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

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.