much rain. Then, under frozen ground,
Banked with green sods, they grave them Winter-bowers;
Which trenched, they thatch, with river-reeds, above.

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Britons, within the town, one night-time, hear;
Betwixt the flaws of wind, from further shore,
An Iscan voice, calling king Caradoc!
And saying; that, to embark who sieged in Glevum,
Ride ready Kowain's ships, in Lower Hafren,
Returned from Erinn. In those leaguered walls,
Silures now are nigh consumed by famine:
Nor left strike is of corn, in all the dune.
They every green thing, from the walls, have eaten,
Grass of their street, even dreary herb, which springs,
On new graves of the slain; nor they might more
Endure. One night, of weathers black and rough;
Caradoc and Maglos gather; and lead forth
The weary people armed, to river part;
Whence issuing now, and without fear of Romans,
(Whose watch, cold-trembling, shroud them, in night-storm,)
Blue Britons, Hafren's floor, of stony frost,
Tread, which upbears them. There, stout Maglos marched,
With a caterf, apart. And those, to-night,
(Which have pitched tow wound, on their shafts and darts!)
Shall tempt, with shot, fire Romans' halm-thatcht camps.

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The remnant, following, with Caratacus,
Go crooked, in this cold. Were those not passed
A mile; when, looking back, they flames see rise,
To red skies, o'er their Roman enemies!
And joy the lean hearts, in their frozen breasts.
Yet, fainting, famisht, many, (in long night's murk,
Miswent,) fell in wide field, and naked wood;
Wherethrough, hunt whining winds, and howl like wolves;
Winds, which waft wings forth of some giant birds,
At the world's brinks! The people and Caradoc,
(That bowed down, as with eld, in his fierce grief,
Like hird, before them goeth, upon his feet,)
Reach, when nigh is, at length, the day to break;
Where they find Maglos, who arrived before,
At open strand, and Kowain's ready ships.
They kindle fires; and sith, with Kowain's victual,
Being well refreshed, and there embarked the sick;
Those march, these sail, to Caerwent; to Moelmabon.

Demetria, or South-west Wales.

The next month, the proprætor overpassed,
To Gaul's mainland; and journeys many days,
Towards Rome. Being come now to the City Sovereign;
And his relation, to the emperor Claudius,

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Made; he sent laureate letters, to the Senate;
(Which sits, to hear them read, without the walls,
In temple of Bellona.) The Ovation,
Then, common sentence of those conscript sires,
Decrees, to Cæsar's thrice victorious legate,
In the Britannic warfare, Aulus Plautius.

He, myrtle-crowned, sith, with magnific pomp;
And merry sound of flutes, and high-day shouts,
And solemn chant; (lo, imperial Claudius walks,
Britannicus, at the left hand of Aulus!)
Upmounts, to temple-arx, of Rome's trine gods!

But, absent Aulus, nations, late subdued,
Revolt. Then all whom take crude Roman soldiers,
They kill. And Geta caused, to be proclaimed,
Amongst the tribes, in Britain's Roman pale,
Briton, with whom found weapon, might be sold.
And may of any, in flight, (without recourse,)
Be slain. Who hideth an enemy, in his house,
By forfeiture, should be punished, of his goods:
And, in what field is found a Roman slain;

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Three Britons shall be crucified, for the dead:
But, and the homicide were not known, three Britons
Being taken, by lot, of who next dwell, shall there
Those, for him, die. Given this third year of Claudius.

Woe to a nation, when her dukes are fallen!
And word, concerning Beichiad, now, went forth,
Among the gods. He rector of war-chariots,
That seemed, in field, a bolt of thundering Taran,
May not long live. Broods pestilence, in the land,
As unquenched smouldering embers in an hearth.

When, before Camulus' walls, were squadroned warcarts,
Put to the worse, and many overthrown;
Left fallen, in bloody field, at afternoon,
Was Beichiad, bleeding rife, from many wounds;
(Being, through the shoulder, stricken of a dart,)
Mongst broken carts; and buffeting their pierced steeds.
For none had marked, though he their duke, was hurt
Cunobelin's son, and his companion slain;

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When scattered, in that plain, they scaped from death.

Poor Briton wives, which night-time their dead sought,
In field, him found. Of those, four, in their arms,
Took Beichiad up; and in some thicket hid;
Where he them showed, beside the lower Colne.
And sith, in wicker bark, past Hiradoc's cliffs,
Which look o'er East-main, towards free forest Almaigne,
Hurt Beichiad, closely, was conveyed: and rowed
The prince, some wounded East-men fugitives.

Then Beichiad, one year's space, in Heligan's house,
Lay sick of his heart's sorrow, and strange disease:
(Heligan, unvanquished Coritavian prince,
His kinsman.) Drew then unseen mortal shaft,
Of envious demon, Belisama forth,
From his pined corse; and Camulus his wood rage,
In him, inspired. And wains, which Beichiad sought,
Old Heligan gave, and victual, arms and chariot;
And warriors' band, to march with him, in aid,
Of warlord Caradoc, who in far West March:
Now mid of Winter is, when these part forth.

