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

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

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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.