The Dawn in Britain by Charles M. Doughty |
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 | The Dawn in Britain |  |
Sits Cartismandua, in her great father's hall;
Pale is the harlot-queen. In Cunobal's stool,
She uneasy leans: bright bow bears her white hand.
Her royal guard, all beautiful young men,
Stand backward; looking forth, with ready spears.
Pale is the harlot-queen. In Cunobal's stool,
She uneasy leans: bright bow bears her white hand.
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Stand backward; looking forth, with ready spears.
But her imperious eyelids, from the floor,
Durst she not lift: she might not yet sustain,
Thy godlike looks, bewrayed Caratacus!
He Britons' king, (the visage wan, o'ergrown,
With beard, is seen, of great Cunobelin's son;)
Fierce-eyed beholds, from under thicket brows.
He bellows, heard that moan of dying men,
Without: shaking his chains, he waxed nigh mad!
He roars; and seems to quake Cunobal's moot-hall,
Whilst cites dull ear of heaven, Caratacus!
Durst she not lift: she might not yet sustain,
Thy godlike looks, bewrayed Caratacus!
He Britons' king, (the visage wan, o'ergrown,
With beard, is seen, of great Cunobelin's son;)
Fierce-eyed beholds, from under thicket brows.
He bellows, heard that moan of dying men,
Without: shaking his chains, he waxed nigh mad!
He roars; and seems to quake Cunobal's moot-hall,
Whilst cites dull ear of heaven, Caratacus!
Comes eftsoons in, then lawless Vellocatus;
Whom so abased have the queen's devilish drugs,
He bathes him with the witch, and sits perfumed,
Drinking, all days, sweet mead, in king's high hall;
Or dissolute else, in sun-bower of the queen,
(Built on the walls, adorned with feather-work,
And hanged with so fine precious lawn; might seem
That dew-dropt weft, which beards, when Harvest-moon
Wanes and fall the first leaves, the thorny glades.
And storied it had fingers, long and small,
Of Cerna and Erdila, of Belisama caught,
With needle-work; bright maidens of the queen;)
Devising how betray, even Britons' gods,
To Romans. Sped his bloody work, that prince,
In ivory settle, sate down, with the queen;
And hopes, with Cartismandua, to reign soon,
O'er all North March, with the strong aid of Rome!
Whom so abased have the queen's devilish drugs,
He bathes him with the witch, and sits perfumed,
Drinking, all days, sweet mead, in king's high hall;
Or dissolute else, in sun-bower of the queen,
(Built on the walls, adorned with feather-work,
And hanged with so fine precious lawn; might seem
That dew-dropt weft, which beards, when Harvest-moon
Wanes and fall the first leaves, the thorny glades.
And storied it had fingers, long and small,
Of Cerna and Erdila, of Belisama caught,
With needle-work; bright maidens of the queen;)
Devising how betray, even Britons' gods,
227
In ivory settle, sate down, with the queen;
And hopes, with Cartismandua, to reign soon,
O'er all North March, with the strong aid of Rome!
He calls, for drink! Ceased now all noise of strife,
Without; behold, the ancients of this town,
Come bending in. But, in their secret, weep,
Old men, that call to mind great Cunobal;
Beholding, bound, betrayed in his high hall!
In ignominy of chains, this chosen of the gods;
Who duke of the resistance of blue Britons.
Without; behold, the ancients of this town,
Come bending in. But, in their secret, weep,
Old men, that call to mind great Cunobal;
Beholding, bound, betrayed in his high hall!
In ignominy of chains, this chosen of the gods;
Who duke of the resistance of blue Britons.
To them, with violent and stern voice, bespake;
Yet, on that terrible visage, could not look,
Burdening great Caradoc, falsely, Vellocatus;
How he would have delivered, to Venutios,
The queen. She only him forestalled in this:
And he himself must fight in her defence,
Whose blood derives, from that high warlike god,
Whose feast, renowned in all their coasts, to-night,
Isurium's citizens keep. His battle-wound,
Which bruised his brain, makes warlord Caradoc mad;
Whence now, from his obedience, all be loosed.
Yet, on that terrible visage, could not look,
Burdening great Caradoc, falsely, Vellocatus;
How he would have delivered, to Venutios,
The queen. She only him forestalled in this:
And he himself must fight in her defence,
Whose blood derives, from that high warlike god,
Whose feast, renowned in all their coasts, to-night,
Isurium's citizens keep. His battle-wound,
Which bruised his brain, makes warlord Caradoc mad;
Whence now, from his obedience, all be loosed.
Beckons high warsire Caradoc, he would speak:
But straightway is shouted down, of the queen's guard.
Ribalds, they mock godlike Caratacus!
Outcrying then, all at once, He is mad, mad, mad!
Stern, rising, in high settle, Vellocatus;
Steal the elders forth, afraid of their own deaths.
But straightway is shouted down, of the queen's guard.
Ribalds, they mock godlike Caratacus!
228
Stern, rising, in high settle, Vellocatus;
Steal the elders forth, afraid of their own deaths.
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