Their ways the frozen streams, for fear of Romans,
By night: they lurk, by day, in Winter woods.
But, on the hero, falls new languishment,

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When their shrill wheels, at length, passed over Avon.
Beichiad rends, lo, with furious hands, his harness;
He gapes, with wildered front, for living breath!
With lean uplifted looks, now stares distract;
Nor knows himself the prince, in this excess.

His warriors halted, they consult; To Caradoc,
The most then hold, march on. Journeying the rest,
As he is able, who now sick to death;
These bring him safely forth, towards forest place,
(In Dobuni March;) where his milk-brethren wonne.

Gainst dawn, arrive their creaking wheels, in glade,
Where cabans white with snow; as in that wood,
Seems moonlight, all by day. Stand weaponed men,
Come forth at door, for perilous is the time;
To look on strange wain, driven to their poor lodge!

But, whenas Beichiad those, their brother prince,
Know; and hear tiding of his strange disease:
They gaze, on him, amazed; and mourn their hearts!
In their strong arms, with manly derne lament;
They bear him in, as one lies nigh to death.
No ignoble fear them turns, from him, away.

He wakes! They kiss death, on his clay-cold lips;
And his clam front, his hands, his knees, they kiss.
Is this the pestilence; they would, (say their hearts,)

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Decease in the self manner of his death!
On hazel sprays, deckt with ox-hide, for bed;
They him, the best in that poor place, have laid.

The old milk-father kneeling, by his prince,
Kindles much fire; and aye he weeps, and weep
All those poor wights, that live by daily sweat;
With burning drops, as manly hearts can weep.
They still, on Beichiad, gaze; who lies past speech.
And look, upon them all, aye his dull eyes;
As who would say, Farewell! His woodman's hands,
Gently, in murmuring some, his, magic, spell;
That foster, on his nourseling's dying breast,
Lays: dreads, his prince's flickering pulse doth cease!
Ah, now is, ceased! (and fades, with kindly warmth,)
The vital breath, for ever, from his lips.
Rose loud, then, lamentable voice of sobs;
Of fosters of the dead, and his wain-servants:
But cannot wake the corse, when it is cold!

The man's sons, sith, with axes, wend for wood;
To strew the pyre, beside their mother's grave.
When midday past, and this full-ended was;
Ah! all suddenly, who the elder, smote himself,
Riving his gorge; and fell down gurgling blood,
Upon the funeral wood. Nor would he Beichiad;
That both had suckt one mother's breast, survive.

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Then brother, brother's body; in night of grief,
Much weeping, drew apart, and sprent with snow;
Lest their sire, finding, should himself fordo.
So, with a frozen heart, this turned his steps:
(Ah, heavy day, ah, heavy house, of death!)
To get him home. The sire, behold, comes forth,
From threshold of their lodge. That father asks,
With trembling voice, why he returns alone?
What purple stain, this on his woodman's weed?
(His brother's blood, as he the dying kissed!)
Father, is whortleberries' juice, he saith.
Nay, in Winter, ben none whortleberries; where,
Quoth he, where is, thy brother; where, my son?
He waits us, father, at the mother's tomb!

Entered the cattle-byre, they find one dead,
Of East-men drivers, come with Beichiad's wain.
Another sick lies, in their bower, to death,
Of the self ill. The father sickens soon;
Grows cold. He, laid by Beichiad, his dead son,
Him down; departed, at mid-afternoon.

Two drivers rest, beside the foster's son:
And these all have ado, bear the dead forth;
Wain-lay, the beasts yoke, and to pyreward drive;
Feeling now inward ill, on themselves, seize.

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They by their brother prince, that brother laid;
And, in the midst, their sire, built broad the wood:
And Beichiad's servants at his head and feet.
Each lifting faithful hands then, to their gods,
To other, swears, to lay him on the pyre;
Who shall survive, when goeth this sun beneath;
And kindle funeral flame, under the dead.

Now eve; and turns, in twilight, from Caerwent;
Whither the foster sent him, (when his sons
Were come again, from the woadstained caterfs,
With Maglos and warlord Caratacus,)
Their thrall. But he, arrived, finds empty house;
Nor burning hearth, nor beasts, nor any wight.

Sith following, in the moonshine, their wheels' trace,
He his household finds, with strangers dead, pyre-laid!
And who last died, was fallen forth on the wood.
Is Beichiad he perceives, who midst them lies;
Well-known, unto the thrall, his noble face,
So like king Caradoc. Loud, he mourns; nor wots
How all his, thus, not battle-slain, lie dead!
None, save their old house-hound, that howling wards
The sacred corses, yet, is left alive;
And oxen of the plough, with drooping heads.

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That thrall, long marvelling, in the bleak moonlight,
Stood sighing: last he spark of flint-flake, strake;
Blew, cherished, twixt his palms, the kindling flame;
Which, crackling, with much smoke, to frosty stars,
Ascends. So hardly he, in frozen ground,
Digged, and this night-time, opened hasty grave;
Wherein, at day, with sighs, their cindered bones
He laid. He stayed not enter in the house;
But took his way, all weary as he was.
By forest, wild, he went back, and he ran;
And repassed Hafren, came to Deheubarth,
And showed king Caradoc his brother's death!